Original subtitles

for the murder of Sergeant Archibald Brooks.

[Whistle blows]

[Whistle blows]

Anything of use, Henry?

Well, I didn't see much, sir.

The man who ran away was medium build, long black coat.

But I didn't see his face.

Sir, it looks like his throat's been slit.

If it had, there'd be significantly more blood.

I suspect we'll find he's been garroted.

That's a new one for me, sir.

Good God.

What is it, sir?

It appears to be a human thumb.

Definitely garroted.

Knee to the back and wire pulled tight.

Silent and effective.

I don't believe the traditional method was used, Inspector.

This wound suggests that a similar force was applied

all the way around the neck,

except for this one inch at the back.

The area is bruised,

as though something was pressed against it.

Some kind of device?

Perhaps a wire loop attached to a pole of some sort.

And the thumb you found in his pocket was severed recently.

Pre- or post-mortem?

Yet to be determined.

Murdoch, I know this scumbag.

William McCann.

Billy McCann is what he went by.

He was a lowlife. Worked for Bernie King.

- The bookmaker. - Yeah.

King never does his own dirty work.

Prefers to swan around his club.

Sirs, there's been another murder.

Is he dead?

Move along, young lady. There's nothing to see.

Oh, my God.

Madam, thank you.

Dr. Grace, what have we?

He was found by the gardeners this morning.

He was beaten. I have detected six blows.

This one to the head here was likely lethal.

So a beating, then?

Yes. But this was no random killing.

What makes you say that?

He's missing a thumb.

Well, we've a man with a thumb to spare lying in the morgue.

Professor Gideon Galbraith.

What's the professor's thumb doing in the pocket

of a known felon?

No doubt you can explain this, Murdoch.

It's statistical notation, sir.

He seems to be combining Bayesian theory of probability

and Galton's regression formula.

So that's what they're up to these days.

"They," sir?

High-forehead types.

Mm.

I believe his motives may have been more practical

than academic, sir.

He's been tabulating race results.

He was gambling.

I think he was looking for a way

to statistically determine race winners.

He had a system, did he?

Not something a bookie would appreciate.

You thinking what I'm thinking?

We should pay Bernie King a visit.

BRACKENREID: Good day, gentlemen.

You chaps wouldn't be playing for money, now, would you?

Inspector Brackenreid. Always a pleasure.

Murdoch, meet Bernie King,

the biggest bookmaker in Toronto.

No need for flattery.

And I can assure you this is a game amongst friends.

We're here about your boy McCann.

We found him this morning with a severed thumb in his pocket.

Good Lord.

The thumb belonged to a murder victim --

Gideon Galbraith, a mathematics professor.

One of your clients, perhaps?

I know Mr. Galbraith.

We understand he invented a system

for predicting race winners.

[ Chuckles ]

He may have thought he had a system.

That would explain why he bet so heavily.

He didn't win?

Let's just say his losses exceeded his winnings.

He owed you money.

Maybe that's why you had him killed.

Gentlemen, it would hardly be in my interest

to kill someone that owed me money.

It would if they couldn't pay.

People can always pay.

They may not be able to pay all at once,

but...arrangements can be made,

methods of persuasion brought to bear.

Such as sending one of your lowlifes to cut off his thumb?

Except Mr. McCann got a little overenthusiastic and killed him.

This seems a matter you should discuss with Bill McCann.

Unfortunately, Mr. McCann is also dead.

He's dead?

BRACKENREID: Oh, don't look so surprised, Bernard.

I reckon you couldn't have McCann crying into his beer

over a murder that was tied to you, so you got rid of him.

Well, you seem to have it all worked out.

So let me just say this --

If Bill McCann cut off anyone's thumb, it wasn't at my behest.

And I had nothing to do with his death,

and if you two think otherwise, you had best make your case.

So until then, good day, gentlemen.

What have you, Doctor?

I compared the thumb we found in Mr. McCann's pocket

with the remnant on Professor Galbraith's hand.

It didn't match.

It didn't match?

The detached thumb is indeed from a right hand,

but the size is different, as was the angle of the cut.

You mean there's someone else out there missing a thumb?

What the hell is going on, Murdoch?

L-I don't know, sir.

Clearly these two murders must be related somehow.

I'll have George look into McCann's last movements.

George, we just received a call

about a domestic disturbance in St. John's ward.

A neighbor's complaining about a ruckus in the house next door.

Well, you see to it, Jackson. I'm in the middle of something.

The address is 114 Agnes Street.

I just thought you should know.

Edna?

Simon?

Edna?

Go away, George.

What did he do?

Show me.

You can't do anything, George.

Edna, let me see. Please.

Oh, for the love of God.

I've never seen him like this before, George.

Where's Simon?

He tried to help me, and -- and Archie turned on him,

and he ran away.

You can't be here, George.

If Archie comes back, he'll kill you.

He'll kill me?

After what he did to you, he'll kill me?

And he'll kill me, too.

No. I'll never let that happen.

Now, is there somewhere you can stay?

- No. - Well, you'll stay with me.

No, George.

Please.

He could be watching us right now.

And if he's not watching us, then the neighbors are.

All right. Lock the door.

If he returns, I want you to go out the back

and come straight to the station house.

Promise me.

Edna, I'm not going to leave until you promise me.

I promise.

He will never lay another finger on you or Simon again.

That's my promise to you.

Thank you very much.

George.

Doctor.

I hear congratulations are in order.

What?

Your promotion to detective.

Oh. Yes. Thank you.

I apologize, Doctor. I've not been myself today.

Yes. I did hear about Edna's husband coming back.

I'm so sorry, George.

It's become more complicated than that now, I'm afraid.

Things are really upside down right now.

Well, if you ever need to talk, my door is always open.

I appreciate that, Doctor,

but I believe this is something I'll have to settle on my own.

Perhaps the thumbs are trophies.

You think this could be the work of a sequential killer?

We do have two confirmed murders and a thumb suggesting a third.

Mm.

Sir. Pardon the interruption.

Another body has been found, off Duchess Lane.

That's just around the corner.

Owner of the thumb, perhaps.

Sir, his name is Ronald Richards.

His wife reported him missing last night.

Apparently he's an exterminator. Pests and vermin.

Rigor has subsided. He's been dead at least 12 hours.

That's longer than the other two.

George, can you arrange for transportation to the morgue?

Sir.

Mr. Richards was the first of our three victims to die,

by an hour or two perhaps.

He was strangled with some force.

And the thumb, Doctor?

It's a match.

[ Sobs] I don't understand.

Why would someone kill him?

No enemies?

No.

He never said an angry word against anyone.

Even his boss.

Why would he have reason to be angry with his boss?

He was let go from his job last month.

He had a bad ankle.

Couldn't climb the stairs no more.

But he was the best exterminator around.

How did he earn his living?

He didn't.

I got work cleaning.

Mrs. Richards, did your husband ever gamble?

No.

He was very careful with his money.

No connection between Richards and McCann, then?

None that I can see.

Sirs.

I looked into Mr. Richards' affairs, as requested.

I did find something unusual.

Just last week, he took out a sizable life insurance policy

with a double indemnity in case of accidental death or murder.

Just last week?

What's the payout?

-$2,000.

[Whistles] Small fortune.

Do you think the wife did him in?

I don't think so, sir.

She seemed genuinely heartbroken.

Perhaps he got McCann to kill him.

Possibly, though it's one thing to arrange for your own murder,

yet another to arrange to be one of three murders.

And why the thumbs?

A timeline seems to be developing.

Our killer, possibly McCann, first kills Mr. Richards,

followed by Professor Galbraith.

And then McCann gets garroted.

[ Knock on door]

HIGGINS: Sirs.

Don't tell me.

Doctor.

It appears the killer doesn't discriminate.

Crikey.

She was opened from hip to sternum by a large blade,

possibly a hunting knife.

It's the same killer, all right.

Fourth body in 24 hours either deficit or surplus in thumbs.

A copy of the racing sheet.

A cigar cutter.

I assume these belonged to her.

They were here when she was found.

A cigar-chewing gambler who liked to shoot arrows.

I'm rather sorry I never got to meet her.

If she was an archer, perhaps Julia knew her.

Her name was Mildred Abernathy.

She was our top archer.

One of the Abernathys?

Indeed.

So no need of money, then.

And nothing in common with the other victims.

Except for the missing thumb.

Is it always the thumb of the right hand?

DR. GRACE: So far.

Ritualistic, perhaps, another mark of a sequential killer.

Yes, but the choices of victims

and methods of killing are so different.

And how did one of his trophies get in the pockets

of one of our victims?

Perhaps Mr. McCann is our sequential killer.

And someone then killed him?

Yes, but McCann's murder was different.

His thumb wasn't taken.

Perhaps someone knew what he was up to

and decided to stop the madness.

Dr. Grace, we need to know

if Miss Abernathy was killed before Mr. McCann.

You'll have a time-of-death estimate shortly.

Sir?

I think you dropped your wallet.

Back to old habits, are we?

Simon, I know you tried to help your mother.

For all the good it did.

Where's your father now?

I don't know.

Simon, your father can't --

He needs to be apprehended and punished for what he did.

Yeah. And then what?

You catch him, he goes to jail, and he gets out.

You can't fix this.

Simon.

You're the reason this happened!

Just leave us alone.

I have a time of death for Mildred Abernathy.

She was killed within the past five hours.

BRACKENREID: After McCann was already dead.

So he can't be the killer.

Right.

So we have a common thug, an exterminator,

a mathematician, and a wealthy heiress.

What connects them?

Two of them liked to play the ponies.

Yes, but two of them didn't.

Three of them needed the money, but one didn't.

There's no common denominator.

BRACKENREID: Crabtree, where have you been?

Dealing with a personal matter, sir.

Sod your personal matters. We need you on this case.

I'm on this case, sir. That's why I'm here.

We've just received word. Another body has been found.

Lord.

[ Indistinct conversations]

Sirs.

He was found by a resident of the boarding house.

Any witnesses?

Not as yet.

Horace Blechman.

An inventor, it seems.

542 Wilton Avenue. That's just down the street.

Crabtree, you and Higgins ask around.

It's a busy area. There has to be witnesses.

- Sir. - Sir.

Missing thumb.

Mm.

I have to cancel our dinner plans this evening.

But I had something rather special planned.

I'm sorry. I'm expecting another body.

L-- This is very unusual.

Oh, it's just so exciting. I can't wait.

I just received a letter

from a close friend of mine in London, England.

A friend of hers, Mrs. Pankhurst,

is forming a suffragette union,

and she's just put out a call for international supporters.

Oh. That's wonderful.

Yes. Think of it, Emily.

London will set the tone for the rest of the world.

They'll have a real influence.

Going there to join them could be the adventure of a lifetime.

Going there?

Together.

Well, you certainly know how to take a girl's breath away.

Perhaps a change of scene would be welcome.

You're up to your elbows in blood and entrails.

Yes. I know.

Well, don't you agree it's a thrilling prospect?

Of course. But I --

Wonderful. We'll discuss it when you're done here.

Lillian.

Thank you, sir.

If you hear anything else, let us know.

Any luck?

None.

Can you imagine?

Five murders in the space of one day.

This puts us in league with London or New York, even.

Oh, that's wonderful, Higgins. A first-class city at last.

Is everything all right, George?

Everything's fine. Stop asking.

It's the first time I asked.

You go back to the station house.

I'll finish up here.

Suit yourself.

What is all this, Murdoch?

Sir, I believe Mr. Blechman aspired to create a train

that levitated by means of magnetic repulsion.

A train that floats in the air? Bloody ridiculous.

Man was crackers.

Yes. Well, you aren't the only one that thought so.

It appears he was trying get funding for this invention,

without much luck.

"We regret to inform you

that we are not presently interested in your invention,

regarding your letter requesting capital funds.

We wish to thank you for your interest, but..."

Rejection letters. He was a poor man's Pendrick.

So it would seem.

Murdoch, here's another copy of the racing sheet.

Yes.

Sir, do you think it's possible

that he was gambling to raise the money?

Now, that's interesting.

He placed a bet on the seventh race at Woodbine.

What's interesting about that?

Well, there is no seventh race at Woodbine.

Horace Blechman has placed a bet on a race that doesn't exist.

Excuse me.

Sorry. I'm locking up here.

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

Your name?

[Clears throat] Arnold Paulson.

Is there a problem?

Yes.

Mr. Paulson, do you print this race sheet?

Yes. Today's issue is done and dusted.

I'm off to my bed.

How and when do you receive the details for each race sheet?

It comes by one of the street boys they use as their runners.

Right.

Mr. Paulson, urn, how do you explain the presence

of a nonexistent race in your paper?

The seventh race at Woodbine.

Oh, that. Yes. It's strange, I know.

Two nights ago, a second envelope was delivered

just before my deadline.

Contained the -- the horses to that seventh race along with $5.

So you printed it?

Who am I to turn down $5?

Right.

And did you receive a similar envelope last night?

I did. I assumed it was a-a lark of some kind.

Mr. Paulson, may I have a copy of today's racing sheet?

Certainly.

MURDOCH: The seventh race at Woodbine is listed once again.

But this time, there are only four horses.

There were nine yesterday.

So five fewer today.

A coincidence that there are five bodies in our morgue?

Could you please list off the five missing horses?

DR. OGDEN: Rat Trapper.

That would be Ronald Richards, the exterminator.

Jailbird is likely our friend McCann.

- McCann. - Artemis.

The goddess of the hunt.

Mildred Abernathy. The archer.

Murdoch, Pythagoras.

Professor Galbraith, the mathematician.

That leaves only one -- Horace Blechman, the inventor.

Butcher's Gaff, Soldier Boy, Twisted Oliver,

Big Game Hunter, Dare to Dream.

Dare to Dream. Suits that man to a T.

All those daft projects he was working on.

Horace Blechman, inventor.

What have you, George?

Sir, I looked into Miss Abernathy, as you requested.

It seems her apparent wealth was just that.

She was in debt up to her ears from gambling.

One roulette game away from penury, it seems.

We have our common denominator. They were all in need of money.

Perhaps this isn't the work of one or two killers.

Could the victims be killing each other?

Isuppose.

McCann killed Richards.

He had the thumb in his pocket.

BRACKENREID: Blechman was an inventor.

Perhaps he invented the garroting device

that killed McCann.

That's very good, sir.

That would explain why Blechman had Jailbird checked off

on his racing sheet.

That's a very good thought, Julia.

But the question is why?

Could they all be contestants in some kind of murderous game?

A fight to the death. Like gladiators.

Well, they are all in need of money.

Perhaps the prize is a significant sum.

To be claimed by the last man or woman standing.

What about the severed thumbs?

Sir.

Proof of their kill.

MURDOCH: Thumbmarks.

Which is why it was taken only from their right hand.

If we're right about this, four contestants remain --

Butcher's Gaff, Soldier Boy, Twisted Oliver, Big Game Hunter.

Right, George. We'll stake out the print shop.

We'll apprehend whoever delivers the envelope tonight.

You're late, George. What kept you?

Oh, does it matter, sir? I'm almost never late.

And you aren't wearing your police-issued boots.

L-I stepped in a horse muck just outside my boarding house.

I didn't have time to clean them.

If I'd cleaned them, I'd be m-more late than I am now.

Is everything all right, George?

Yes, sir. I-l apologize for my tardiness.

-[ Knock on door] - Here we go.

You there.

Toronto Constabulary.

Give me that.

Who gave you this?

The race manager, sir, from the Woodbine Racetrack.

Sir?

It's legitimate race information.

No seventh race.

I suppose we wait.

We wait.

Sir, I apologize for snapping at you earlier.

I've been wound fairly tight lately.

That's all right, George.

No, it's not, sir.

We may never work together again, and I...

You're anticipating your move

to Station House Number Three, of course.

I just want to thank you, sir,

for your counsel and... for your friendship.

It's been invaluable to me.

Whatever the future brings,

I'm glad to have served under you these years.

We may not always work together, George.

But we'll always be friends.

Right, then.

[ Door opens, closes ]

No seventh race tonight.

You've already begun printing.

Be done in an hour if you want to wait.

Hm.

What do you think, sir?

Thank you.

Let's go home, George.

We'll try again tomorrow.

Julia, have you noticed George acting a bit strange lately?

William, you have to give him a little leeway.

George is dealing with difficult matters of the heart.

Hm.

[Telephone rings]

Hello?

Yes.

All right, Doctor. I'll be right there.

Another murder?

Another two.

[Sighs]

I'm coming with you.

That's not necessary, Julia.

I'm sure Emily could use my help.

It appears Miss Abernathy was not only a victim

but also a killer.

His right thumb is missing.

She had a cigar cutter in her purse.

An efficient tool for the job.

DR. OGDEN: Good gracious.

I always thought Mildred so genteel.

But she was died before this man's body was found.

He was killed at least 24 hours ago.

He was found early this morning in his cold storage room.

- Cold storage? - In a butcher shop.

That would make him Butcher's Gaff.

And what of the other body?

Male, approximately 3O years old.

He was shot several times.

Time of death between 9:00 and 11:00 p.m.

Sir, this tattoo.

That's a regimental crest.

So this could be Soldier Boy.

MURDOCH: Indeed, George.

But his thumbs are intact.

Well, perhaps his assailant shot him and was then interrupted

before he could retrieve his proof of kill.

Similar to the McCann murder.

Exactly.

Well, Julia, it appears we have the body of Soldier Boy here.

Two more down.

Two to go.

MURDOCH: Thank you.

MAN: Paper! Get your paper!

I'll pick up a copy of this morning's racing sheet.

Oh, don't bother, Julia. I spoke to the printer.

He said that there is no seventh race.

I'll get one anyway.

William, look at this.

There is seventh race at Woodbine listed.

There is?

With a new entry -- Artful Detective.

Artful Detective.

[ Gasps] William!

"[ Gasps ] -[ Grunts ]

Wait!

[Crowd murmuring]

He's dead.

William, what on earth just happened?

Julia...l believe I may be the Artful Detective.

George?

What?

Have you brought in Mr. Paulson yet from the printing shop?

Sir, he's gone.

H-His place has been completely cleared out.

He's nowhere to be found.

Right. Join us please.

Artful Detective?

I'm not quite sure about the "artful" bit.

They must have thought that it made for a better horse's name.

"They," sir?

Whoever is responsible for this game,

which includes the printer.

They must have thought you were getting too close,

so they've thrown you into the game without your knowledge.

Not quite cricket.

Yes, and now the printer has disappeared

along with our best lead.

If you are in the game,

I want you to get yourself off to the armory.

Don't want you taking any chances.

Sir, if we are to find out who's behind this,

we'll need to capture our subject alive.

How the hell are we gonna do that?

I invented this some time ago,

but it proved to be somewhat cumbersome for daily use.

What is that?

It's a weaponized capacitor.

It delivers an electrical shock by way of these darts.

Sort of like an electric gun?

Exactly.

It overwhelms the attacker's nervous system.

- Rendering him paralyzed. - Temporarily.

I hope.

L-I haven't exactly tested it yet.

Well, I'm sure we can find a couple of volunteers.

Jackson! Get yourself in here!

Sir, I-l really don't think --

We're not taking any chances, Murdoch.

Sir.

The detective is going to test his new invention on you.

It might hurt a bit, so brace yourself.

A-All right.

Sir, I really don't think that we should --

We need to make sure it works.

It could kill him.

W-- Urn...

[ Sighs] Jackson, as you were.

Thank -- Thank you, sir.

Sir, no matter how effective this electric gun is,

you're up against killers.

Not killers, George. A killer.

Soldier Boy and Twisted Oliver are now out of the picture.

That only leaves Big Game Hunter.

How are you gonna find Big Game Hunter?

Well, sir, I believe he is going to find me.

Sir, I insist on coming with you.

I mean, the man is clearly dangerous.

He's bloody dangerous. Big Game Hunter.

It all in the name, Murdoch. It's all in the name.

I appreciate your concern, gentlemen, but I have a plan.

And it all begins at the hotel.

Oh, don't worry, Julia. I'll be back shortly.

Please be careful, William.

Of course.

[ Click, whirring ]

[ Crackling ]

[Grunts]

Murdoch, that was bloody brilliant.

It worked.

Sir, take him to the station house.

-I'll question him shortly. - Where are you going?

I owe it to my wife

to let her know that she didn't become a widow today.

Fair enough.

Lads, cart this lump of rubbish off to the cells.

[ Rattling ]

[Grunts]

Oh, George. Thank you.

How did you know he would attack me?

Sir, just a lucky guess. [ Exhales deeply ]

George, this man is a soldier.

Could this be Soldier Boy?

Perhaps, sir.

If so, who do we have in our morgue?

I don't know.

The winner was to receive a prize of $10,000.

Why you would join such a murderous undertaking?

You need the money?

I did it for the sport, of course.

The ultimate sport.

I have faced off against many a ferocious beast,

but none as deadly as man himself.

What were the rules of this game?

We met before the hunt began and agreed on one thing only.

Killing of any nonparticipant meant instant disqualification.

Apart from that, there were no restrictions.

Any time. Any place. Any weapon.

And you chose a hunting knife as your weapon.

Always.

It's the only way to measure yourself against your quarry.

Who organized this?

I don't know his name.

But you may have an opportunity

to meet him face-to-face, Detective.

How is that?

You're the victor.

The last man standing.

How am I to be collect my prize?

KING: ...and it was the chimney sweep!

[ Laughter]

Detective Murdoch, Inspector.

How can I help you?

I'm here to collect my winnings.

I'm the last man standing.

I believe I'm entitled to $10,000.

Of course, we'll accept a confession in lieu of that.

Confession? For what?

I've committed no crime.

None of the contestants were compelled to enter.

Everyone participated of their own free will,

each for their own reasons,

whether it be debt, greed, thrill of the hunt.

You preyed on base human weakness.

You turned the entire city into a coliseum for your gladiators.

Were any innocent citizens harmed?

I don't recall a single example.

Bernard King, you are under arrest for murder.

I didn't kill anyone, Detective.

Well, then, you will be surprised to learn

that conspiracy to murder carries the same penalty.

Why did you risk getting caught

by putting Artful Detective in the race?

It was a gamble.

He may have survived or he may have been killed.

It's...lt's all part of the game.

Is that so?

Well, Bernard, me old mucker,

“OW YOl-Fre playing my bloody game.

Walk this way, sunshine.

I thought you might be hungry.

Oh. How thoughtful.

It's tea and scones.

You're trying to convince me of the charms of England.

Mm. I hope it's my own charms that will sway you.

Oh, do say yes, Emily.

I am charmed, but I have to think about my job.

They are mortuaries in London, I daresay.

It's not that easy.

I can't just walk into a position at any mortuary.

So don't.

We'll be doing something more important.

What I do here is important, Lillian.

I'm a woman.

I'm doing my part for the movement just by being here.

I am living the fight. You're just talking about it.

Well, I'm not just talking about it anymore.

I'm doing something about it.

You can either come with me or you can stay.

I won't accept such a ridiculous ultimatum.

Well, it appears you've given me your answer.

I suppose I have.

[ Door opens, closes ]

Emily.

I got your message. ls something wrong?

I thought there might be something you wanted to tell me.

- I don't think so. - Are you sure?

George, I identified the soldier in the morgue.

It's Archibald Brooks, Edna's husband.

You saw the body.

You knew who it was. Why didn't you say something?

Emily, l...

George, the detective is waiting on my report.

What am I supposed to tell him?

You do what you must.

George, please talk to me.

What are you hiding? What's going on?

Emily, goodbye.

You're absolutely certain that it's Archibald Brooks?

There was scarring from shrapnel on the corpse.

I checked the regiment's medical records.

Sergeant Brooks was injured in a barrage.

- Detective -- - Yes.

I know, Doctor.

George was there when the body was first brought to the morgue.

He would have known that it was Mr. Brooks and not Soldier Boy.

Do you think he could have --

Doctor, Brooks was shot.

What was the caliber?

.22 pistol.

[ Drawer opens ]

That's a .22.

What has George done?

Sir.

Sir.

Explain yourself, Crabtree.

Your boots match the bloody footprints

at the scene of the crime.

BRACKENREID: The murder weapon was found in your desk.

George, if you have an explanation,

now is the time to speak.

Oh, for God's sakes, man.

Have you not got a tongue in your head?

Did you kill him?

Did you kill Brooks?

George, please, speak in your defense.

Sirs, I have a right to silence.

Christ, George. What were you thinking?

George.

All these years that we've worked together.

Those were good years, sir.

Constable George Crabtree, you are under arrest

for the murder of Sergeant Archibald Brooks.