All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S10E06.Bend.It.Like.Brackenreid.720p.WEB-DL.DD5.1.h264-jAh_track4_[eng]

(theme music)

(shouts of encouragement)

(grandiose music)

Gentlemen. Lovely day for it.
Doctor.

Hello Dr. Ogden. I didn't know
you were a football fan.

I couldn't miss
the match that decides

which Canadian team will
go to the Olympic games.

What I would give to go
to St-Louis. The World's Fair

and the Olympics.
We have everything we need

right here in Toronto, son.

(little groans)

(referee's whistle)

(whistle and sigh)

(hubbub and whistle)

Now, watch the post!
Cover the p-the post!

(cheering)
Damn it!

These bloody free kicks
are the devil, I tell you.

Not to worry, Nobby. They've
only been playing five minutes.

Are you not cheering
for Toronto?

We're for Galt of course,
since old Nobby and I

go way back. Ever since
I came to Canada

and started playing football--
Teaching the colonials

the English game. You tackled
Nobby, then took your fight

off the field,
and were mates ever since.

It's nice to know
that you listen sometimes.

Your father hasn't changed
a bit, still as opinionated

and stubborn as ever.

(with a chuckle): I'll say.

Ugh! On him! On him!

That Semple lad is quite
the footballer. Reminds me

of a young Tommy Crawshaw.
He seems a bit selfish to me.

Nonsense! You always have your
best player leading the attack.

It makes more sense to me
to pass the ball around and use

the whole team.
Like the Scots do.

You've got a young
tactician on your hands, Tom.

The English invented football,
not the bloody Scots!

Kick and run, that's football!
Harcourt! Pay attention!

(loud cry and whistle blowing)

Lord Love-a-duck!
Gourlay, what was that?

These Galway lads have got
to learn to tackle, Nobby.

They won't be able to compete
at the Olympic games like this.

But help him up. Be
a gentleman about it, at least.

Enough play-acting.
Take my hand.

Get up man.
He should be
coming around by now.

Robert. Robert!

Inspector.

Move aside lads.

Give him some air.

He's dead!

(s

Julia. Sir.
What have we?

Robert Semple, star player
for the University team.

dropped dead on the field
after a hard tackle.

I believe he was stabbed.
I discovered a wound.

Stabbed? Sir, you
mentioned he was tackled.

Could the other player
have concealed a weapon?

This is football, Murdoch,
not rugby. The lad tackled him

with his legs. There was
no way that Semple here was

stabbed on the field of play.
I agree. Based

on the inflammation, the wound
is at least an hour old,

possibly as much as twelve.
He was stabbed

and got kitted up
to play. I'm impressed.

He should have been in a
hospital, not a football field!

Will you be able
to narrow that timeline at all?

I'll do my best,
but I can't guarantee it.

Hm!

(indistinct conversations)

(birds chirping)

Murdoch, meet my oldest
Canadian friend. Nobby!

So called because of his knobby
knees. Detective Murdoch.

Or my last name:
Andrew Nobson.

Sorry to meet you under
such unfortunate circumstances.

Indeed. You're

the trainer for the Galt team?
I am.

Did any of your players
have contact with Mr. Semple

in the last twelve hours?
Well, we hosted

a smoking concert
last night, for both teams.

I stayed away, so the lads
could enjoy themselves fully.

I imagine they would
have met Semple then.

Any animosities
that you're aware of?

No. No, they're good lads,
focused on nothing

but the Olympic Games.
I can vouch for the lot.

Of course. Don't you worry,
Nobby. I'll come find you later.

Alright, then.

So, let's start with the
Toronto captain, Wesley Patten.

Sir.
Sure,

I was with Robert last night.
So was everyone else here.

At the Galt football
team's smoking concert?

A good fifty people
were there.

What time did you leave?
Around eleven o'clock,

just like everyone else.
And Mr. Semple?

That was the last I saw him,

until we all got
to the field this morning,

around nine o'clock.
And did you notice anything

unusual about Mr. Semple
this morning?

He was tired. Robert's
never been a morning person.

Where was Mr. Semple between
the hours of eleven, last night,

and nine AM, this morning?

Esther Fields might know.

She's Robert's sweetheart.

I don't know what happened.

He was fine last night.
His typical self.

What time was it when you left
Mr. Semple last night?

I suppose it was around
two or so, this morning.

We went to a speakeasy
after the concert.

I'm ashamed to admit it.
Which speakeasy was this?

The one at College
and Brunswick Avenue.

I don't know the name of it.
I'd never been before.

Did Mr. Semple also
leave when you did?

I doubt it.
He was in fine form,

refusing to walk me home...
in favour of more drink.

I don't know where he went.

Nor should I like to.

Dr. Ogden.

Look at this.

Thread?!

This wound was stitched.

Badly, at that.

The needle marks
are quite jagged.

I daresay you would do
a much better job.

I'm not so certain. I've
never been much of a seamstress.

It's a bad business,
Tom. Bad for both teams.

What will you do
about the match?

It has to be replayed.
The apple doesn't fall

too far, eh? He's got
promise, that one.

(Tom laughs a little.)

(groaning with effort
and sighing)

Can't kick a ball straight
to save his life.

He's still young.
He can practice with us

while we're here.
I doubt it will do any good,

but that's very kind
of you nonetheless.

Just what
old friends do!

(grunts and chuckles)

Ah! Sirs, I have
the soccer team rosters here.

You mean the football
team rosters.

Yes, I mean the same, sir.
"Soccer" is a term

nicknamed by
some Oxford chap.

Apparently,
it means "association".

As in association football.
Some Toronto lad

was using the term.
It seems to be catching on.

I will not have you copying
some toffee-nosed prat

repeating another toffee-
nosed prat. The sport

is called football,
Crabtree, plain and simple.

Sir, should the nickname
not be adopted?

I mean, we already have
another sport known as football.

It is somewhat confusing.

Should a sport wherein
the players pick up the ball

in their hands and run down
the field be called football,

or should it be the sport
wherein the players

kick a ball with their feet?!
(Georges groans dubiously.)

George, why don't you
walk us through

Robert Semple's final hours?
Sir, gladly.

Um... At eight PM,
he arrived with his teammates

at the town hall
for the smoking concert.

He stayed there for the
duration, until eleven.

He didn't leave at all?
Nobody saw him leave, sir.

And I don't doubt it.
What a show!

There was a boxing match
and not one, but two strong men.

Uh... champagne,
a full steak dinner!

I wonder at the wisdom
of a heavy meal

and alcohol the night before
an important sporting event.

A night out is a good way
to unwind, Murdoch.

Keeps the body limber.
It's why the English

are the best
footballers in the world!

Carry on, George.
Right.

After the smoking concert
broke up at eleven, Mr. Semple

and a few friends carried on
to a speakeasy at College Street

and Brunswick Avenue. The lads
are searching there now.

Where did Semple go next?
Well, we don't know, sir.

Nobody saw hide nor hair
of him after two AM

until he showed up
at the field this morning.

Cause of death was shock due
to rupture of the liver.

Do we know
how that happened?

It appears the liver
was nicked by the knife,

which itself would not
have been fatal.

But when he collided
with the Galt player,

I believe the nick tore open
and the liver ruptured.

His body went into arrest,
stopping his heart.

I won't be telling that
to the young Galt player

who tackled him.
Was he not in pain?

Given the amount
of alcohol in his blood,

he was likely inebriated enough
to dull the pain significantly.

What about the weapon?
The weapon appears to be

an average dinner knife.
One used to eat

a steak dinner, for example?
That would be consistent

with his injuries, yes.
As for when the wound

was inflicted, I believe Miss
James and I did rather well.

The wound was still
in haemostasis and appeared...

fairly new, meaning it occurred
within twelve hours.

There is some discolouration,
which can begin

four to six hours after
the bruise first appears.

Combine that with
the rate of inflammation

and the beginnings
of scabbing and--

Perhaps you might cut
to Hecuba, Miss James.

Yes, yes. Of course,
Inspector. We believe Mr. Semple

was stabbed six to eight
hours before his death.

So the stabbing occurred
between two and four AM,

likely with a knife that was
stolen from the town hall.

Also, he may have seen
a friend after the stabbing.

How is that?
We found remnants

of thread inside the wound
and puncture marks,

consistent with a sewing
needle. But the stitching

was not done
by a professional.

Mr. Semple tried
to stitch himself up?

I highly doubt it.
So, he got a friend to help.

But why not report it?
Why pretend it never happened?

He didn't want anyone
to know that he'd been attacked?

Perhaps out of pride?
Or he wished to keep secret

the reason for the attack,
out of shame or guilt.

Possibly. Either way, it
would have cost him his chance

at glory. No athlete worth his
salt would want to miss a shot

at the Olympic Games,
no matter what the cost.

I enquired
at the town hall.

They say catering is missing
a knife but that's not entirely

uncommon after such
a large function. In fact,

they engrave the hilts
of their knives with "H&L,"

in order to
discourage such theft.

Tell the lads to add that
to their search.

Sir, I will do. But no knife
of any sort has been found.

This is a list of all those
who accompanied the victim

to the speakeasy after
the smoking concert?

That's right, sir. Esther
Fields, Harriet Harcourt,

Leland Harcourt
and Jack Gourlay.

The last two are Galt
players. Are you certain?

Quite certain, sir.
They've all said as much.

Uh, Esther Fields is
the victim's sweetheart.

Harriet Harcourt is
Miss Fields' bosom friend.

Leland Harcourt
is a Galt player,

also Harriet Harcourt's brother.

Harriet Harcourt is from Galt.
That's right, sir.

And of course, Jack Gourlay

is Galt's team captain.

Fine player, too.
He is also Harriet Harcourt's

fiancé. It's rather
a tangled web.

Indeed. They are all
connected to each other,

but only Miss Fields is
connected to the victim.

What motive
could the Galt lads

have against a Toronto player?
Well, sir, Robert Semple

is Toronto's best player.
Take him out and you're off

to the Olympic Games.
Exactly.

But if I'm Robert Semple and I'm
being stabbed by my opponent,

I report it. Galt's disqualified

and I'm off to the Olympic
Games. But that didn't happen.

so it had to be one
of the lads on his own team.

But no Toronto players
were with the victim

at that late hour.
And there's our conundrum,

Murdoch. Crabtree, I want you
to search every nook and cranny

of that speakeasy.
Find the knife. Murdoch,

talk to the ladies. I'll have
a word with the Galt players.

Mr. Harcourt,

what time did you leave
the speakeasy last night?

About one o'clock, I think.
I walked my sister home

then went back to my rooms.
How well did you know
the deceased?

I only met Semple last night.
Tom!

So glad you're here.
Just a moment, Nobby.

Did you notice anything unusual?
Just his general demeanour

was not very pleasant. Though I
gather that wasn't particularly

unusual. I don't know
what else I can tell you.

Thank you. Rejoin
the practice.

I'll talk to Gourlay next.
Of course,

but Tom, while I have you here,
I could really use your help

with the lads' tackling.
I wish I could, Nobby.

Just a quick demonstration.
You always were the best.

You had it down to a science.
An art, more like.

Oh, go on then, I can
spare you a couple of minutes.

Right then, Lads!
Be prepared to learn

the art of the
Brackenreid slide tackle!

(chuckle)

I knew Robert Semple
because of Esther.

I don't know why
she stayed with him.

Why do you say that,
Miss Harcourt?

He wasn't very
attentive to her.

Ah. Tell me about last night,
as you remember it.

There isn't much to tell.

I only went to the smoking
concert because Jack and Leland

are in town.
Your brother and your fiancé.

Yes. Leland
warned me about Toronto.

But I so wanted
to live here.

Jack was so good to wait
to marry until I finished

my studies.
But Leland was right:

It's too dangerous here
for a Galt girl.

Where did you go
after the smoking concert?

I walked with them
to the speakeasy,

but I was tired.
I didn't even go inside.

Did you see
anything unusual?

Anyone angry
with Mr. Semple?

Esther was.

But... I don't know
if that counts

as unusual.

(grunts)

It's a lost cause, Nobby.
You're better off

not tackling at all.
Blasted free kicks.

I wish we could just
brick up the bloody net.

Good lord!
It's that simple!

Lads! Six of you,
shoulder to shoulder!

♪

(dynamic, heroic music)

Why are we making
a wall of men?

It's not a wall,
it's a barricade.

Against free kicks:
your team weakness.

This must be against
the laws of the game.

The opposing players must
stand at least six yards away

from the ball
during a free kick.

Yes, but it doesn't say
how many opposing players.

Why has no one
thought of this before?

Because it's
the height of foolishness.

I don't want a
ball aimed at my face.
Or my head! It takes an hour

to brilliantine
my hair into place.

Tom, perhaps this is a bit
much. I can't ask the lads

to put themselves
in harm's way like this.

I can't believe I'm
hearing this. The fabled Galt

Porridge-Eating Invincibles
scared of a little old football?

Hardly the attitude
of Olympic champions!

I'll show you the attitude
of a champion. John Brackenreid!

Me?
Get in the barricade.

Right, lads.
Flank him either side.

But father--

Tom!
Ready?

OH!

(moaning)
Good lord, are you all right?

'Course he's all right.
Get up, John.

I don't believe it. It worked!
Your barricade worked, Tom!

Of course it worked. Now you
can give away all the free kicks

you like. Right.
My work here is done.

Better get back
to some real work.

(runners panting)
Miss Fields,

you neglected to mention
that you had an argument

with Mr. Semple last night.
There was nothing to mention.

It's somewhat
of a daily thing.

Or was, I suppose.

What was the argument about?
Just his usual behaviour.

He refused
to walk me home,

like I told you.

He was too busy
drinking and showing off.

Showing off for whom?

Jack Gourlay.
Harriet's fiancé.

As much of a drunken lout
as the rest of them.

I think Semple and I
parted ways about 2:30,

though I wouldn't swear to it.
And that was the last you saw

of him until this morning?
Right. Or, perhaps not.

Explain, Mr. Gourley.
After I left the speakeasy

I got a bit turned around.
I managed to find my way

back there and saw someone,
who I think was Semple,

stumbling out of
a laneway. I called out

but he didn't turn around.
Maybe it wasn't him.

What laneway was this?
Outside the speakeasy?

I don't know. It's
my first time to Toronto.

Uh, I think I saw...
something that looked

like over-large thimble.
You could ask Wesley.

Wesley Patten?
The Toronto captain?

Well, yes. He's the one
who took us to the speakeasy

in the first place.
One! Two!

Mr. Patten! A moment.

Why is Galt practicing so much
with the ball? Everyone knows

it lessens the hunger
for it come game day.

Mr. Patten, football
is the least of your worries

at the moment.
You lied to me.

You were at the speakeasy
with Robert Semple.

Right then. Off
to the station house.

All right. Yes, I lied.

If it gets back to the
University that I went

to an illegal establishment,
I'll be kicked off the team.

Then why did you go
in the first place?

I had to keep
an eye on Robert.

Well, you didn't
do a very good job of it.
Don't think I don't know that.

I wouldn't normally
leave him in that state,

but we had a big match in
a few hours, and I needed sleep.

What time did you leave?
Just before 2 AM.

And that's the last
you saw of Mr. Semple?

Yes. That's the truth,
I swear it.

Sir.
Ah, Murdoch.

I've finally found a good use
for your chalkboard: tactics.

Tactics?
Formations, Murdoch,

formations. See, this
is the standard 2-3-5.

The pyramid formation.
But on this side

is my invention:
the 4-4-2.

Oh!
The more I watch football,

the more I've come
to realize the importance

of a good defense.
You can't win football games

if you're constantly
letting goals in.

I suppose so, but
if you bolster your defense

at the expense of your offense,

you won't be scoring
many goals, either.

I know, I know. The 2-3-5
does make more sense.

I just can't
think anymore.

So, where are we at?

Well, sir,
Jack Gourlay saw someone

stumbling out
into the laneway.

Well, that could
have been Semple.

Or it could have
been his attacker.

If Semple was stabbed
outside the speakeasy,

we would surely have found
evidence of it by now.

Well, I don't believe he was
stabbed outside the speakeasy.

But... somewhere nearby.

An over-sized thimble,

just as Jack Gourlay described
it. Good work, Murdoch.

And only a block
away from the speakeasy.

We may yet find
our crime scene.

♪
(indistinct voices)

Murdoch.
Ah?

A blood trail.

Two trails, it seems.
One made by the victim

and the other
by his attacker, presumably.

Which should we follow first?
Sir, why don't you take

that direction.
And what will you do?

How will you follow the trail
without the blue light?

Ultraviolet, sir.
And you are correct.

But I anticipated that
we'd have difficulty,

so I brought two.
Ah!

♪

♪

(loud knocking)

Mr. Patten?
Detective.

Tom!

What am I

doing here, Nobby. The blood
trail led right to your hotel.

I don't know anything
about it. I wasn't even

out the night
that poor lad was stabbed.

You know it's the truth.
Are all your players

staying at the
same hotel with you?

No. They're all billeted.
Look, I can see

what you're thinking. It's
far too great a coincidence

that the victim's blood ended up
on the steps of my hotel--

That is the sum of it, yes.
Come now, Tom.

You've known me for years.
You know the type

of man I am.
Nobby--

And you know I've no time for
anything other than preparing

my team for the biggest
competition of their lives.

It's not every day the
Olympic Games come calling.

Murdoch.

Sir,

perhaps Mr. Nobson
is telling the truth.

He's involved in some way,
whether he knows it or not.

I've sent
George to search

along both blood trails
for the murder weapon.

What if someone
is trying to lay blame

on Nobby or the
Galt team in general?

Perhaps we should speak
with the person at the end

of the other blood trail.
The Toronto captain.

Wesley Patten.

(dramatic music)

We found Robert Semple's

blood in a laneway
behind the speakeasy.

Two blood trails
diverged from that laneway.

One went to Mr. Nobson's hotel,

the other to your residence.
I can explain that.

At least, I can
explain half of it.

Please!
I did leave the speakeasy

earlier than Robert,
like I told you.

I just... didn't tell you
what happened afterwards.

Which makes it the second
time you've lied to us

in as many conversations.
Talk!

The truth this time.

Maybe an hour after
I got home, around three,

Robert showed up
at my door, bleeding.

Why didn't you
go fetch a doctor?
He wouldn't let me.

If we'd gone to hospital, he
wouldn't have been able to play

the match. And...

I'm ashamed to say,
we needed him.

And the cut looked small enough.
So, you sewed it shut?

I insisted.
In the morning

he wasn't any worse for wear
than after any other night out.

He really did seem fine.

You don't seem to be
taking his death very hard.

It's a terrible
thing to say,

but I'm almost
relieved he's gone.

Why do you say that?
The University

expects us to conduct
ourselves like gentlemen.

Robert was no gentleman.

I was tired of my future on
the team being tied up with his.

Never mind how
he treated poor Esther.

How did he treat her?
A rumour went around

the smoking concert
that he'd been unfaithful.

Just a rumour?
I doubt it.

Seeing as it was spread about
by Robert himself.

Why did you put up with him?
You're a pleasant young thing.

Surely you could
attract a better beau.

I wouldn't expect a man to
understand a woman's burdens.

You were aware of
his indiscretions, then?

Unfortunately.

That is the real reason
you were angry at Mr. Semple.

You heard the rumour
of his infidelity,

at the smoking concert?

So you took a knife
from the dinner, waited

till everyone left, and
then stabbed him in revenge.

Of course not!
I was angry, yes,

but... I was more ashamed.

I confronted him, I admit it.
In front of everyone.

And you know what he did?

The bastard laughed.

He laughed at me.
I might have dismissed it

as one of Robert's
cruel jokes except...

for her behaviour toward me
the past few weeks.

Distant. Apologetic.

Whose behaviour?
Surely you know.

It's been all over
the university.

Harriet Harcourt.

(with a start):
Detective! Inspector.

My brother is waiting
for me at the field.

Oh. Allow us
to escort you.

How is the
investigation going?

We are proceeding.
Have you a suspect in mind?

We have learned
of certain events recently

that have narrowed
our search considerably.

Which is why
we need to speak to you.

I'm sure I can't help you.
Did you have an affair

with Robert Semple?

(She starts crying.)

Perhaps a bit direct, sir.

Got a result, though.
Certainly seemed

like a yes to me.
In that case,

no one had more motive than the
last man that was with Semple:

Jack Gourlay.
Beware a man cuckolded.

Yes, sir.

Ugh...
(honking)

Just how bad
is a constable's salary

that he is forced to forage
for his lunch in such a manner?

Ha ha ha...
Miss James!

What a pleasant surprise.
Although, not for you,

considering the state I'm in.
What are you doing?

I'm looking...
for the murder weapon.

Detective Murdoch
discovered a trail of blood

and I'm to follow
the route, checking every...

garbage can and sewer hole.
Perhaps I can help.

I'm used to having my arms
elbow-deep in arguably

worse conditions. And
I know the kind of knife

you're looking for.
Both excellent points,

Miss James. Consider
yourself deputized.

Where should I begin?

Julia?!

William!

What are you doing here?
Mr. Nobson asked me

if I could recommend
a doctor who could help out

with the boys.
So I offered my services.

Oh, I fear
you'll be overworked.

I tell you, William, the way
these boys abuse their bodies,

they should have a doctor
follow them everywhere they go!

Indeed.
Good!

(groan)
Nobby!

Tom. I am in
the middle of practice.

I've come to see
Mr. Gourlay.

Gourlay!

The lads should go easy
on practicing the barricade.

You don't want any injuries
before for the match.

I can manage
my team, thank you.

Put John in the middle.
John, get yourself up here.

Let him take
the brunt of it.

Lads, practice aiming
your kicks at John.

(panting): I wish
I could, father,

but I've hurt my ankle,
I can barely stand.

(with a big sigh):
Go and see Dr. Ogden

on the sidelines.

Mr. Gourlay,
you're coming with me.

I have been jealous
of Harriet, I admit.

She's been in the city, having
all sorts of adventures...

I've been working at my father's
dry goods store in Galt.

You must have been
looking forward to this trip.

Oh yes! The match,
the smoking concert.

But most of all, Harriet.

Yes, your visit
with Miss Harcourt

hasn't gone exactly
as you expected.

Harriet's been so cold.

So odd. She won't talk to me,
she won't touch me.

She didn't even want to go
to the smoking concert.

She needn't have bothered, she
was a wet blanket all evening.

You must have heard the
rumour. Semple and your fiancée.

It's a pack of lies.
I said so to his face.

He was no Toronto gentleman.
He wouldn't even apologize.

It made you angry.
I couldn't just let it go.

Though I'm ashamed of
what happened on the field

the next day.
The tackle, you mean.

It was a hard one.
Unsporting.

And I'd already made my feelings
known the night before.

The two of you fought
at the speakeasy?

We were both so drunk
neither of us managed to land

a single blow. We agreed
to let the match

settle our grievances.

Why did you leave all of this
out of your earlier account?

I'm not normally one
to stoop to a barroom brawl.

I'm the captain of the Galt
football team.

And I may well
soon be an Olympian.

It's no light responsibility.

(shouts from the game)
It's my left ankle.

But you were limping
with your right.

John, do you not
want to play?

I do want to play.
Just not my father's way.

But a Brackenreid plays
like a true Englishman.

And a Brackenreid
tackles at the knees.

A Brackenreid brawls
on the field and off.

Surely there can be more
than one kind of Brackenreid.

Not according
to my father. Hm!

Your father
is a fair man,

if a little
pigheaded at times.

But you are old enough
to be your own man, John.

But in the meantime,
I'll wrap your foot

and we'll keep up
your pretense.

At least until you can
build up a little of that...

infamous
Brackenreid courage.

I admit I don't know
much about football,

but it does look quite fun.

Oh, Miss James,
I'm sure you would excel.

Surely, there is a ladies
team at the university.

I don't think
I'd be welcome.

In that case...

let's you and I
have a go right now.

I couldn't.
There you are, come on.

Nobody watching.

Constable Crabtree!

That looks like blood.

Crabtree!

Sir. There are
no fingermarks on the knife.

It's been thoroughly
wiped cleaned.

Is that the murder weapon?
Yes, sir. Rebecca James

confirmed a much, as does
the engraving on the hilt.

Where was it found?
Outside Andrew Nobson's

hotel, sir.
Oh...

So we're back
to Nobby. Or at least

someone who wants us
to think it's Nobby.

Sir, there's one more piece
of evidence you should see.

(very hushed): Oh...

A.N. Andrew Nobson.

Protest, Nobby.
Tell me it's not yours.

Tell me we're wrong.

Look, I'm on your side,

but I need you to
speak up in your defence.

Bloody hell, Andrew!

All our years of friendship
have come to this?

I'm sorry, Tom.

Not as sorry as I am.

Crabtree searched Nobby's
room. His boots were caked

with grass and dirt
but no trace of blood.

He couldn't have been
the one to make the blood trail.

His guilt does seem unlikely.
But until he speaks to us...

He's protecting someone.
I can't see any other reason

for his silence.
Then we should re-examine

the Galt players, Jack Gourlay
and Leland Harcourt.

Gourlay has motive, seeing
as his fiancé was the one

carrying on with the victim.
But without Nobby's cooperation

we have nothing on him.

Well, if Mr. Nobson
won't speak to us,

perhaps Miss Harcourt will.
The last time we tried

with her
she burst into tears.

Ask the good doctor
to lend you a hand.

These past few days
must have been difficult?

Having to mourn the loss
of a lover in secret.

He wasn't my lover.
I hated him.

Mr. Semple
told your fiancé

of a dalliance
the two of you shared.

He told Jack that?

Was it true?

I can't deny it.
But it only happened once.

A terrible mistake.

Jack didn't kill
Robert. I know it.

Your faith in him
is admirable, but--

I know it
because I did it.

I killed Robert Semple.

Miss Harcourt, do you
realize what you're saying?

I do. Robert
attacked me.

I stabbed him
to defend myself.

Where did this happen?

In a laneway.
And then you went

to the speakeasy?
Or... return to the speakeasy?

Yes. Or... no.

It was before
the speakeasy.

Or after. Um,
I don't recall.

Take your time.
Start at the beginning.

It's all a blur.

He attacked me,
I stabbed him. I went home.

And what did you do
with the knife?

I left it there.
In the laneway.

Miss Harcourt, did you
visit Mr. Nobson that evening?

No. Of course not.

I stabbed Robert. No one else
knew anything about it.

I'm the only guilty one.

Miss Harcourt, I imagine
you could use a cup of tea.

Please, excuse me.

Miss Harcourt, your
description of the incident

doesn't match
the evidence.

I'm telling you
I did it.

Isn't that enough?

You didn't stab
Robert Semple.

But he did
attack you, didn't he?

But perhaps not
on the night in question?

You think by taking
the blame you'll feel better.

But in my experience,

it's only the truth
that brings you peace.

Harriet. Whatever

you tell me,
I will believe you.

One evening I was
walking home from class.

I ran into Robert. He was
going to see Esther, he said,

and would walk me to
our residence. I agreed.

Why wouldn't I?

He said he needed
to stop by his room.

I was going
to wait outside,

but he offered
to sneak me past the Don.

It was cold,
and I knew him.

He took advantage
of you in his room?

It was all my fault.

I went in willingly. I put
myself in that position.

I am entirely to blame.

You told no one?

I tried to pretend
it didn't happen.

Jack would have
left me. My family...

would have been
disgraced. But Robert...

Robert wouldn't
let me forget.

Which is why you didn't want
to go to the smoking concert,

or join your friends
at the speakeasy.

I thought it would
happen again.

You took a knife from the
dinner, to protect yourself.

I would have used it.

But you didn't.
Mr. Gourlay did.

No. I swear Jack had
nothing to do with this.

Oh, Harriet.

You've been
protecting your brother.

(sobbing)

My sister was
so frightened she was

walking around with a knife.
You could have come
to the police.

And pit her word against
the great Robert Semple,

hero of the University football
team? He would have said

she consented and the matter
would have disappeared.

You walked your sister home,
that much is true?

Yes. She was so upset.

I had to pry the knife
out of her hand.

You then went
to find Robert Semple.

Hey, Semple!

I told him to leave Harriet
alone. I'm talking to you!

He refused.
And?

Leave her alone.
He said:

All girls play the innocent,
but it's just for show.

(cry of rage,
slide of knife and groans)

One moment the knife
was in my hand, the next...

it was sticking in Robert.

You then ran
to Mr. Nobson for help?

He told me to go home,

get my rest for the game.
It would all be all right.

Then I saw Robert on the field
the next morning.

I thought... maybe I'd
dreamt the whole thing.

I've let everyone down,
haven't I?

(knocking)

(sad, melancholy music)

Go! Go!
(grunts)

Good, lads! Very good!

(chuckles)

That's it! That's it!

Leland is a good lad.

He just made a bad mistake.

As did you.
I know, Tom.

And I'm prepared
to pay for it.

Why do you only have
ten men on the field?

We didn't travel
with any substitutes.

We have to play
a man short.

John, get yourself up here.

He may only be a young man,
but he's a man nonetheless.

You're in, lad. Halfback.

No.

What?
I said no. I won't play

unless I can play my way.
What are you on about?

I don't tackle, and I don't
run straight for the net.

I won't kick long balls.
I will pass and use my teammates

like the Scots, because
that's the way I play.

Bloody hell.
I may not be able to kick

a ball straight,
but I'm a good player

and I know the game
as well as anyone.

And I am a Brackenreid.
Except I'm John Brackenreid,

and there is room for more
than one kind of Brackenreid.

No son, you're wrong.

There is only
one kind of Brackenreid.

The one who speaks his mind.
Now get out there

and pass your way
to the Olympic bloody Games.

(rising momentum in music)

Pass it on! Pass it on!

Let's go! Let's go!

Bring it up! Bring it up!

Pass it on!

Shoot! Shoot!

YES!!
(whistle blow)

(acclamations)

Nice one!
(chuckles)

(triumphant music)

Tackle him.

Tackle him! On him!

(whistle blow and cheering)

Let's keep it going!

One minute to go.

Defense!

Foul, there!
(whistle blow)

Yes!
This is it. This is it.

This is our moment. Gourlay!

Take the kick!

Gourlay got this! Yeah! Do it!

What are they doing?
Good lord, Tom,

they're copying our barricade!
We should

have seen this coming.
This is our last chance

to take the game.
What are we going to do?

John should take the kick.

But he can't kick a straight
ball to save his life.

Exactly.

(chuckling): John Brackenreid!
Take the kick!

Huh?

(some shouts)

(some clapping)

(whistle blow)

(groan)

(loud cheering
and whistle blowing)

We won! We won!

We're going to
the Olympic bloody Games!

(chuckles)
God!

You'll deserve any medal
they win as if you were

right there with them. McNabb!

Thank you, Tom.

Being here for this match
means the world to me.

Just what old friends do.

The lads will be needing
a firm hand in St. Louis.

I wouldn't trust
my team to anyone else.

Good luck.

Thomas C. Brackenreid,

Olympian.

I'll be gone a couple' weeks.

Write? I'll be telegraphing.
Sod the long distance.

How often will I get to manage
a team at the Olympic games.

Too right, sir. And if
you have a chance to pick up

some of that fairy floss,
I'd be much obliged.

I'll see what I can do,
Crabtree. Now, Murdoch,

the payroll is in the safe,
mark the ledger exactly

as I do it. Also,
the shed needs clearing out.

I've left a long list
of duties on my desk.

We'll try to manage,
sir. Oh, and, uh,

be sure to visit the electrical
pavilion at the fair.

I understand
they have a new plug
and wall socket installation.

I'll be sure to make it
my first port of call, Murdoch.

Right. And these
are from Dr. Ogden:

bandages and a liniment
of her own creation

for players' aches and pains.
That's very kind of her!

Please, thank her for me.
Ready, father? We don't want

to miss the train. They've
decorated a special car

just for the team, with red and
white bunting, and streamers,

and a sign telling everyone
the Galt Football Team is going

to the Olympic Games.
Well, let's get going then!

Ah! George Crabtree
spies an open Rebecca James.

(chuckles)

Not bad, Miss James...
for a lady.

Who knows, Inspector,
maybe one day

there'll be a team of Canadian
women vying for Olympic gold.

(chuckling):
That'll be the day.

Come on John,
let's go get a medal.

(grand musical conclusion)

(theme music)

Closed Captioning by: Sette inc.

♪