The Heart of Fire.
So it is.
- Got a light? - Sure.
These Foolish Things
Have you seen this?
Corky!
Corks!
Where's Corks?
- I thought you wanted me to call him Daddy? - Don't be facetious. Read that.
(Music stops)
Some woman who was poor is now rich. What of it?
Katherine Grey!
- She's my cousin, my first cousin. - Never heard of her.
No, we never had a tremendous amount in common.
Why can't someone die and leave me half a million quid?
I'd spend it properly.
And all the right tradesmen would be rewarded and fulfilled.
- It'd all be lovely. - Darling mummy,
you're always thinking of other people.
I think I should invite Katherine to come and stay.
Some Riviera sunshine might cheer her up.
If anyone asks me what I get from my mother, I'll say shamelessness.
Pull your weight, darling, or that really will be all you get.
Good morning, madam. Take your bags?
Thank you, madam.
Is that him? Oh, my God! That's him!
Monsieur Poirot.
I'm really going to faint.
My daughter, you see, is a tremendous fan of yours.
Merci.
Mr Poirot, Rufus VanAldin.
I'm in oil, figuratively speaking.
- Monsieur. - And I'm Ruth.
Or the Honourable Mrs Derek Kettering, if I'm trying to book a table for lunch.
- You know the English. - Madam.
But I sincerely am a great admirer of your achievements.
So, today is my birthday.
- Félicitations, Madame. - I'm having a party tonight here.
Say you'll come or the evening will be ruined.
I'll kill myself. It'll be your fault.
Alas, Madame, tonight I am busy.
Would you deny a girl a favour on her birthday?
Please!
You know it makes sense.
Nice Work If You Can Get It
and of course a raging lesbian.
Americans are famously maladroit in their choice of wives.
Look at Rufus Van Aldin.
Married some singer,
who promptly drank away her figure and what little brain she possessed.
She clung on through the birth of the child - this one dancing -
then bolted home to BuenosAires.
Never heard of again.
Of course, received wisdom is
Van Aldin had her bumped off.
(Applause) As I say that, he's looking straight at me.
Mesdames.
- Isn't she fabulous? - Monsieur Van Aldin.
- Look at her go. - I see that you adore her.
To the brink of dementia where she tends to keep me.
And to purchase for her a jewel of such magnificence as the Heart of Fire.
Sharper than diamond, redder than blood.
I'm impressed. You clearly know your stones.
No. Centuries of passion and duplicity attend this stone.
Betrayal, murder. Alors, it is a celebrity.
Getting the thing was certainly entertaining.
- Drink for you, sir? - Thank you.
Merci.
There is something about that gentleman that displeases you?
I see no gentleman!
I see Derek goddamn Kettering.
My goddamn gold-digging son of a bitch son-in-law.
You know I'm crazy about you, Ruth.
We're all crazy about you.
Some of us are just crazy.
- You're embarrassing me. - You're aristocracy now, darling.
You don't get embarrassed.
You set the tone.
Why do women do it, Poirot?
Leave their damned brains in neutral when the bad guys start to sweet talk?
Why couldn't she have married some straight up-and-down dullard,
who'd take care ofher, for God's sake?
Like Knighton.
- Knighton? - My secretary, Major Knighton.
This is Poirot.
Monsieur Poirot. What a pleasure it is to meet you.
And you, Major. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.
I called you dull, Knighton. I apologise.
I was just trying to make a point.
Oh, I've been called worse, sir.
Usually by you.
Card.
- Can't you hear me, damn you? - Loud and clear, old boy.
I'm anxious on your behalf. You owe me rather a lot of money.
Are you going to furnish me with the required bloody card or aren't you?
Thank you. Bust. Sod it!
Another hand.
It may be your style to kick a fellow when he's down, Kettering, but it isn't mine.
I've never heard such a lot of donkeyness. Of course it's your style.
Deal the cards.
You're drunk.
My dear Count,
to sit gazing at you for any length oftime,
drunkenness is absolutely mandatory.
Deal the bloody cards!
Merci.
(Waiter uncorks bottle)
Please, do excuse me.
Mademoiselle
may I congratulate you on a choice most excellent of the Burgoigne.
Whenever dine here, I choose this.
Oh!
Bon.
Merci.
Please do forgive me. That was presumptuous in the extreme.
Not at all. It's obvious that I'm grotesquely out of place here.
Au contraire, mademoiselle.
You fit this surrounding but to perfection.
Permit me to introduce myself.
Hercule Poirot.
Katherine Grey.
Mademoiselle.
(Door bangs open)
- Well, this is nice. - Derek...
tomorrow morning, my daughter's going to file for divorce.
Is Ruth at all aware that this is what she's going to do?
Because I'm not sure she'd be entirely thrilled.
I'll pay you 100,000.
(Whistles)
Is that your best offer?
That's my only offer.
Well, old boy...
I'll tell you what. Why don't you take your loose change
and shove it up your dreary, colonial arse?
Well, this has all been frightfully amusing.
But my wife will be wondering where I've got to.
(Door opens)
She's off to Nice, did you know?
Might be an idea for me to tag along.
Could er... perk up the old nuptials.
If you contest the action, I warn you now,
I can get documentary evidence of infidelity.
Hers, undoubtedly.
Not mine.
Now, I'm afraid the "old chap'"s been hors de combat
since I started drinking Scotch for breakfast.
That was a long time ago.
Get the hell out ofhere!
Willingly.
Oh...
Marvellous party.
One day, there I was in the back of beyond,
looking after a cantankerous, rich old lady.
- Next day, I'm one myself. - No, no, no.
I dispute "old".
But it is curious, monsieur.
When someone who's never had much money,
and never much cared suddenly comes into a lot,
then crowds of relatives one's never been particularly aware of
all start being terrifically hospitable.
No, you do yourself a grave disservice to say such a thing.
I'm serious Lady Tamplin,
a cousin of mine I've met once I think, in my adult life,
has invited me to stay at her house on the Riviera.
- Ah! - Hence all this.
I thought I'd better have a day or two in London to mug up,
wear a dress I didn't actually make myself,
dine here, for instance, and learn how to use the knives and forks
so I don't disgrace myself at table.
Look at me with the wine waiter. I was pathetic.
Non, Mademoiselle
all one ever needs are the good manners.
The rest is just silliness and snobbery valued only by bores.
(Door clatters open)
(Murmuring)
You travel by what, the Blue Train?
- Yes, I do, tomorrow. - So do I.
- No? - Mais oui.
Oh, you know, it is beyond delightful, mademoiselle,
that I may have the pleasure of your conversation.
You can steer me through the knives and forks.
I shall be your avuncular.
Oh, yes. An avuncular.
Oh, that's exactly what I need.
Alors.
Papa Poirot,
he is at your disposal.
Come on, come on.
Oh, mon petit ange, mon coeur.
Without you, my darling,
my life is meaningless.
Then you'll have to have me.
And you shall...
...on the train.
It shall be an honour to travel... third-class.
But do not think that my passion will be sated by a single night.
In Nice...
In Nice, you must find a way to escape to be with me.
No, not in Nice.
Well... one understands, of course
that you retain some kind of withered stump of affection for your husband.
No, it's not Derek.
It's someone else.
Someone I have to meet on my own.
Darling, don't look so stricken.
You have no reason to be jealous.
That looks painful.
Should have seen the other chap.
- Can I...? - No, no, no.
How very kind of you.
No, I'm fine.
It's old news, no discomfort.
Gently Bentley will usually arrive.
Miss Milesi.
Tomorrow afternoon you and I are going to fly to Paris
and open an account for Kettering.
I remember what it's like to worry about money, Knighton.
Pretending you don't give a damn about it is one thing.
But having it in your hands is another.
It may do the trick.
No, I am going!
Good night.
- Good night. - (Shouting and jeering)
Are stoles being worn vertically this season?
- Good party, madam? - Wonderful, thank you, Mason.
Really wonderful, Daddy. Thank you so much.
You're a wonderful girl.
You're not taking this with you, are you?
- On the train? - What do you think I am?
Crazy?
Never travel with anything you couldn't stand to lose.
Who's been telling me that, I wonder, since I was four years old?
I'll get my people to talk to Derek's lawyers.
He has to go, honey.
By the time you get back, it'll all be over.
Sleep tight,
little bear.
Better put that somewhere safe, Mason.
Yes, madam.
Will we be taking it with us or leaving it?
Taking it.
Thank you.
Mm-hm.
Anybody who is anybody.
- Monsieur Poirot? - Entrez, mademoiselle.
I'm so sorry to disturb you.
But I was wondering, in the case of the artichokes
is it the fork like this or like this?
It was a joke, monsieur. I'm teasing you.
Hold that bloody train!
What extraordinary people there are in France.
Oui. I do not think that we shall be bored.
Cases quickly!
- Tickets! Tickets!
Darling, what a business!
Sorry?
That poor old bat popping her clogs in the bath and you being the one to find her.
It's Rosie Tamplin. Don't you recognise me, darling?
It has been a while.
One lived in hope that you might pop down to see us in Nice.
But one quite understands how frantically busy you must have been down in Surrey.
- Hampshire. - Absolutely.
Anyway, Corky and I thought we simply must make the most of you,
now we've managed to drag you to the Continent.
So, why not surprise you on the train? Voil?
Do you speak French at all? Don't give it a moment's thought.
All the right people speak English.
Ah, here they are at last.
Katherine, my daughter, Lenox. And this infant is my husband, Corky.
- He's not my father, obviously. - Lord, no!
That would be the astonishment of science.
I'm... What am I, darling? I'm husband number four.
we're having a knees-up in your honour tomorrow.
Give or take a brace.
Katherine? Tell you what,
Toute Nice will be there. It should be a scream.
Have you played Bunnies? It's terribly...
The poor girl's not ready to be Tamplinated. She's come to read.
So let's give her ten minutes peace. Come on, shoo!
Let her get her train legs.
We can yak over dinner.
- Which compartment are you in? - Um... number seven.
- Oh! - Excellent! Bang next door to Lenox!
You two can have a good chinwag through the wall all the way to Nice.
Come on, troops.
Following wind, she's a bit of a cracker.
Don't get too comfortable. We're not here to enjoy ourselves.
(Train whistle)
Monsieur.
Well...
That's that.
Do you think I'm doing the wrong thing?
Paying off Kettering? Not necessarily, sir.
But it's damnably annoying.
Monsieur.
I need a long bath to wash this dirty business off of me.
Then I'm going to go to sleep.
I don't yet need anyone to help me with any of the above so I'll say good night.
If you're sure, sir.
Well, sure I'm sure. You kick the gong around, Richard.
The tab's on me. This is Paris. Somebody's got to have a good time.
(Clatter of train wheels)
Excuse me, is this seat taken?
Oh, I'm sorry, I was expecting someone.
As soon as you see him, holler, and I'll budge.
I like to get my postcards written before the vacation starts.
God, I'm bored.
Of course you're bored, darling. It's your hormones.
(Chuckles)
Corky, why don't you go and find a little friend to play with, hm?
Ha, ha!
Give the American girl five minutes, then muscle in.
You're making me into such a prostitute.
Darling, that would be simple.
I'm helping you make nice friends, which is much harder.
He's my man.
I love him.
And no, he is not my husband.
Listen, I saw you coming out of number seven.
Do you think you might possibly do me the most enormous favour?
Would you trade with me? You don't have to do a thing.
My maid would move your stuff.
It's just that number seven is more conveniently placed.
That end of the carriage...
...it's closer to him.
I ask you this for love.
Real love.
Of course.
- I'm sure that'll be fine. - Thank you.
Thank God you're a woman of the world.
- Oh, steward. - Miss VanAldin.
Could you please give this to my maid?
I know.
The name does tend to crash into the room
and roll around like a grenade,
everybody wondering whether or not they can decently ask about my mother.
- I wasn't going to. - "Do I remember her?" and so forth.
The truth, which I never tell the press, is no.
I don't remember her at all.
I close my eyes and think about her and there's nothing.
Just...
a big, empty space I've carried around my whole life.
Desol? monsieur. Un moment. Mademoiselle.
Monsieur.
Ignite me.
- Excusez-moi. - Merci.
Un cassis, s'il vous plait. Merci.
- Monsieur Poirot. - Madame.
I didn't know you were on this train.
Mais oui.
- And you're travelling with this lady? - I have that honour, oui.
Then this must be your seat.
Merci, Madame.
The words "horse" and "dark" somehow spring to mind.
I am avuncular to Mademoiselle Grey.
Oh, how nice for her.
No wonder her complexion is so fresh.
Perhaps I should circulate the notion that you're my bodyguard.
The solicitors said I shouldn't even travel as far as the pillar box at the end of the road
without having made my will.
For once, the solicitors are probably correct.
It's perverse of me, I know.
But after a lifetime of effectively domestic service, I still don't like being told what to do.
I shall do it, of course.
As soon as I get back to England.
But five to one, I don't think I'll be murdered in the next few days.
By the standards of my fellow passengers, I'm still poor.
Five to one? That is a calculation that I cannot support.
- Why? What's wrong with it? - Because the numbers are odd
and I prefer them to be even.
The odd numbers, they make me...
Monsieur Poirot...
...l'm so glad you're here.
- Did I hear the name Poirot? - Madame.
This is so thrilling, I can hardly breathe.
Tell me, monsieur have you taken rooms in a hotel?
You absolutely must cancel them.
All French hotels are intolerable especially the expensive ones.
No, no, you are staying with us.
(Knock on door)
Just a minute.
(Door opens)
- Mrs Kettering... - Mr Kettering heard.
He's already had the privilege of seeing his wife's neck naked.
I can manage.
Well, that's why you're here, isn't it?
Amazingly, no.
I had an idea.
I thought that, free of your father and other benign influences,
we might have a chance to patch things up.
You really are a piece of work.
But I discovered the beignets influence of them all is actually on the bloody train!
Have a care, Ruthie.
He's not what he seems.
Yet another way in which he is remarkably unlike you.
La Roche is a card sharp.
He's a confidence trickster!
I want a divorce.
No, Ruthie.
You don't.
I want a divorce, Derek.
And do you know what? That scares the hell out of you.
It makes you sick to your handmade boots
because it's goodbye to the Yankee milch cow,
hello bankruptcy.
Well, I've never in my darkest hour thought of you as a cow.
A horse, possibly, in a betting sense.
So you'd better take what's going while you still can, huh?
Actually...
...it's not enough.
You are insufferable.
I've never lied to you, Ruthie.
Not once.
- Who is it? - It is I, Hercule Poirot.
Our table, it is prepared.
(Sobs)
You see, mademoiselle
what such a picture, it does not show,
is that the man is even happier than the child.
To know that the daughter whom he adores loves him with all her heart.
Mon Dieu! This moment, it is immortal.
Yes.
That's what I used to think.
Then Daddy killed himself.
What?
At the time this picture was taken,
he employed almost a thousand men and women.
- No! - Knew them all by name.
When VanAldin Oil moved to buy him out,
he agreed on the strict understanding that they would retain the entire workforce.
Within a week of taking control,
they sacked everybody.
"How can I look them in the eye?" My father said.
I've betrayed them all.
Tonight, when she was talking, I wanted my father so much,
I thought I was going to die.
Oh!
Where are we?
We seem to keep stopping and starting.
Well, at the moment
we travel around Paris on the Ceinture.
The suburbs through which we must creep.
It is frustratingly slow.
I think I might give the knives and forks a miss tonight.
I'm feeling a bit washed-out.
Do you mind awfully?
No, no, no, not at all.
I am at your service, Mademoiselle Grey.
Très bien, Miss VanAldin.
I'll have Chef prepare a late supper for you to take in your compartment.
Ten o'clock, Madame?
Playing cards? Corky, listen to me.
If you don't show for dinner, that is time wasted.
A bloke's got to be free to play a game of cards.
I don't think you appreciate the gravity of the situation.
I appreciate the hell out of it, old girl. I'm... What?
Is Katherine awfully unwell? How frantically boring for her.
Don't get up. Just wish her a good night's sleep from all of us.
(Sobs)
Well, that's me, girls. I'm out.
The stakes are getting a bit hairy for the Corker.
But don't let me put the brakes on you fellas. You um... You crack on.
- I think this gentleman's had enough. - Deal the cards.
Mais je me demande how, when the cards fall cruelly for Mr Kettering yet again,
will he possibly be able to pay me?
Unless, of course
he finds very quickly a more favourable combination.
Deal.
Miss VanAldin?
(Train whistle)
(Train rocks)
I wasn't asleep.
(Screech ofbrakes)
(Glass smashes)
Hold the bloody train!
(Guard's whistle)
(Door slams)
(Train whistle)
(Woman screams)
- My dear Lady Tamplin. - Don't. I think I'm going to be sick.
- What is the matter, Lady Tamplin? - Oh, God, Katherine.
What has happened to Mademoiselle Grey?
She... Oh, my God.
I shouldn't have to look at all that blood.
(Screams)
Oh! I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting.
I couldn't find my silly comb.
Compartment number seven.
Miss VanAldin, sir.
But who can tell, mon ami?
Who can tell?
Tell to me what you see, Inspector.
A bottle of champagne. Smashed.
Mirror. Smashed.
The strong box has been opened. Not forced.
Whatever was hanging from that necklace is now gone.
The "Heart of Fire".
A face.
There isn't one. She's been hit so many times there's nothing left.
Death within the last...
nine hours.
No, Poirot he left the dining car at 10 o'clock.
And he saw Madame Kettering receive from the steward her tray.
At 4 o'clock in the morning, he heard the smash of glass.
And saw a man hastening down the corridor.
Renvoyez le garçon au cabine.
I think she had a man in here.
- The woman had a servant of some sort? - A maid.
- But she has gone. - Hmm.
Missing jewels, missing maid.
No, she left the train at Paris at the Gare de Lyon.
To clear the way for lover boy, yes?
Coffee. The brain doesn't work without coffee.
The trouble with abroad is it's full of bloody foreigners!
Ah. Sorry to despoil communion with Mecca and all that
but I'm looking for a copper. Do you speak English?
Yes, Monsieur Kettering.
Who is that under there?
Oh, my dear God!
Ruth.
My darling Ruth.
What a dreadful thing this is.
Did you know the woman?
Erm... no.
I mean...
No, not really. No.
Monsieur.
Mademoiselle.
What we all need is a bloody stiff drink.
- Here. Here. I'll get them. - Non! Non! If you please. If you please.
I'm afraid the drink, it will have to wait.
The Inspector wishes all passengers to remain for interview.
What rot! The fellow can wish all he likes. We're British citizens.
Doesn't the passport say, "His Majesty requests and requires
we don't have to fanny about with foreign policemen?"
Non.
Oh, God! How grim.
- Get out of the way, dammit! - Non, monsieur!
Ruth!
Non, monsieur. Non. Non. Calmez vous. Calmez vous.
Mademoiselle Mason could you explain to me, please,
how it was that you came to leave the train in Paris?
It is important that you speak freely.
Yes.
I was dressing Madam for dinner...
...when there was a knock on the door and she says, "Wait."
But the door opens and it's Mr Kettering.
So I went off and made myself scarce.
Booked a table for dinner and...
...and when I came back... the door was locked.
And I could hear Madam speaking French to someone.
And I thought...
"Well, who's that, then?" Because Mr Kettering doesn't speak French.
And then...
she puts her head round the door and she says,
"Change of plan, Mason. Get a taxi to the George Cinq.
And I'll send you a wire telling you what to do."
I knew something wasn't right, MrV.
I tried to call you but they couldn't find you.
It's okay, Mason.
You did your best.
(Sobs)
Thank you, mademoiselle. That will be all.
I think she's lying.
- She was there, actually. - What?
Mason. I saw her.
At "the George". After you turned in. I didn't think she saw me.
But it was definitely her.
I should have said hello but... erm...
I didn't awfully want the company.
Oui, monsieur. A l'intérieur.
Ça va?
Toujours aussi raffinée.
Et douce, une femme bien élevée.
You are most welcome, Monsieur Kettering.
Do continue but in English...
if you please.
Of what use are concealments? We are all men of the world.
It is true. I was on the same train as my beloved.
But for reasons of discretion I travelled Third Class.
At her invitation, I was to...
visit her compartment.
You slimy little sewer rat!
Oh! There is no shame in love.
My beloved had arranged an exchange of premises
in order to facilitate our assignation.
She'd find such things... amusing.
Yes. If I could just interrupt proceedings for a minute.
I've got something I've been meaning to give you, La Roche.
Ah, yes.
- Here we go. - Argh! Animal!
You could have given me a black eye!
Like your finger nails and heart.
Gentlemen! Do you want the Inspector to put you in the cells?
Do you hear the way he speaks about my wife? Possessing her?
You had her alive. You will not have her dead!
(Echo)
In what sense "dead"?
In the sense that someone has smashed her face in with a hammer.
Oh!
I thought you were investigating a theft.
Is that really what you thought?
You crook!
You'd have the nipple off your mother's tit.
How could I have stolen anything, you imbecile?
I spent the evening marinating in your company.
This is true?
You were together all of the time?
Yes.
We were playing cards with some unfeasibly gormless idiot.
Corky Tamplin.
Apart from for five minutes, and I'll say this,
before Mason squeals on me if she hasn't already.
I knocked on Ruth's door and had a blazing row.
Ah.
Alors.
You must celebrate.
Order the champagne.
What are you talking about?
Monsieur VanAldin has informed me that your wife... she made no will.
You are richer by 2 million.
That is the amount settled on her by her father.
Your wife, she dies intestate so the money, it is yours.
Je vous félicite.
Excusez-moi, Madame.
Par ici.
Ah, Signora.
I will be brief.
All I must discover at this moment
is which of the passengers is known to you personally.
I know nobody.
Not acquainted with Monsieur Derek Kettering?
I know nobody.
I travel alone and I do not make acquaintances.
Le Comte de la Roche? Monsieur Corky Tamplin?
Men always believe that sheer persistence
will get them what they think they want.
It has no dignity and it does not work.
Ruth Kettering? Mademoiselle Katherine Grey?
I was in bed. All night.
If you seek corroboration, interrogate my pillow.
Am I free to go?
For the present, Signora, we are all free.
Excuse me.
On the contrary, it would be ghastly not to be interrogated when it's so fashionable.
Mind you, I can't see the point.
We weren't careering about the train murdering strange women.
We were in bed.
- I wasn't. - No.
You were playing cards with your little chums.
- All of the night, you played the cards? - That's right.
- I didn't bet. Much. - And there you remained?
- Right. - No, Monsieur Corky. That is wrong.
At Marseilles, you almost gave to Poirot the heart attack
by rushing past his window as the train it was about to depart.
So I did. I got off to stretch the legs and the billowy portions.
Almost missed the ruddy train. Was it Marseilles?
It was.
Right.
Well, I wouldn't set much store by information emanating from me.
Famously stuck for "grey matter", eh?
Everyone knows that Corky's got a few pages glued together.
It was also at Marseilles that the murder was committed.
Oh, hell. I've goofed.
Non, Monsieur Corky. You have goofed only
if the murder, it was committed by you.
And this, Poirot is not, at the present time...
...disposed to believe.
(Girls squeal)
Goodness. What a glorious place.
It is rather splendid... in a shabby sort of way.
We're revoltingly happy here.
Now...
Katherine, monsieur. There are only two rules at the Villa Marguerite.
You shall be comfortable and you shall not be hungry.
- Or thirsty, by God. - That is most kind, monsieur.
Would it be possible for me to use the telephone?
I have one more person to question.
Open up, Corks. Chop, chop.
- Mr P wants the blower. - Merci.
Monsieur VanAldin, you knew that I wished to interview you
and yet you disappeared.
I was upset.
I apologise. What do you want to know?
You flew to Nice from Paris. Why?
It was a surprise.
For whom?
For my daughter. Spur of the moment.
I took a plane from Paris to Nice.
Oh, come on. You can talk to the pilot.
Or are you going to say that someone as wealthy as me could have bribed the pilot?
- Could you not? - Of course I could!
I could bribe the damned President of the United States
to dance naked on the White House steps!
I was not on the train, Poirot. Take it or leave it!
Dear Mr VanAldin, you poor, poor thing.
I absolutely insist you stay with us tonight.
You need company. You need distraction.
You're at the Villa Marguerite now, Mr VanAldin.
Things here are as right as rain.
You'll see.
Can you tell I'm wearing suspenders under this?
Yes.
Excellent.
The party doesn't start for half an hour.
You're like a little puppy, really, aren't you?
Down! I'm cross with you.
Why?
Did I forget something?
Married three years, eh? That's lino, isn't it?
Bakerlite?
- So, where's my present? - In my pocket.
Hand it over!
Get it yourself, you lazy tart!
(Corky guffaws)
There'd better be something down here apart from the usual nonsense.
I love you, Rosie.
- Mood Indigo
(Hubbub)
Whoa!
Ha! Here. Poirot.
This is local.
We call it the Infuriator.
This'll put lead into your little propelling pencil.
Er... non, merci.
Merci.
I must circulate before I drink it all myself.
Look here! I accuse you of being my wife! And I demand the right to be kissed.
Mwah!
Oh, clever Corky.
Mummy thought he'd forgotten her anniversary and he hasn't.
I hope to God for his sake it didn't cost a lot of her money.
If money is in short supply, this rekindled friendship
with Mademoiselle Grey might be most convenient.
That's why she's here. It must be crystal clear to Katherine.
Oh, Mummy's incorrigible!
She can't just have a party, she has to have a sensation.
Oh, it's the helpless ruin. He's desperately attractive.
He may be a killer too, of course. That's worrying.
Maybe that's what's attractive. I don't know.
Oh, God!
She's only gone and invited him as well!
Oh, Mummy!
Not one to let a tiresome brutal murder cramp her style!
- Lady Tamplin hasn't changed. - You clearly know each other.
She ran a sort of hospital here during the war.
Looked after me when I got my souvenir of Flanders.
Look, I'm glad to have caught you on your own, Miss Grey.
I just wanted to say...
Actually, I haven't got the faintest idea what I wanted to say.
Some sort of half-baked offer to be of service.
- It's very kind of you. - It's perfectly tedious.
- I mean, you're eminently capable. - No, really.
It's very generous of you to be concerned after this awful thing has happened.
I appreciate it.
Oh, God, Major! Oh, I'm so sorry.
Oh, God! They're all gone now. I told Mr V I don't do silver service.
Mason... Mason, it's all right. You've...
You've done us all a favour chucking this muck on the floor. It doesn't matter.
Look after Mr VanAldin for me. Much more important.
See if there's anything he needs. Off you go.
Have you seen, Major, that Lady Tamplin has invited the murderer?
She's a very thoughtful hostess.
La Roche is not the murderer.
Oh? And how do you...?
Oh, order and method.
These are the elements of Poirot.
Oh, I... um... I should probably...
Et enfin, ça commence.
The bell tolls. But for whom?
- Good evening, Mirelle.
How dare you keep that from me!
From me!
Che Gelida Manina
(Bell tolls)
Sister Rosalia, please forgive me. I know I said seven o'clock.
- That's quite all right. - Someone took my taxi.
Yes. Your representative warned us you would be a little late.
My representative?
Have you been inside?
Before you, monsieur? Non. No, that would be discourteous.
Come and meet my wife.
Merci.
Dolores Kay.
I can't tell you how beautiful she was.
How elegant.
She wasn't ever a very happy woman.
When Ruth was born,
she tried to smuggle her home to Argentina in a suitcase.
It almost killed the baby.
And you sent her to this place?
Sister Rosalia promised that if Ruth ever found out that I lied to her
or ever tried to contact Dolores, she'd call me.
This is why you flew to Nice.
Your daughter. She had discovered that her mother was alive.
And you wanted to dissuade her from coming here.
Dissuade her, Poirot not slaughter in cold blood.
Allez, Jeanne.
Viens. Viens.
We don't have scissors, do we?
Please, Sister Dolores, there's a good girl.
Thank you.
You didn't think I had her committed here as an inmate, did you?
No, Dolores is management.
She's not unhappy here.
She came to me.
Who came, Madame?
Ruth.
A dream.
A dream. She dreams all day.
She brought me flowers.
The flowers, Madame certainly you did not dream.
Well, what we actually have is a faceless corpse.
So, all right, what if...?
She faked it.
The daughter faked her own death to punish Papa.
Or to escape her husband.
I don't know. Both.
Then she would be the murderer.
(Weeping)
Oh, mademoiselle!
Oh! Mademoiselle!
Oh, Monsieur Poirot. I'm so sorry.
I won't go to prison, will I?
Not at all, mademoiselle. Not at all.
Mason thinks she's remembered something.
I don't "think". I have!
Mademoiselle Mason, what is it you recall?
I saw who it was.
With Madame.
This is most important, mademoiselle.
You are absolutely certain?
Yes. Yes.
It was him. It was him all right.
In the compartment.
It was Mr Kettering.
That's it. Find the bastard and tell him he's arrested!
Monsieur VanAldin. If I might have a moment?
No! God dammit, Poirot! I've had it with your moments!
We have a witness who says she saw Kettering in my daughter's compartment.
I want the son of a bitch locked up!
(Door slams)
Got a fag...
Poi-rot?
- A couple of doofers, if that's all right. - Doofers?
- Do for later. - Ah.
Each time we meet, Monsieur Kettering, I learn something useful.
Well, get on with it, then.
You may have time to waste but I've got a busy social schedule.
You went to the compartment of your wife.
Yes, old bean. I told you that.
To steal the Heart of Fire.
No.
You've got a head of steam up so press on.
The strong box, it was not forced. Who knew the combination?
Don't know. Wasn't one of them.
Non. But you thought you could extract the code from yourwife.
But you failed.
Later, you returned drunk and desperate to settle your debt to La Roche.
You compelled your wife Ruth to open the box...
And killed her because...?
I feel my motive's getting a weeny bit congested here.
The theft complete, you battered your wife to death
because she refused your sexual advances.
If you actually believe any of that, then I can't talk to you.
Non. You can talk to me.
Well, amusingly enough, you're not entirely wrong.
But it was La Roche who planned to pinch the Heart.
Spanner in the works with Ruth pulling up to the station with that dirty great safe.
He hadn't banked on that.
Had to think again.
Fortunately, there I was.
So, he offered me a deal.
The debt written off in exchange for the combination.
How could I fail to accept?
Easy. I didn't know the code. I told him to sling his hook.
However...
once a chap's got the habit of counting cards,
he finds patterns in everything.
They imprint themselves on the brain whether he wants them to or not.
Lo, there came a point in the evening where that pattern
was the only asset I possessed.
A four, a six, a nine, an ace and a seven?
Well and truly bust, old boy. What were you thinking?
But La Roche knew the combination. So what went wrong?
Not quite the condition of erotic preparation in which he expected to find my wife.
I was...
...numb.
But he rallied quickly enough.
Pointed out that things wouldn't look exactly ideal for either of us.
That we should agree there and then neither of us left the compartment.
So, according to La Roche, he ain't your man.
Shame.
I'd borrow good money to see him hanged.
Mislaid in the compartment of Madame Kettering.
May Poirot sit, Signora?
He wishes to tell to you a story.
- I despise fiction. - Ah, but this little story. It is true.
It is about Monsieur Rufus VanAldin.
A man of authority.
Accustomed to acquiring whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.
But he is not able to secure the divorce of his daughter Ruth
without the evidence of the adultery
of his son-in-law, Monsieur Derek Kettering.
Alors, he learns Kettering plans to join Ruth on the Blue Train...
I don't know any of these people.
And you know, he does a thing most extraordinary.
He sends his lover on the train, also
to offer herself to Monsieur Derek Kettering.
Ignite me.
Et quel cauchemar. The plan, it fails, no?
Monsieur Kettering proves immune to her powerful charms,
because he has a secret
that nobody else knows.
He loves his wife.
C'est ça.
- Why enter Madame Kettering's compartment? - That was weakness.
I wanted to see her things.
But while you were in there, you found and kept a page of a letter
concerning the wife of Monsieur VanAldin.
Andrea ding it at dinner, it naturally upset you.
But you resolved to see the woman for yourself.
I was curious to see what would be my fate...
should I ever marry Rufus.
She was convinced... that I was her daughter.
Colour-blind, as well as mad.
However, it seemed cruel to disabuse her.
Her life has been sufficiently... unfortunate.
Oh, that was kind.
I've spent most of my life being kind, monsieur.
Mostly to men of about... your age.
And look where it has got me.
Whoring... for no pay.
Life!
Grossly overrated...
I find.
- This is fun. - What, cleaning your teeth?
No, having you here. You should come back when all this nonsense is sorted out.
The police, Mummy trying to hoodoo you into believing she's your best friend,
so she can touch you for a few quid.
- Lenox! - She's my mother. I love her.
I'm allowed to point out the obvious.
I'm just saying you should come back at a less hectic time.
Bring your admirer.
Major Knighton. Oh, come on. He's a perfectly normal human being,
and then you come, and he turns into a sheep - you must have noticed.
- Lenox... - What?
Shhh.
Actually, it's bloody hot tonight.
That's better.
Aaaargh!
No! No! No!
No! No! No! Help!
No! No! No! No!
(Screams)
(Groans)
What's the matter with you? You can dole it out, but you can't take it, eh?
From a couple of girls?
Mademoiselle, it's all right. It is all right.
Sit down. You are safe now.
- You are safe. - Well!
That was thrilling!
I'm so sorry.
It's all right. There's really no need for me to be lying in bed. I feel fine.
(Knock at door)
Come in.
Erm...
Six sugars.
Absolutely disgusting, of course, but it's good for... you know.
Thank you.
And erm...
How lovely!
Sorry, but do you have any idea why Miss Grey was attacked?
I mean, there's nothing to connect her and Mrs Kettering... is there?
There is the possibility most dreadful...
...that the death of Madame Kettering was not what the murderer intended.
You mean he came for me?
Oh, God.
Erm... so, he didn't know that Ruth and I had swapped compartments?
- No, it's a possibility only. - No, it's all right.
I just thought of something. Shout me down if I'm wrong.
We are assuming the murderer got off the train with us at Nice, aren't we?
What's to stop him disappearing before that?
I don't know. I mean, dropping off somewhere in the dark?
Mademoiselle Grey,
you must excuse me.
Major Knighton, au revoir.
I am become over-cautious.
Mademoiselle Grey, she will explain.
Excuse me.
Oh, mon Dieu! I could not understand Paris but then Paris did not exist to be understood.
In the concealment of a crime it is a phenomenon most curious, ?
when one fact, it supports another fact, and neither of them are facts at all.
S'il vous plait. Merci.
You must go to the Villa Marguerite...
...at once.
C'est très urgent.
Très urgent!
The theft of the Heart of Fire.
The murder of Madame Ruth Kettering.
The attempted murder of Mademoiselle Katherine Grey.
All of this...
...is the work of an intelligence formidable.
And it moves amongst us now.
Signora Milesi...
You are 40 years of age,
so it is not unreasonable you should wish that Monsieur VanAldin formalise your relations.
You could provide him with an heir...
- Now, look here, God damn it! - S'il vous plait.
This mauvais moment for you all can only be prolonged by interruption.
I advise against it.
...and yet he makes no move to do so,
because he already has an heiress.
His daughter, to whom he is devoted most extravagantly.
I think we can agree, I'm not short on motive.
Or opportunity.
By your own admission, you entered Ruth's compartment
and rifled through her possessions.
Oh, you had the desire, and the passion nécessaire, to commit a crime of such atrocity.
Et ça, c'est la vérit?
Nevertheless... I did not do it.
Finished with the lady, Poirot?
Feel like picking on someone your own size?
D'accord. The conduct of your daughter, monsieur- it humiliates you, no?
Her marriage catastrophic.
Her "liaison" ridiculous with La Roche.
How simple it would have been to board a train in Paris
to mete out punishment to your daughter,
so that the two women in your life, who had let you down -
your wife and your child-
should never be reunited.
And then to steal the Heart of Fire for you are the one man on earth
to whom its value means completely nothing,
and then to simply throw it out of the window,
to disguise your crime that was most barbarous as mere thievery.
Will you please stop buggering about and just say which one of us is the bad egg?
For God's sake, man, we all know it was me.
Then how did you manage to attack me?
You were locked up.
It wasn't you, and we know it wasn't you.
So, will you stop showing off and let Monsieur Poirot finish what he has to say?
My turn?
Forgive me, Mademoiselle Grey.
You told to Poirot the story most tragic of your childhood,
and of the man whose empire most evil trampled into the grave your-father-
Monsieur Rufus VanAldin.
But you can never make him know the agony of the loss that you have known,
because he has no father.
But he has a daughter.
That's enough, monsieur. We appreciate the democratic nature of the exercise.
We all get a pasting.
But Miss Grey clearly didn't attack herself, and I think you should desist.
Ah, the gallant Major Knighton, whose loyalty knows no bounds.
Not strictly true, monsieur.
I'm not in the business of slaughtering my employer's offspring.
On anybody's orders.
On the principle that the least likely suspect is most probably guilty, your stock is high.
He was at the hotel in Paris.
But of course.
You know, even the memory of Poirot, it needs refreshing.
Lady Tamplin.
Our consummate hostess.
Alas for you that you are embarrassed financially.
How dare you?
Did you dispatch the wrong woman?
What are you drivelling about?
Surely you meant to kill Mademoiselle Grey?
Should she die before her return to England to make her will
you would inherit the estate.
Rot! And bloody cheeky, if you don't mind my saying so.
And Mademoiselle Lenox, instructed by your mother to make a friendship with Katherine...
We're broke.
Yet you travel in the Pullman car of the Blue Train.
The bill for that is on my desk. I can't pay it.
Royally buggered.
But I was planning to touch her for a cheque, monsieur,
not murder her for herinheritance.
Does this make it awkward between us?
- Oh, no, not at all. - Oh, I am glad.
You're really rather fun. I wouldn't want you to feel you couldn't come again.
Ça suffit!
Please don't.
Monsieur Corky...
...would you tell to Poirot...
...how this came to be in your possession?
I skipped off the train for a fresh bowl.
I was just about to get back on, when, blow me, there it was, just sitting on the rail, all sparkly.
I mean, if the train had gone off again, it would have been smashed to pieces, so I...
I reached down and I got it.
And you gave it to me?
I thought it was lovely. I thought you'd like it. You did like it.
But darling...
Even you, in your indestructible innocence,
must have wondered what it was doing there.
No?
You didn't ask yourself?
Oh, Corky, I do love you, but you are hopeless.
It's a fake.
I can smell a phoney through a brick wall. This isn't the Heart of Fire. It's a copy.
Justement.
The replica.
Enfin, Monsieur le Comte...
The long game, huh?
It was to relieve Madame Kettering of her jewel, no?
You would make the substitution, and by the time it was discovered, you would be gone.
- I absolutely must protest. - Well, that is your prerogative.
But far better for Poirot to expose you as a thief and charlatan
than as a murderer.
Do not speak.
Let Poirot tell. Vraiment</>, it is simpler.
Having extracted the combination of the strong box from Monsieur Kettering,
you hastened to the compartment of his wife,
taking the champagne.
You then fled to dictate your alibi to Monsieur Kettering,
pausing only to rid yourself of the incriminating forgery.
Nevertheless
the true Heart ofFire, it was gone.
Alors, messieurs et dames what had truly taken place in that compartment?
Let us address the elements of this case that are not human
for they cannot dissemble.
The broken mirror, par exemple.
It was beneath the dinner tray.
The dinner tray, therefore, must have entered the compartment after the murder.
But then, who ordered the dinner tray?
Not Ruth Kettering...
...but someone pretending to be her,
behind whom Ruth already lay dead,
and faceless on the floor.
Oh, we see those around us.
And we think we know them.
But we know... nothing at all.
- Oh, my God! - Bloody hell!
I won't put up with being manhandled!
Poirot, he marvelled at the strength and audacity
of this thief and murderer.
Of any adversary Poirot had ever known, this killer was twice the man.
But Poirot did not realise how literally this was true.
For, mes amis, this murderer is not one person, but two persons,
working together, sharing the same passion, the same... sickness.
I talk, of course, of Ada Mason.
But also...
of the man... who is her lover.
And this man, he thinks he can escape Poirot.
Not so.
For he made one little mistake
from which emanated a myriad of others.
He fell in love.
And for his partner this was unendurable,
for jealousy, as it so often does,
throws open the door to murder.
- No! No! No!
(Screams)
And then the affair of the Heart of Fire it began to unravel.
Poirot discovered a newspaper cutting.
It reported a jewel theft that took place shortly after the Great War.
That hurt you, did it not, Major Knighton? Why? Because...
after you left the hospital, at the Villa Marguerite, in 1918,
taking the jewels of Lady Tamplin - for this was your first theft -
your leg, it was completely healed.
But this you told to no-one, because then, as now
the misplaced sympathy and trust of others, it delights you.
And so you charm your way to sit at the right hand of Monsieur Rufus VanAldin.
You employ your partner to become maid to his daughter, et voil?
The target, it is surrounded.
As the train travelled slowly around Paris, you climbed aboard.
Mason admitted you to the compartment.
- Who is it? - Me, madam.
Just a minute.
She had the combination.
She could have taken the jewel at any time.
But what you craved, both of you, was the savagery of murder,
for it aroused you.
(Screams)
And even when Madame Kettering was dead, the violence did not end.
You, Knighton, destroyed the face of the poor woman,
so that doubt should be cast on her identity.
And then somewhere in the darkness you dropped from the train.
In your pocket was the Heart of Fire.
As the train approached the Gare de Lyon,
the steward knocked at the door and it was opened.
Would Madame Kettering be dining? Non, she would prefer a tray.
And for the maid, nothing. She would be putting her off at the next stop.
Your disguise, Ada Mason, it was good,
and until Poirot compared the hair of the murdered woman
with the hair torn from the wig -
even Poirot, he was deceived.
For, although you made certain I observed you at the station, you did not leave the train.
Non, you reboarded it.
You did not leave until Marseilles.
You stayed on board to receive the tray in the guise of your employer.
But now there was sufficient distance from the time and place of the murder.
You could leave the corpse to be discovered.
Facts.
The night in question, Ada Mason stays at the George Cinq Hotel. Who says so?
Major Knighton.
But neither of you were there,
because you were here,
on the Blue Train
murdering Madame Ruth Kettering.
Were you not?
Monsieur Poirot...
He has something at my throat.
A razor blade, I think.
We're leaving now.
Let them go. Let them go.
Please, don't let him kill me!
Please!
No closer!
Shall you forgive me?
What?
(Screams)
(Screams) Run!
Kill her!
(Train hooter)
(Shouting)
A tight spot, Katherine.
- But I've known worse. - Knighton!
Knighton, Knighton...
Let her go.
The greatest jewel thief in living memory,
by all means.
But do not be the mere lunatic.
Sharper than a diamond, Katherine. Redder than blood.
(Train approaching)
(Screams)
(Sobs)
Monsieur Poirot.
Mademoiselle Grey.
Oh, you leave the Riviera?
I think it's probably time.
- When do you depart? - The train doesn't go until this afternoon.
Et bien.
Immédiatement, Poirot will pack his meagre possessions and join you.
Actually...
I'm not planning to go back to London just yet.
It's peculiar, given what's happened, but I've discovered I rather like travel.
- So I'm going to keep going a bit. - Oh, but of course. Oui.
I'll go to Vienna and pick up the Orient Express.
The idea thrills me. But I expect you've been on it millions of times.
Not once.
But I must.
You've been so very kind to me, monsieur.
You're a very dear man.
A first-class avuncular.