Original subtitles

[ Camera shutter clicks]

Time to move along, old fella.

Oi. I said wake up.

Or is it a visit to the cells you're after?

Right, then.

Up with you.

Oh, holy jumpin'...

[Whistle blowing]

Dr. Grace, you're up and about very early.

I was doing my morning calisthenics, Detective.

Good for the heart and mind.

I see. What have you?

DR. GRACE: Stab wound to the abdomen.

Judging by the lack of rigor,

the victim's been dead for many hours.

No sign of a struggle.

Very little blood.

I don't believe he was killed here.

Oh? Who found him?

JACKSON: I did, sir.

I thought he was a tramp sleeping it off.

You might want to talk to this young man.

He was here at first light.

Bird watcher, of all things.

Nigel Barnes, Detective.

Good day, Mr. Barnes.

I can't say I can be of much help.

You didn't see anything out of the ordinary this morning?

I didn't. Not many frequent the park at this hour.

Actually, as I arrived, I saw a man leaving.

- He seemed in quite a hurry. - Really?

Can you describe him?

Yes. He had a long coat.

Oh, and a beard.

That's all I can remember. Birds are more my interest.

Thank you, Mr. Barnes.

Well-dressed.

Nothing to identify him, just this key...

and pages torn from a book.

A novel, it seems.

Odd.

Appears to have dried blood on his index finger.

DR. GRACE: But very little blood on him or around him.

So why would someone kill him,

then leave his body in a public place?

Someone wanted him found.

The question is, why?

[ Indistinct conversations]

HIGGINS: Ah, sir.

Someone to see you, an Owen Hume.

He'll only talk to you.

Can I help you, Mr. Hume?

Yes, Detective.

My employer, Mr. Randolph Sampson,

is missing.

"Sampson" with -- with a "P."

Can you describe Mr. Sampson?

He is 60, gray hair, not tall nor large in girth,

and he takes great pride in his appearance.

Please come with me, Mr. Hume.

When did you last see Mr. Sampson?

Two days ago.

He left the office as usual at 6:00.

What does he do?

Mr. Sampson is a lawyer.

I've been his clerk the past two years.

Prepare yourself, Mr. Hume.

That's him.

Poor Mr. Sampson.

So, this clerk identified the corpse.

Yes, sir, a Randolph Sampson.

But there was no apparent motive for the murder?

No, sir. He seemed an ordinary man with an ordinary life.

Any clue what happened?

Well, sir, these pages were found on Mr. Sampson's person.

They're from a recent novella by Mark Twain.

Maybe he liked reading three pages at a time.

Pages 39, 81, and 146, sir?

Oh, I see what you mean.

Sir, where is Constable Crabtree?

Medical school.

Oh. ls George considering a career change?

That was a joke, sir.

Oh. I don't recall you making many of those

in the last 12 years, Murdoch.

Oh, very good, sir.

It was there, right there.

A corpse simply doesn't get up and walk away.

Well, clearly not, Dr. Dempsey.

It must be found with all dispatch.

The brain cannot deteriorate.

My research grant depends on it.

Sir?

I'm in the midst of proving a theory.

I believe that high intelligence

is correlated to a high density of neurons in the brain.

The cadaver was an eminent philosopher, a brilliant man.

I need to examine his brain.

Right. Uh, what was the deceased's name, sir?

Professor Andrew Richardson.

And he -- or it, I suppose -- arrived here yesterday?

Yes. As soon as I was notified of his death,

I arranged for the delivery.

I've already told you, Constable.

It was right here on this table.

Dr. Dempsey, may I ask,

how do you go about choosing the right brain to out up?

I placed an excruciatingly difficult puzzle

in the newspaper.

Those who responded correctly

were invited to donate their brains to my research.

After they died, I assume? Y.-

- Of course. - Only one agreed.

Professor Richardson.

This was no ordinary cadaver, Constable.

Well, clearly not.

Uh, Doctor, do you have a photograph I could use

-for identification purposes? - No. I do not.

What the man looked like is irrelevant to me,

just the contents of his skull.

DR. OGDEN: So Kathleen King has left us?

HAILE: It would appear so.

DR. OGDEN: And the Furious Four?

Is now the Terrible Three.

What have we gained?

A hundred signatures on a petition.

Which was ripped up.

And a demonstration which, despite the fracas,

hardly set the world on fire.

So, we need a bigger stage

to put women's suffrage before the public.

A provincial election is coming up.

Can we use that in some way?

I don't see how.

We'll gain no purchase

from those stuffy sitting politicians.

What if one of us were to run?

What do you mean?

It would never occur to legislature

that a woman would run for office.

Perhaps they never bothered to put it in writing.

We're going to need a legal opinion.

[ Chuckles ]

I know just the woman for the job.

Mrs. Dewar, these pages are from a recent novella by Mark Twain,

"A Double Barrelled Detective Story."

I understand your shop is the only one in town

that has a copy.

Mysteries are my specialty, Detective.

The story features Sherlock Holmes.

I'm sure you'd find it quite illuminating.

It's hot off the press.

So you do have a copy?

Oh, I did, but it sold, but I could order you another.

Oh, I'm afraid I'm not much of one for novels.

Um, do you know who you sold the book to?

It was a regular of mine, Annie Cranston.

She works in Minnie's Tea Room.

Quite the reader.

- Good day, sir. - Good day.

I'm looking for a waitress here, a Miss Cranston.

Oh, that's Annie. She's over there.

Thank you.

Miss Cranston?

Detective Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary.

Oh, good day, Detective.

I understand you recently purchased a novella

-from the Belair bookshop. - Yes, by Mark Twain.

- May I see it? - Oh, I don't have it anymore.

- Why not? - Someone took it.

I left the book on the counter,

and when I came back to read the next chapter after lunch,

it was gone.

When was this?

About four days ago.

A cruel thing to do,

take a novel before one knows the ending.

Do you recall if any of the pages were missing?

No.

Do you recognize this man?

I'm sorry, no.

Do you have time for tea?

Oh, it would be a treat for me

to spend time with a real detective,

not a figment of a writer's imagination.

Thank you, Miss Cranston, but I must be off.

[Clears throat]

I couldn't help but overhear.

The day Annie's book went missing,

I saw a man rummaging about at the counter over here.

If you ask me, he seemed to know what he was looking for.

I see.

Is this about a grisly murder, Detective?

Not that I'm prying or, uh, anything.

Is this the man that you saw?

Uh, no.

He was younger, more handsome.

And you say you would recognize him, Miss...

Ruby Rosevear.

Uh, yes, I think that I would.

I could draw a picture of him for you...

if I knew how to draw.

[ Chuckles ]

Urn, his beard was a bit thicker, I think.

Thicker beard.

What a clever thing this is, Detective Murdoch.

It was your idea, wasn't it?

Go on, tell me. You invented it.

Uh, yes, yes.

- It can be quite useful. - Mm.

Thicker beard.

That's him.

- That's him. - M m.

Right, then, Miss Rosevear, what was he wearing?

Uh, he was wearing a long coat.

All in all, I think he was quite shifty-looking.

Shifty.

I know that the mind is the seat of reason, George,

and that the mind resides in the brain.

Yes, but the brain is also the dominion of the soul, Henry.

Does that mean that the mind and the soul are connected?

Well, I suppose it's all in there.

Up there, if you will.

So smarter people with great minds

also have larger souls, then?

It doesn't seem right they should have both.

I do hope that was a help.

Yes, Miss Rosevear. Thank you.

Oh, it's Ruby to you, Detective.

[ Chuckles ]

George, I need your help.

Sir, I can't this afternoon.

- I'm off to Unionville. - Unionville?

Yes, sir. I'm on the case of the missing brain.

An entire cadaver, actually, sir.

But the brain is the most important part.

There's a Dr. Dempsey at the university, sir.

He's researching brains of highly intelligent people.

You would be an excellent candidate, sir,

if you were dead, of course.

Have you searched the university?

Sir, high and low. There's no sign of this corpse.

I am off to Unionville now

to try to find the widow of the corpse, as it were,

to see if she has a photograph.

Does this corpse have a name?

It does.

Or he does.

Would it be "it" or "he" for a cor--

Uh, either way, his name is Professor Andrew Richardson.

You'd be fascinated by this, sir.

Dr. Dempsey has all these cut-up brains in jars,

which, of course, is very eerie.

But also can't help remind me

of my Aunt Rose's pickled cauliflower.

Thank you, George.

- Henry. - Sir?

I need you to fetch Nigel Barnes,

the bird watcher from the park.

- Right away, sir. - Thank you.

Any luck in the bookshop?

Sir, the one copy of Mark Twain's novella

was purchased by a young waitress.

It was later stolen, possibly by a man who was seen in the park.

This same man may have torn out the three pages

and sent them to Mr. Sampson.

Why would he do that?

Well, sir, I've been analyzing the contents of the pages.

And I believe they may be conveying

a message of some sort.

Have a look at page 39.

There's a date, June 19th.

The day Sampson went missing.

Yes, sir.

Page 81, "seven in the evening."

Where's this going, Murdoch?

Well, sir, we have a time and a date.

Page 146, there is a character named Stillman.

I've checked. There's a Stillman Street down by the docks.

The same page contains the numbers 50, 60, and 70.

I've checked the map, and Stillman extends to number 56.

We need to pay 5O Stillman Street a visit.

[ Birds crying]

So, Murdoch, how's married life treating you?

All well at the hotel?

I'm happy to report that it's an excellent arrangement.

No one pays you any particular mind.

What do you mean?

Well, sir, at my boarding house, the other residents --

I was constantly being pulled into conversations

of limited merit.

I can only imagine the difficulty.

[ Horse snorts]

Thank you.

BRACKENREID: Some place for a meeting.

Well, it doesn't look like there's anything here, Murdoch.

Sir.

Constable.

Fetch my ultraviolet light from the carriage.

Poor bugger.

This must be where he met his end.

Lured by the coded message.

BRACKENREID: What is it?

There's more, sir.

BRACKENREID: "Blue Sky."

What the bloody hell does that mean?

[ Indistinct conversations]

Gentlemen.

Mr. Hume, does "Blue Sky" mean anything to you?

"Blue Sky"?

I'm sorry, Detective. I never heard of it.

And what kind of law did Mr. Sampson practice?

Largely patent law.

- Dry work for a clerk. -[ Chuckles ]

Do you have a key for this drawer?

Mr. Sampson kept that on his person.

Sir, a key was found in Mr. Sampson's pocket.

[ Lock clicks]

Well, well, well. Mr. bloody Blue Sky.

Anything?

MURDOCH: It appears to be an index

for plans and technical drawings of various inventions.

A honeycomb radiator for an automobile.

But the plans themselves are missing.

Did Mr. Sampson represent inventors?

Yes, several.

Sir, I recall the prototype for this radiator being German,

but this would suggest an improved version.

Innovations like this would revolutionize the automobile.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Murdoch?

Mr. Sampson was involved in industrial espionage.

BRACKENREID: Perhaps he was selling these innovations

to the mysterious bearded man.

That would explain the need for the coded message.

But Mr. Sampson seemed such an ordinary man.

Criminals come in all shapes and sizes, son.

RICHARDSON: I don't understand, Constable.

How can my husband's body be missing?

CRABTREE: I assure you, Mrs. Richardson,

we'll get to the bottom of the matter in no time.

If you had a photograph of your husband that I could borrow.

Of course.

Anything I can do to help find poor Andrew.

He was a very clever man, you know,

and keen to help Dr. Dempsey's research.

The two men discussed the matter at length on several occasions.

A generous man also, I would say.

I mean, to give up his brain.

I thought it was macabre, to tell the truth,

but it was none of my business.

It was Andrew's to do with as he pleased.

Still, to have it pickled in a jar...

What do you mean, Constable?

N-Nothing at all, Mrs. Richardson.

If I could get that photograph.

Of course.

DR. OGDEN: You're absolutely correct.

There are signs of petechial hemorrhage in the victim's eyes.

Are you sure?

You did well to spot them.

These tiny markings can be difficult to identify.

Well, a second set of eyes never hurts.

I was happy to help.

We should let the detective know right away.

Actually, I may just wait till this evening to see William.

Oh.

You know, Julia, married life suits you.

Really? Am I that different?

There is a lightness in you I haven't seen before.

You seem...happier.

I must say, the romance of the honeymoon continues.

Romance? The detective?

[ Chuckling ] Yes.

We're quite enjoying ourselves.

-[ Chuckles] Oh, my. -[ Chuckles]

Cathode.

- Dr. Grace? - Hmm.

Doctor, have you something for me,

or is this is a social visit?

No. I mean, yes.

I have a further report on Mr. Sampson.

- Oh. - I now believe he died

longer than 24 hours before his body was found.

I see.

DR. GRACE: And after a more detailed examination,

I can confirm he was indeed stabbed but stabbed postmortem.

Well, how did he die?

Suffocation.

Likely smothered.

Are you quite sure?

DR. GRACE: I was astonished myself.

But my curiosity was piqued when I saw possible signs

of petechial hemorrhaging in his eyes.

I asked Dr. Ogden for a second opinion.

She supported my conclusion.

But if he was smothered before he was stabbed,

how did he write the message in his own blood?

Dr. Grace, your report throws new light

even as it casts more shadow.

How eloquent, Detective.

Quite a romantic turn of phrase.

I'm sorry?

Nothing.

Sir, you wanted to see me?

Yes, Henry. Please bring in Mr. Barnes.

HIGGINS: Sure.

BARNES: That one is the tyrant flycatcher.

They superficially resemble the Old World flycatcher

but are more robust and have stronger bills.

You're something of an ornithologist, Mr. Barnes.

[ Chuckles ]

The myriad birds in our city are quite remarkable,

something most citizens fail to notice.

Hm.

BARNES: That's the man I saw, Detective.

Annie Cranston.

Who?

Thank you, Mr. Barnes. You've been most helpful.

I'm most happy to oblige.

CLARA: Hello, ladies.

- Clara. - Thank you for joining us.

Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention, Julia.

I must say, you have a talent for unconventional thinking.

Oh, some would say it's my forte.

So, what do you think, Clara?

Do the election rules prevent a woman from running?

Were a woman to be elected, I'm sure the doors to Queen's Park

would be well and truly barred.

However, I can find nothing

to say that someone of the female persuasion

cannot stand as a candidate.

- Officially? - Officially.

Clara, that is fantastic.

Now all we need is a candidate.

I nominate Julia.

Why me? It could be anyone.

You are the most accomplished.

You speak so well.

And you are mightily persuasive.

- I don't know about that. - Plus, it was your idea.

- Well, in that case -- - HAILE: Excellent.

Then it's settled.

[ Chuckles ]

This is a rather momentous occasion.

I think we should be drinking something stronger.

Au contraire, it is quite perfect.

The advancement of women marked by the clink of china teacups.

[Teacups clink]

[ Indistinct conversations]

Miss Cranston.

Hello, Detective Murdoch.

You know more about the man who stole your book

than you're letting on.

What do you mean?

Who is he?

His name is Maxwell. That's all I know.

He said he worked for a Mr. Henry Ford

and that we would both be rich if I would help him.

- What did he ask you to do? - I was to buy that book for him.

Mark Twain's.

Yes, and if anyone were to ask about it,

I was to say it had been stolen.

How did you two meet?

He lives in my boarding house.

Sir.

What is it?

The book, complete with the missing pages.

Maxwell is our man.

Ohh. We're too late, Murdoch.

The landlady said he left for New York City 12 hours ago.

No forwarding address.

Unfortunate.

We can send his photograph to the New York coppers.

Oh, cheer up, Murdoch.

It's not very often we let a murderer slip our grasp.

No, sir, that isn't it.

This case -- Something seems odd.

What do you mean?

This Maxwell fellow.

He looks familiar.

George?

Sir, I have a photograph of my missing brain.

Our two corpses appear to be the same man.

Something's fishy.

It certainly is.

Bring them in, George, all of them.

Yes, sir.

Who exactly?

ANNIE: Ruby.

No.

[Sighs]

MURDOCH: Good afternoon.

DEWAR: Good afternoon, Detective.

Why are we here?

I want to thank you.

You have all been most helpful

in my investigation into the murder of Randolph Sampson.

Well, we're glad we could help.

However, I regret to inform you

that I have failed to apprehend the murderer.

Why not, Detective?

MURDOCH: For one simple reason.

Because the murderer does not exist.

-[ Gasps] - But I saw him.

And he was in the photograph that I --

You could not have seen him, Mr. Barnes,

because the man in the photograph was you.

- But I -- - MURDOCH: Please, Mr. Barnes.

You'll have an opportunity to speak when I'm finished.

Not only did the murderer not exist,

but neither did Randolph Sampson.

The corpse belonged to none other

than Professor Andrew Richardson,

whose cadaver was on it's way to scientific research

when it mysteriously disappeared two days ago.

This has all been an elaborate ruse

in which you all played a part.

- Very good, Detective. - MURDOCH: Please, Mrs. Dewar.

Mr. Hume, you reported

the fictitious Randolph Sampson missing.

Mr. Sampson is my employer, sir.

He is away on business.

L-I borrowed his office.

And his good name.

The torn pages from the novel

led me to your bookshop, Mrs. Dewar.

And you, in turn, led me to Ruby Rosevear

and Annie Cranston,

who furthered the myth of the bearded man.

I was led to a series of clues, including "Blue Sky"

and the photograph which featured you, Miss Cranston,

and the mysterious Mr. Maxwell,

which was, in fact, you, Mr. Barnes, with a false beard.

BARNES: It wasn't false.

I grew it especially for the part.

Didn't I tell you? I knew he would figure it out.

This has all been a game

and a colossal waste of the constabulary's valuable time.

What were you hoping to achieve?

We wanted to watch you as you work, Detective Murdoch.

Watch me work?

- Why? - To appreciate you.

We are such admirers of your detective skills.

- And the rest. - Ruby.

BARNES: We read about your successes in the newspaper,

and then we meet once a month to discuss your clever ways.

All your marvelous gadgets and your analytical mind.

I'm most surprised by you, Mrs. Dewar.

We meant no harm.

But your actions were harmful.

The corpse you stole was more than just a plaything

in your macabre game.

What do you mean?

Professor Andrew Richardson did not die of natural causes.

He was, in fact, murdered.

DEWAR: Oh.

- Murdered? - MURDOCH: Yes.

And thanks to your ridiculous antics,

the true killer may very likely have escaped justice.

How uncanny.

We stage a fictional mystery,

and the corpse we borrow is actually a murder victim.

How did you obtain Mr. Richardson's body?

BARNES: That was my doing.

I was a medical student at one time and knew the building well.

When we conceived the notion of a murder investigation,

I agreed to procure the corpse.

And the blood at the crime scene?

Pig's blood, sir.

My brother works at a slaughterhouse.

Pretty convincing, though, wasn't it?

We devised roles in the mystery around our real lives.

You concocted a fanciful amusement

which I must now undo to investigate a real murder.

Perhaps we can be of assistance.

No.

Mrs. Dewar has a brilliant mind and an excellent memory.

- Perhaps she can -- - MURDOCH: You can help

by staying out of my way.

I'm of a mind to charge the lot of you.

[Both gasp 1

What with?

Desecration of a human body.

If you continue to interfere in this investigation,

you will all wind up behind bars.

Is that understood?

BRACKENREID: I'm very sorry, Dr. Dempsey.

As soon as our investigation is complete,

Professor Richardson's body

will be transported back to the School of Medicine.

There's no need. The brain has already deteriorated.

My research remains unproven,

and my funding soon will be cut off.

Who's responsible for stealing the cadaver?

A former medical student, lbefieve,

-by the name of Nigel Barnes. - DEMPSEY: That ass?

He was expelled for hijinks at the school.

I cannot believe he would ruin my important research

for another ridiculous lark.

Their actions are mystifying, Julia.

Why break the law simply to watch me work?

They read about you. They meet to discuss your work.

They're your fans.

The Detective Murdoch Appreciation Society,

as it were.

[ Chuckles ]

But I'm simply doing my job.

DR. OGDEN: Thank you.

- Shall we? -[ Door opens]

Why follow the activities of a person you don't know?

I suspect they feel that they do know you.

Perhaps they want to feel part

of something greater than themselves.

But they seem to have perfectly good lives.

Everyone needs a hero, William.

Mmm.

Julia, this soup is cold.

It's supposed to be.

- Oh. -[ Chuckles ]

William...l've agreed to do something rather bold.

Well, that would make a change.

-[ Chuckles ] - What is it?

How would you feel about my running

for Provincial Parliament?

As a candidate?

You wouldn't even be able to vote for yourself.

Then you would have to vote for me.

MURDOCH: It's highly unorthodox.

It certainly would garner a platform.

Exactly.

You'd be in the public eye.

Do you mind?

You may even wind up with a few fans of your own.

[Laughs]

How do we wade through the mess that those idiots created

and sort out who murdered Andrew Richardson?

Well, sir, we go back to the beginning.

Dr. Grace ascertained

that Richardson had been smothered to death.

Right, smothered, not stabbed.

Right.

George's investigation provided vital background.

Richardson had been sick for several weeks

prior to his death four days ago.

So, who had opportunity? Who visited the man?

Exactly, George. Who saw the victim last?

This is too much, Detective.

I am reeling from my husband's death

when I learn his corpse has vanished.

Now you tell me he was murdered.

I'm terribly sorry to upset you, Mrs. Richardson.

When did you discover your husband deceased?

Four days ago.

I thought he had passed mercifully in his sleep.

Was anyone with him the previous night?

My sister Hattie came by every evening.

It was something of a ritual.

She would bring over chamomile tea,

and she and my husband would discuss matters of philosophy.

You didn't visit with them?

I preferred to take a sleeping draft and go to bed.

Did anyone else see the professor

the night before he passed?

RICHARDSON: Why do you need to know all this?

I already answered the other detective's questions.

What other detective?

Mr. Hume, you are under arrest

for impersonating a police officer.

L-I was just trying to help.

Mm-hmm.

Sir, Dr. Grace telephoned.

You're needed at the morgue.

Thank you, George.

Dr. Grace, what have you?

I won't beat about the bush, Detective.

Not only was Mr. Richardson smothered and stabbed,

he was being poisoned.

Poisoned?

I found traces of arsenic in his kidneys.

Smothered, stabbed, and poisoned.

It is certainly a doozy one.

Oh, an expression of my father's.

He's something of a colorful character.

I see.

Have you a record

of Mr. Richardson's stomach contents?

Pork chop, suet pudding, and traces of chamomile,

likely from a tea.

Chamomile tea.

CRABTREE: So, this is the sister's house.

MURDOCH: Yes, according to Mrs. Richardson,

Hattie Baker would bring over chamomile tea every evening.

Hattie Baker?

Toronto Constabulary. Open up.

Remember, George, we're looking for evidence of poisoning.

[ Knock on door]

Sir, poison like this?

Yes, George.

It would appear Hattie Baker is our killer.

Very good, George.

- ANNIE: Detective! - RUBY: Detective!

Detective! Stop!

MURDOCH: What are you doing here?

You were told to stay away.

Hattie Baker is not your murderer.

Oh, and what brought you to that conclusion?

The victim's wife placed the arsenic in her sister's house.

- Yes, and we can prove it. - We have photographs!

But we helped you catch the real murderer!

MURDOCH: You were poisoning your husband.

Why?

He never stopped going on about my lack of brains,

how Hattie was his intellectual equal.

I couldn't shine a light to her or him.

I may not be that clever, Detective,

but I still have feelings.

That counts for something.

When Andrew boasted that doctor wanted his superior brain

for science, I saw my chance.

You began to poison him.

In his suet pudding.

Believing the true cause of death would go undetected

when his body was brought to the medical school.

That Dr. Dempsey was so keen to get at his brain,

I knew he wouldn't look at anything else.

But why frame your sister Hattie?

RICHARDSON: She thought she was so smart.

Let her use her brilliant mind

to wriggle out of a murder charge.

The poison wasn't working quickly enough.

So you smothered your husband?

Smother? I didn't smother him.

We know who stabbed Richardson. We know who poisoned him.

But who the bloody hell smothered him?

Maybe it was a mercy killer

putting the poor bugger out of his misery.

Perhaps the housekeeper that was looking after him.

Or Hattie Baker, for that matter.

You spoke to both of them, George.

Yes, sir, they both swear up and down

that Mr. Richardson was still alive

when they left the house together.

Sound asleep but alive.

So they did it together

or someone else was in the house that night.

Sirs, when I was in Unionville

questioning the women in question,

I took the liberty of having a look around.

I found a set of footprints near the side of the house.

And then in a shed,

there was a ladder with some fresh mud on it.

I mean, I wonder if somebody could have just climbed up

into Mr. Richardson's room in the dead of the night.

Very good, George.

Mrs. Richardson had taken a sleeping draft.

She wouldn't have heard an intruder.

But who had motive to kill Mr. Richardson?

BRACKENREID: What about that Dr. Dempsey from the university?

What if he killed Richardson to obtain his brain

before his research money disappeared?

According to the widow, Dempsey had spent some time

there at the house with Mr. Richardson.

He'd have known the place.

So he had motive and opportunity.

BRACKENREID: Impressive plan.

Smother Richardson in his sleep,

then get the body delivered to your door.

Any evidence would have ended up in the university incinerator

when the cadaver was disposed of.

That's the hallmark of a perfect murder.

Studying intelligence

by examining the brains of intellectuals.

I imagine finding suitable subjects wouldn't be that easy.

Sadly true.

The superstitious belief

that the body retains some sort of soul after death

still prevails, even among the high-minded.

Utter nonsense, of course.

But you're not here to discuss metaphysics, Detective.

I understand Professor Richardson

was a coveted specimen

and that you were under pressure to prove your hypothesis

before you lost your financial backing.

I was.

How convenient, then, that Professor Richardson's body

wound up on your dissecting table

just before that funding dried up.

Where were you the night

that Professor Richardson died, Doctor?

What you are suggesting?

The professor was murdered.

You knew he'd been ailing for some time.

You simply helped the process along.

[ Scoffs ] That is absolutely ridiculous.

The circumstances are very compelling, Dr. Dempsey.

Get out of my lab, Detective. I have important work to do.

MURDOCH: Really?

I understood that you lost your financial backing

along with the professor's brain.

Not that it's any concern of yours, but I have another donor

of equal intelligence and at an advanced age.

The papers will be signed this afternoon.

But your funding...

It will not be long before my research is again under way.

Good day to you, Detective.

So, you think he's our man.

Yes, but to prove it?

He's Mr. Clever Clogs, all right.

George and I will go back up to Unionville,

see if there's anything we might have missed.

Worth a try. What else?

Well, sir, we've wrung all we can

out of the poor professor's body.

Any evidence is long gone anyway,

thanks to the boneheads still in my jail cell.

What should we to do with them?

Sir, I'd love to charge them all, but --

We wouldn't have a clue about this murder without them.

- BARNES: ...Detective Murdoch. - Aye-aye.

Speak of the devil.

Mr. Barnes, how can I help?

It's Mrs. Dewar. I think she's put herself in harm's way.

Oh. Right this way.

- Have a seat. - Thank you.

What about Mrs. Dewar?

We were having tea at the bookshop,

discussing Mr. Richardson's murder,

when we hit upon a bizarre, though plausible, theory.

Which was?

Dr. Dempsey, the brain researcher, might be the killer.

I talked with friends at the school,

and it turns out that Dr. Dempsey

was under terrible pressure to prove his neuron thesis.

He needed a brain tout de suite.

So I thought perhaps he took matters into his own hands.

Mr. Barnes, what does this have to do with Mrs. Dewar?

She has come up with a plan to entrap the doctor.

She donated her brain.

BARNES: Yes.

The puzzle that Dr. Dempsey placed in the newspaper?

She had already completed it, so she took it to the doctor.

He of course wanted her brain, and she said yes.

You were going to lure Dr. Dempsey

into trying to kill Mrs. Dewar?

Exactly. Catch him red-handed, so to speak.

But I started to have second thoughts.

I tried talking her out of it, but she wouldn't listen.

That's why I came here.

George.

Sir?

Telephone the Faculty of Medicine.

I need to speak with Dr. Dempsey urgently.

Sir.

Mr. Barnes, I believe Mrs. Dewar

is due to sign the donor papers today.

I tried to dissuade her.

Really I did. I told her it was too risky.

- But she wouldn't hear it. - Why not?

Catching the real killer

was to be her apology to you, Detective,

for interfering the way that we did.

Oh, Lord.

Sir, Dempsey left the School of Medicine 15 minutes ago.

We must leave at once.

That's Dr. Dempsey's carriage.

Please hurry, Detective.

He might already be smothering Mrs. Dewar.

MURDOCH: Doctor, step aside.

How dare you? I am examining my patient.

BARNES: Are you all right, Mrs. Dewar?

I am now that you and the detective are here.

What on earth?

MURDOCH: Well, well. The murder weapon.

DEMPSEY: That is not mine.

Nigel Barnes, you are under arrest

for the murder of Andrew Richardson.

DEWAR: My goodness!

What are you doing? Dempsey is your murderer.

So you led me to believe.

But you are the killer, Mr. Barnes.

Why would you think that?

On the way here, you were concerned

that Dr. Dempsey was going to smother Mrs. Dewar.

So?

MURDOCH: There is only one way you could have known

how Professor Richardson was killed.

You did the smothering.

[ Chuckles nervously]

You told us how he died, Detective.

You told the whole group. Isn't that right, Mrs. Dewar?

As I recall, Detective Murdoch told us

that Professor Richardson was murdered

but not how he was murdered.

You were upset at the time. You've forgotten.

I don't think so, dear.

You said so yourself -- I have an excellent memory.

- This is absurd. - DEWAR: Honestly, Mr. Barnes.

Do you really think you could outwit

the great Detective Murdoch?

MURDOCH: [Clears throat]

Take him way, George.

So, Mrs. Dewar, about your brain.

Even with this unpleasant incident,

I trust our agreement still stands.

After your death, of course.

I don't see why not.

Thank you.

And, Detective,

you'd be an excellent candidate for my study.

When the time comes, of course.

So, Doctor, what do you make of the detective's admirers?

It seems the notion of ardent followers

is something of a modern phenomenon.

A byproduct of his successes, I suppose.

The whole idea is rather fascinating,

psychologically speaking.

A bunch of happy dafties, if you ask me.

[ Chuckles ]

I cannot believe Mr. Barnes did it.

Why would he kill Professor Richardson?

He didn't know him.

The poor professor was an innocent victim in all of this.

The intended target was Dr. Dempsey.

But Why?

MURDOCH: Simple revenge.

Dr. Dempsey was the teacher

that expelled Mr. Barnes from the Faculty of Medicine.

Once he learned about your murder idea,

he set his plan into action.

But why not just kill the professor and frame Dr. Dempsey?

Why complicate things with the pretend murder?

MURDOCH: That's the clever part.

Clever how?

In order to frame Dr. Dempsey,

Mr. Barnes had to devise a perfect murder,

one that only Dr. Dempsey could commit.

He knew that I would see through the masquerade

and find the true identity of the victim.

He also knew that we would find the true cause of death,

the smothering.

So he had you, Mrs. Dewar, lure Dr. Dempsey to your bookshop.

He sowed the seeds of suspicion

and made sure that I arrived at just the right time.

And the chloral hydrate in the doctor's bag?

The final piece of evidence he planted.

But our friend Mr. Barnes was a little too eager.

One slip of the tongue, and our detective caught him out.

Congratulations, Detective.

[Laughs]

May I have your autograph, Detective?

- All right, Miss Cranston. - Oh.

Well, how about a photograph, Detective?

Certainly. Why not?

Henry?

Could you please take a photograph of us?

Of course I can.

Miss Cranston, Mrs. Dewar, Mr. Hume.

- You too, Ruby. -[ Giggles ]

You're a good sport, Detective.

All in day's work.

All right, everybody smile.

[ Camera shutter clicks]