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"Agatha Christie: Poirot" The Adventure of the Clapham Cook (TV Episode 1989) Poster

Quotes

Captain Hastings: Look at that, Poirot. Look at that view!

Hercule Poirot: Yes, well, views are very nice, Hastings. But they should be painted for us, so that we may study them in the warmth and comfort of our own home. That is why we pay the artist, for exposing himself to these conditions on our behalf.

Captain Hastings: What do you mean, conditions? It's a wonderful day.

[takes a deep breath]

Captain Hastings: Just fill your lungs with that air.

Hercule Poirot: No, my poor friend, this sort of air is intended for birds and little furry things. The lungs of Hercule Poirot demand something more substantial: the good air of the town!

[first lines]

Captain Hastings: Husband put head in gas oven; home life happy.

Hercule Poirot: No.

Captain Hastings: Belgravia and Overseas Bank clerk absconds with fortune.

Hercule Poirot: How much is this fortune?

Captain Hastings: Uh... ninety thousand pounds.

Hercule Poirot: No.

Captain Hastings: That's a king's ransom, Poirot.

Hercule Poirot: When it is used to ransom a king, it becomes interesting to Poirot.

Hercule Poirot: Look at it, Hastings. Not a building in sight. Not a restaurant, not a theatre, not an art gallery. A wasteland.

Captain Hastings: I thought you liked the country.

Hercule Poirot: But this is not the country, my friend. The country is full of trees, and flowers... and public houses. This is a desert.

Captain Hastings: [On the moor, walking in puddles besides the sheep] Look at that, Poirot! Look at that view!

Hercule Poirot: Yes, views are very nice, Hastings. But they should be painted for us, so that we may study them in the warmth and comfort of our own homes. That is why we pay the artist, for exposing himself to these conditions on our behalf.

Captain Hastings: What do you mean, conditions? It's a wonderful day! Just fill your lungs with that air!

Hercule Poirot: No, my poor friend. This sort of air is intended for birds and little furry things! The lungs of Hercule Poirot demands something more substantial! The good air of the town!

Police Constable: Who are you?

Hercule Poirot: I am Hercule Poirot. Who are you?

Police Constable: [Calling over his shoulder] Sarge? There's some French gent at the door.

Hercule Poirot: No no no, I am not some French gent, I am some *Belgian* gent.

Police Sergeant: Well well well, if it isn't Mr Poirot.

Hercule Poirot: It is. Is the lady of the house in?

Police Sergeant: The chief inspector's here.

Mrs. Ernestine Todd: [from the window] Mr Poirot!

Hercule Poirot: Ah! Mrs Todd, good morn...

Mrs. Ernestine Todd: I don't know how you have the impertance to show your face here again.

Hercule Poirot: But Mrs Todd...

Mrs. Ernestine Todd: You were paid off, Mr Poirot, you were paid off handsomely.

Hercule Poirot: Well...

Mrs. Ernestine Todd: And now, look at this, you've got policemen crawling all over the house!

Chief Inspector Japp: You're not too popular in Clapham this morning, Poirot. Bit of a wild goose chase, this. As far as we can ascertain, this Mr Simpson of yours is a perfectly respectable young bank employee, who happens to have gone home to his family. We have the Shropshire Constabulary checking that at the moment.

Hercule Poirot: I only wanted to ask...

Mrs. Ernestine Todd: No!

Hercule Poirot: Well, perhaps you'd be interested to know...

Mrs. Ernestine Todd: No, I wouldn't! Good day, Mr Poirot!

[Shuts the window. Poirot starts to say something]

Chief Inspector Japp: Poirot.

[Shuts the door in Poirot's face]

[last lines]

Hercule Poirot: "Pay to Hercule Poirot the sum of one guinea only. Ernest Todd." It is to me, Hastings, a little reminder never to despise the trivial, hein, but the undignified. A disappearing domestic at one end, a cold-blooded murder at the other.

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Hercule Poirot: [On the train, looking out at the beautiful landscape] Look at it, Hastings. Not a building in sight. Not a restaurant, not a theatre, not an art gallery. A wasteland!

Captain Hastings: I thought you liked the country?

Hercule Poirot: But this is not the country, my friend. The country is full of trees. And flowers! And public houses! This is a desert!

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