Agatha Christie's Poirot

The pyramids of Egypt,

the last surviving of the seven wonders of the world.

The latest expedition by famous archaeologist Sir John Willard

may soon reveal more of this ancient world's mysteries

with the discovery of the tomb of Egyptian king Men-her-Ra.

No doubt there will be rivalry between Dr. Fosswell

of the British Museum

and Dr. Schneider of the Metropolitan Museum

of New York,

but keep it friendly, eh, chaps?

The local workers fear of a death curse

laid down on the tomb over 3,000 years ago.

Hasn't scared off expedition financier Felix Bleibner.

He's been joined for the opening by his nephew Rupert

and secretary Nigel Harper, photographing the occasion.

Smile, Men-her-Ra.

It's gonna take us some time

to get the seal off intact, Sir John.

No, no, no. Break the seal.

It'll only take five minutes, John.

For God's sake, Mr. Bleibner...

That seal hasn't been broken for over 3,000 years.

Then it's time it was.

Gentlemen,

the burial chamber of King Men-her-Ra.

Dr. Ames, quickly. He's ill.

Tragedy strikes in the Valley of the Kings.

Just minutes after breaking into the ancient tomb

of Egyptian pharaoh Men-her-Ra,

eminent archaeologist Sir John Willard is struck down

by a fatal heart attack.

Local rumors of an ancient curse on all those who enter the tomb

have been dismissed as preposterous.

Any messages, Miss Lemon?

No, Mr. Poirot. No.

Oh, yes. One.

Lady Willard telephoned.

She wants to consult you.

Huh.

I know.

Isn't it awful?

Does seem almost as if something were avenging itself

for desecrating the tomb.

Bonjour, mademoiselle.

I am expected.

- Do come in. - Thank you.

Merci.

My son has always been against

my calling on your assistance, Monsieur Poirot.

He thinks I'm listening to all this silly talk about a curse.

But my husband's death came as a very great shock to me.

Yes, of course.

And now my son wishes to go out to Egypt

to continue his father's work.

I cannot tell you why, Monsieur Poirot.

This whole enterprise has filled me with foreboding.

It's all those Americans, all those young men from Yale.

Seems they've been trying to take over the dig

right from the start.

Mother, really.

Mr. Bleibner put up the money for the entire show,

and without him, there wouldn't be any dig.

Well, I never trusted Felix Bleibner.

He's just a wealthy dabbler.

I see he's got his nephew up in there too.

Rupert's only there to visit his uncle.

Excuse me, Lady Willard, how may I be of service to you?

I imagine that there is no doubt that the death of your husband

was from the causes quite natural.

Well...

No doubt at all.

I'm so sorry.

It appears we've wasted your time,

Mr. Poirot.

I gave him a thorough examination

before we came out here.

His heart was sound as a bell.

It is weird, though, isn't it?

I mean, just the very instant the burial chamber was opened?

Well, I don't care about any rotten curse.

I'm off to New York on Thursday.

When's the happy day?

14th of next month,

unless Bob saves my life again.

He really did save my life once, you know?

No kidding?

I can save you from poor seamanship, Rupert,

but I'm no good on impending marriages.

You three were together at Yale, right?

God, does that seem an age ago.

Who's going to take over the excavation, do you think?

Well, that kind of depends on your uncle.

He is the money.

Do I get the impression

that Dr. Fosswell would not be averse?

Sure, the British Museum has got to be in the running.

And what about the Metropolitan?

Oh, modesty forbids.

Isn't it time you people were in bed?

Won't you join us, Uncle?

Oh, no. I just can't sleep.

Could you have a look at this thumb in the morning?

I'll have a look at it right now if you like, Mr. Bleibner,

before I go to bed.

It's, um...

that cut I got the other day.

Okay.

Good night, gentlemen.

Miss Lemon, if you please,

would you come through for a moment

with your notepad and pencil?

I want that you send a telegram

to the Assistant Commissioner Bergman

in the police department of New York.

Please supply all available biographical material

on Monsieur Rupert Bleibner,

nephew to the wealthy Monsieur Felix Bleibner.

Best wishes, Hercule Poirot.

I could say "biog."

Comment?

Instead of "biographical," I could say "biog."

Is that a word, Miss Lemon?

It sounds efficient.

I heard someone say it in a picture.

"Give me the biog on Dutch Schultz, Miss Longfellow."

"Biographical material" will do very nicely, thank you,

Miss Lemon.

- Oh. - What is it, Miss Lemon?

There's no need for you

to cable Assistant Commissioner Bergman.

Why is that, Miss Lemon?

You can cable Captain Hastings instead.

But Captain Hastings, he is in California, Miss Lemon.

No, he's on his way back.

He's staying in New York until Friday.

- Who is it? - Oh.

It's Arthur Hastings, actually.

Who?

Arthur Hastings.

I'm a friend of your uncle's.

Well, more of an acquaintance, really.

He said I should look you up.

Uncle Felix?

Yes.

You went out to Egypt to visit him recently, I gather.

How do you know him?

How?

Oh, well, just as one does, you know.

Just socially.

How did you find it out there?

Egypt, I mean.

Hot.

Look, Mr. Hastings,

I guess I'm not feeling all that sociable today.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I quite understand.

Good-bye.

Nice to meet you.

Look in again sometime.

Thank you.

Yes, I'll have tea and porridge and bacon and eggs, please.

Eggs over easy?

Uh, no. The other.

Two eggs, sunny side up.

Canadian bacon?

Oh, uh, yes. Thank you.

Good Lord.

Felix Bleibner is dead?

He died three days ago.

I'm sorry. I thought you already knew.

It was horrible, the most horrible death.

He was blind at the end.

Where's the doctor, Dr. Ames?

I'll take you to him.

Now, mind the legs.

Mind the legs!

Wouldn't it be better to wrap it?

No.

No, no, I don't think so.

It's better they be able to see what they're moving.

Oh, Dr. Ames, can I trouble you for a moment?

This is Sir Guy Willard, Sir John's son.

- Dr. Ames, how do you do? - Hello.

And this is Mr. Harper.

- How do you do? - And Dr. Schneider.

- Dr. Schneider. - Hi.

Sir Guy has come to take charge of the excavation.

Dr. Ames, I'm devastated by the news of Mr. Bleibner.

It was septicemia.

Yes, but how did it start?

A scratch on his thumb.

Nothing we could do seemed to stop it.

Dr. Ames amputated his left arm last week, but...

Amputated?

Why was I not informed?

Well, I... we weren't aware you were involved.

Well, I am involved.

The British Museum have agreed

that I should take over the excavation.

But surely Mr. Bleibner's death changes the situation.

Well, indeed it does, Dr. Schneider.