All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S11E11.1080p.BluRay.x264-YELLOWBiRD

Our contestants are really
in the thick of it now!

Whose dish will be the finest?

Who will make the most
out of the delicious,

nutritious Madison's Fine Beef?

What do you have for us today,
Mrs. Tucker?

Another mélange

of 100 unappealing ingredients
it seems.

Isn't he great?

He's just insulting
all the dishes.

And you assured me
the turnout would be better.

Ah, Miss Cooper.

Yours looks even worse,
if such a thing is possible.

My cream toast is divine, sir.

Thomas!

Thomas!

- Try this.
- What is it?

It's my frizzled beef.

It's the only thing I could make
to disguise this God-awful meat.

- Mmm! It's not bad.
- No, Thomas!

More lunch counter slop,
eh, Mr. Douglas?

Loose meat with
stale Sally Lunn, it appears?

Mr. Crabtree!

Ah, spare your insults, sir.

I promise you,
you have never tried the likes

of my Aunt Fern's
apple beef balls.

How appetizing.

Oh, this really is
a wonderful set up.

Much better than I have
at home in my boarding room.

You wouldn't believe
how hard it is

to make Jiggs dinner
on a camping stove.

It's a wonder
you find joy in life.

George!

Finally.
Mrs. Brackenreid.

Sir.

Monsieur Gordon!

We have a dish.

Let's see.

Oh, my, this looks unappetizing.

Is this the best a
finely trained chef can conjure?

Mmm. This is slop.

Terrible!

Inedible!

You really are
just a frog-faced buffoon,

aren't you, Prideaux?

You should be a...
a-ashamed.

Ashamed.

You should be...

You should... I wouldn't...

Oh, dear!

What's happening?!

Is he all right?

What have
you done to me?!

Non, non.
Mon Dieu!

C'est pas moi!

He was fine one moment, sir,
full of his usual acrid vigor.

Then he had one bite of
Monsieur Prideaux's dish...

The Frenchman poisoned him.

It's impossible to say
at this point.

I mean, I suppose he could have
had a stroke.

Perhaps we'll have a word
with the Frenchman nonetheless.

The circumstance suggests

a sudden onset of symptoms.

Prussic acid came to mind.

Well, it wouldn't
cause this level of paralysis.

Can you swallow, Mr. Gordon?

Not easily.

What about speech?

Can't...

It must be a neurological toxin,

but I've never seen symptoms
quite so devastating.

Bastard tried to kill me!

One bite of this,
and he fell ill?

Sir, he positively keeled over.

I mean, the whole contest
had to be canceled.

A shame.
It looks terrific.

I think I'll go out for lunch.
Anyone care to join me?

This disappoints me.
But I soldier on.

Right,
we'll have to test the dish

to ensure that it is indeed
the source of the poison.

I assume you'll want to
get started right away?

That poor man has lost
nearly all of his faculties.

Indeed.

So you'll test the dish?

- Yes, of course.
- Thank you.

George. The chef?

Sir, he's in your office.

A little bit loopy, you know?
He's very French.

I did nothing, I swear.

Well, I could hardly blame you.

I mean, the man did call you
a frog-faced buffoon.

I am not a frog-faced buffoon!

Well, I'm not calling you
a frog-faced buffoon.

I'm merely saying that
Mr. Gordon

called you a frog-faced buffoon,

and you did not seem to care for
being called

a frog-faced buffoon.

Stop saying that!

Du calme, Monsieur Prideaux.

Je m'excuse, Detective.

The fact is, our constables

interviewed
the other contestants,

and they claim you called him
a "damnable boor"

with "the heart
of a vile despot,"

"unworthy of a swift demise."

I may have said some
of those things, but...

It was only talk.
We are rivals after all.

- So then who poisoned your dish?
- No one!

C'est impossible.

I am always in control
of my plate.

The most common neurological
toxins are heavy metals.

Cadmium, lead, arsenic,
mercury...

But those
wouldn't react quickly enough.

No. But some animal toxins
work almost instantaneously.

- Maybe bufotoxin.
- So how do we test for it?

First we need to make sure

the poison came
from the dish in question.

I am sorry.

Detective Watts.

- Oh. You. Yes?
- I have a tip for you.

It's on the subject
of processed meat.

Let's assume Mr. Prideaux
is telling the truth.

Is it possible
that another contestant

interfered with his dish?

I should think it possible, sir.

And Mr. Gordon's not the kindest
of men.

Dickie Douglas
warned us of that.

- Who is Dickie Douglas?
- One of the contestants.

He works for Madison, the
sponsors of the whole thing.

He's a cook
at their lunch counter.

Apparently, Mr. Gordon
ate there every day

and never failed to hurl
a fresh insult at the man.

Gentlemen.

- I may have broken your case.
- Oh?

George, William, hear me out.

A few days ago,
someone telephoned me.

They refused
to divulge their identity,

calling themself
the Good Samaritan.

The last anonymous source
you brought us was a fake.

This one's real.

Forgive me
if I maintain skepticism.

He had information regarding
Madison's Tinned Goods.

He said their new product
was a hazard to public health.

The tinned beef?
What kind of hazard?

Tainted meat.

It was most certainly tainted.

Botulism.

Botulism?
What's botulism?

A bacteria found in sausages,
if I'm not mistaken.

Very good, Detective.

Its defining factor is it
grows in anaerobic environments,

sausage casing being one.

- A tin can would be another.
- Precisely.

Occurrences have been
on the rise

with the popularity
of tinned goods.

So we all could have been
cooking with poison.

Not exactly. It takes effect
between 6 and 36 hours.

So our victim wasn't poisoned
by this dish.

Our friends here ate it
one hour ago

and remain in perfect health.

Although I did ask Mr. Gordon
to give a list of everything

he'd eaten
over the last two days,

and he says he's had
no other tinned goods.

That's not entirely so.

All the contestants
and Mr. Gordon

had a publicity photo taken
yesterday afternoon.

And for the camera, he ate a
big spoonful of the tinned beef.

Now, he spat it out
right away afterward.

Well, even a small amount
can have a severe effect.

Well, that timing
would make sense.

But he... he'll be all right?

His mind will remain conscious
while his body shuts down

from the inside out.

He will remain aware even when
his lungs stop working,

slowly suffocating him to death.

Everything all right, George?

Sir, Mr. Gordon
wasn't the only one

who ate the tinned beef
for the camera yesterday.

We all did.

I suppose there's a chance that
your tin wasn't tainted, George.

Sir, how can that be?

Presumably if one can is bad,
the whole batch is.

- That's likely true.
- So I'll die.

I'll never get to see Egypt
or Asia.

Or any of those new provinces
we have now.

How many do we have now?

- Nine.
- Nine.

Perhaps in the future,
we'll have even more.

I'll never know.
I'll be dead.

It must be difficult

to confront the prospect of
one's own demise, George.

Oh, sir, that's wonderful.

I thought you would at least
have some words of reassurance.

Well...

The mortality rate from botulism
is no more than 80%.

80%"?!

What is this,

some kind of gambit
to knock me out of the contest?

I'm afraid not,
Mrs. Brackenreid.

I mean, there are constables
rounding up

the other contestants right now
so I can inform them.

What nonsense!
I feel just fine.

I feel cold.

I feel we should maybe go home
and talk to the boys.

Oh, Thomas, stop!
Clearly I'm not dying.

However,
if some of the other contestants

have weaker constitutions,
so be it.

Crabtree, take your feet
off the couch.

Oh. Sorry, sir.

I'm afraid
a tin of Madison's beef

is the only possible source
of the toxin.

Well, what are we to do?

First you'll surrender any can
that could possibly be tainted.

How do we tell
which ones are tainted?

We have to assume
that any one of them

could contain the poison.

- But that would mean...
- You'll have every last tin.

- What?
- We'll go to the papers.

Inform everyone.

Call on all of our customers
to return to us every can.

But that would ruin us.

Our competitors will
drum us out of business.

Honesty is our only option here.

We apologize
and hope the people forgive us.

Mr. Madison,
lives are at stake.

I think I have a fever.

Do you think
I hen a fever, Havry?

Oh, my goodness,
did you hear that?

I'm jumbling my words now.

This is definitely it for me.

I may not even have time
to tell Nina.

Maybe you shouldn't.

Well, it could be
my last night on earth, Higgins.

I have to tell my lover.

- Please don't use that word.
- Well, my sweetheart.

You know what I mean.
I have to tell her.

I don't think you do.

You'll be dead by morning.

I wouldn't want to spend my
last night watching a girl cry.

You're telling me
if it was your last night,

you wouldn't tell Ruth?

Definitely not.

So, what would you do?

Spend your life's savings
on a bottle of whiskey

and a trip to the bordello?

I didn't say
I wouldn't spend it with Ruth.

I'd just
want one last beautiful night.

That's actually
quite thoughtful, Henry.

Well, if this is really it.

Goodbye, Higgins.

So long, old chum.

And finally,
the case that was opened

for the promotional photograph.

We should start there.

I don't think
this is a good idea.

- Why not?
- What are we to learn?

It's all
just ground-up intestines,

barely worthy of feeding
to farm animals.

Can't we simply destroy it?

We need to determine how
widespread the problem could be.

The only test we have
takes hours, and...

And we don't know

everything there is to know
about this toxin.

It could be airborne.

But it's anaerobic.

So it says in one book!

It's barely been tested.

People are wrong about these
sorts of things all of the time.

We could all die!

Julia, is this because of...

Is what because of what,
William?

Nothing.
I-I don't know.

I need some rest.

Perhaps that's for the best.

Don't tell me
what's for the best.

I should see her home.

Testing can wait till morning.

I could do it.

Yes, but it could
take all night.

I never sleep much anyways.

Thank you, Miss Hart.

Higgins!

It's
me!

Hi, George.

"Hi, George"?

Henry, I'm alive,
for Pete's sake.

You could show
a little enthusiasm.

I'm busy picking out a gift
for Ruth.

Do you want me
to tell the detective?

The detective knows.

He called on me this morning,
as did the inspector,

presumably because
they care about

my existence on this earth!

George, I knew
you weren't gonna die.

Ruth has a psychic.
He said you'd be fine.

So you're telling me
you knew I wasn't going to die

because Ruth has a psychic?

And you didn't tell me?!

Come in.

I've taken at least one tin
from each case,

incubating each individually
and examining for botulinum.

Thank you, Miss Hart.

I must say, your work ethic
is remarkable.

Thank you, Detective.

- And your results?
- Oh. Nothing.

Every single can
tested negative.

Perhaps the tainted tin
was simply an aberration.

Wasn't there one more
tainted can?

The one that was sent
to the reporter?

Miss Cherry?

- Miss Cherry, a word.
- Detective. Hello.

Is it about George Crabtree?
I hear he's likely dead.

- He is not.
- Oh.

There is no epidemic.

You think I made it up.

Not exactly out of character.

The Good Samaritan is real.

He sent me a tin
of Madison's beef

that was most certainly deadly.

- Was it sealed?
- It was.

I opened it,
and it proved lethal.

There's a dead cat
behind my house

if you'd like to
see for yourself.

That won't be necessary. But I
should like to examine the tin.

Even though no one
but Mr. Gordon has fallen ill,

I think my caution was wise.

Oh, yes, very wise.

- You're placating me.
- No, I'm not.

I am not some silly child.

You are allowed
to disagree with me.

- But I don't.
- Stop it!

Well, Detective,

there is in fact botulinum
in this tin.

It appears
your friend was right.

Thank you, Miss Hart.

Only one other tin
was poisoned?

So it would seem.

And none of the others
who consumed the meat

the day of the photography
session have fallen ill.

Well, then,
they're isolated incidents.

It could be just one man
on the line being reckless.

Or malicious.

There's something odd
about this tin.

- How do you mean?
- I'm not quite sure.

It just feels off.
Hold on.

I swear there's something
different about it.

I don't understand.

Did the company change cans
at some point?

No, never.

All of our tins are the same,
across all of our products.

Someone has taken
a Madison's label,

cut it down
by a fraction of an inch,

and made it fit on
a different tin altogether.

So it's some other meat?
What does all this mean?

The photograph.
Do you have it?

There were
a series of pictures taken.

Here's a clear shot.

There.

The stripe at the top
of the can is missing.

It's been tampered with.

So the poison
isn't our product?

No. This was a deliberate
attempt at sabotage.

Someone set out
to kill Mr. Gordon.

So the poisoning
was intentional.

But to what end?

Sir, you do have
a handsome office.

I'm S ry?

Oh, well, it's just,

sir, since my recent brush
with mortality,

I have found a new appreciation
for the little things in life.

Like your office, for instance.

It's sophisticated, yet warm,
yet officious.

In fact, I suppose
the root of officious is office.

The wonders of language.

Yes. Well...

We know that the killer
went to great lengths

to disguise the poisoned meat
as Madison's.

- Perhaps to disparage the brand.
- Indeed.

And Mr. Madison did express some
concerns over his competitors.

Which could explain
why the Good Samaritan

sent a second tin to the press.

Well, perhaps the Good Samaritan
is our killer.

George, find Miss Cherry
and see if she can recall

any more details about him.

Sir, do I have to?

Yes.

What, the reporter?

She seems fine.

She once called the detective
a bore.

Well...

The least of her offenses.

She once impersonated
a sequential killer

simply to sell more newspapers.

I'll work with her.

People are not to be defined
merely by their words,

thoughts, and actions.

What the...

Are they not?

Sir, I can't believe there are
so many types of canned meat.

Do people really eat this stuff?

Henry, you've only had access

to your fiancée's chef
for a few weeks.

Surely you've eaten canned meat
prior to that.

Oh, sir, I try not to think
about that time in my life.

What we're looking for, Henry,

is a can that matches
the size of this one.

The Madison's tin.

Yes, but half-an-inch shorter

because this isn't actually
a Madison's tin.

Uh, it says it is.

- Let's just find a match.
- Sir.

Now, there are plenty
that match the true size

of the Madison's tins, but...

Oh. Wait.

What does this mean?

It means I need to have
a word with Mr. King.

Right.
Thank you all for coming.

I've just been speaking
to Mr. Madison

and I have an important
announcement to make.

What, we're gonna die again?

Nobody's going to die.

Well, except for Mr. Gordon,
I suppose.

- Oh, no.
- Mon Dieu!

- My dish has made me a murderer.
- Your dish is not the culprit.

The contest
is still going ahead,

with a new judge
and an even bigger prize.

Whoever wins the contest now

will become the new face
of Madison's.

How brilliant!

So the poor man
is at death's door,

and we're going to be competing
to be his replacement?

Right, in any case, the
competition will be going ahead

this afternoon at 4:00.

I hope to see you all there.

Will you be reentering in
the contest, Monsieur Prideaux?

Fate beckons, madam.

Whether I will answer
remains an uncertainty.

I certainly hope you do.

And I'm sure all those
nasty rumors are just nonsense.

- Rumors?
- Mm-hmm.

- The Frenchman resigned?
- Mm-hmm.

People are saying
whoever poisoned Mr. Gordon

is trying to Kill
all the best chefs in Toronto.

He was worried he might be next.

Exactly which people
are saying that?

Oh, mm, people.

In any event, this means my path
to victory is now open.

Imagine, the face of Madison's.

- What, you?
- That's right, Thomas.

You could be married
to a celebrity.

Of course,
there is still George.

He's my biggest competition now.

If only he'd resign.

But that's just silly!

I'm going to have to beat him
fair and square.

We commissioned
a slightly smaller can

to increase our margins.

I hardly think it's a crime

worthy of
a police investigation.

So yours
is the only food cannery

to use these smaller tins?

As far as I know, yes.

Well, then, Mr. King,

this must be one of yours.

All right.

So someone put a Madison's label
on my tin.

So what?

Well, sir, this particular tin
tested positive for botulism.

It was one of your cans
that poisoned Mr. Gordon.

Dear God.

But those cans were destroyed.

I can assure you, Mr. King,

not all of the tins in question
were destroyed.

I oversaw it myself.

Who first discovered
this problem?

My vice president, Arthur Power.

He happened to sample a tin
from that batch and fell ill.

They paid me off.

I can't work anymore.
What other option did I have?

You promised to keep quiet.

They said they fixed it.

No one else
was going to get hurt.

Someone has, Mr. Power.
Randall Gordon.

Gordon?
That's Madison's beef.

He was poisoned
by a can of Mr. King's

disguised to look like
Madison's.

He tried to take them both out
in one go.

- Who?
- King.

He wanted Gordon
to be his spokesman.

But Madison stole him.

I thought you said you could
contact him via post box.

Well, I feel a fool.

I should have checked
that the post box was real.

I have a notion.
Follow me.

Sit down and close your eyes.

- Why?
- For my notion.

- What's your notion?
- You'll see.

Not if I close my eyes.

By taking away your sight

and focusing only on sound,
you will place your mind

in the reality
of that telephone call,

and unearth a forgotten detail

that will lead us
to his identity.

That's stupid.

If I had heard something,
it would be in my notes.

Nothing of interest.

- What about this? "I-N-D."
- "Indecipherable."

Yes, but why
was it indecipherable?

There was a noise.

Almost as if
it were on top of him.

A loud grinding noise.

Grinding? Like...

No, more like...

Yes.

And there was another noise
on top of that.

Sharp, metallic.

- Shing!
- Shing!

- Hring! Hring!
- Hring! Hring!

Hring!

- Hring!
- Hring!

A moleta.

Crabtree.

George.

Margaret's winning that contest.

And you're making sure of it.

Sir, I... I have no control
over the other contestants.

No. But you do have control
over one contestant.

You.

You mean...

- Sir, I couldn't.
- Oh, yes, you could.

You can, and you will.

Sir, i-if I don't try my best,

I'll be impugning
the whole spirit

of the Madison's Fine Beef
Culinary Challenge.

Let's just say it'll be
in your best interest.

I couldn't take your money, sir.

I'm not offering you any money,
George.

But the next time you ask for
a Saturday off work,

you'll already know the answer.

And it won't change for
the rest of your bloody life.

- You're heading out?
- Oh!

Yes, I need to speak
with Mr. Gordon

about who was at
the photograph opportunity.

There may have been an agent
of Mr. King's Tinned Foods.

Oh. Well, good.

I want to
check on his condition.

I'll join you.

- How are you feeling?
- Fine.

Why wouldn't I be?

No reason at all.

Oh, I've purchased something
for you.

What is it?

Tobacco.

You want me
to take up smoking?

Well, only when
you're feeling...

Feeling what?

I've read that
for women in your condition,

it can have a calming effect
on emotions.

And where did you get that tip?

The New England Journal
of Quacks?

Nicotine is a stimulant,
William.

Or have you forgotten?

I've also read
that you're not to quarrel

in your state.

Let's focus on work, shall we?

Good idea.

Mr. Gordon?

He can't speak.

Is there something you'd like to
tell us?

Mr. Gordon, if Mr. King
was present, blink once.

Do you know who did this?

That's it!
That's the sound I heard.

He must have placed the call
somewhere around here.

Unlikely.

This is
the only moleta in Toronto,

but he sets up in
a different location each day.

The call came on Tuesday
of last week.

I'll read the rows
by the first letter.

When I read the right one,
you blink.

Then I'll proceed along that row
and do the same.

Yes?

AF KP.

Yes.

P, Q,

R, S...

Yes.

- S.
- S.

A F..

-...V, W,
-MURDOCH: Yes.

GH, I.

- S-W-I.
- "Switch."

Mr. Gordon, are you saying
you had a tin in your hand

and it was switched that day?

Who did this?
Who was it?

A...

- Yes.
- A...

B, C...

C.

F, K..

Yes.

M, N...

N.

C-O-N.

Contestant?

One of the contestants
switched your tin?

But you don't know which one?

Are you sure?

If you didn't see it occur,
how can you be...

Mr. Gordon?

Mr. Gordon?

Is everyone ready?

We will begin henceforth.

Fine work, Mr. Rhodes.

I may well get out of
all this awfulness

with my company intact.

We only did what was right.

The people saw that.

Ladies and gentlemen,

the competition
will commence shortly.

But first,
we will prove once and for all

that Madison's Fine Beef
is entirely safe.

Come.

Madam, please.

Mind your step.

Even safe enough
for this baby.

See?
She loves it!

Okay. Very well.

- George.
- Sir?

Mr. Gordon believes that his tin
was intentionally switched

by one of the other contestants.

I'm inclined to agree, sir.

If I was you, sir, I would speak
to Lolo Tucker.

She said Mr. Gordon
"got what he deserved."

Oh. Right.
I'll speak with her.

One other thing, sir.

Do you think it's ethical
to let somebody win unfairly?

George, I don't believe anyone
wins in a murder investigation.

No, I don't mean
the investigation, sir,

I mean
a general competition scenario.

Something like this.

Well, not this,
but let's say like this, yes.

Well, I suppose if you were
to do it for your own gain,

that would be wrong.

But if it's a selfless act,
then I see little harm.

Mr. Gordon certainly deserved
what he got.

God does the right thing
every once in a while.

- Perhaps he had some help.
- Not from me.

But if you need to bring me in
for questioning, I won't object.

That won't be necessary,
Mrs. Tucker.

Then perhaps I can help you.

I've heard a thing or two about
little miss sunshine over there.

Miss Cooper?
What have you heard?

That she's not "Miss Cooper"
at all.

Oh, that.
I simply changed my name.

My real name is Zagorskis.
Latvian.

It's too long for a poster.

And I intend to be a star,
Detective.

You plan to pursue fame
through a cooking competition?

Once you're famous,
you can do anything.

No one minds how you get there.

Ladies and gentlemen,

the competition
is about to begin!

Inspector, we found the moletal.

The what?

When the Good Samaritan called,

there was a grinding noise
in the background.

Krrr! Shing!

It was a knife sharpener
or a moleta.

You're saying you know where
the man was calling from?

Precisely. His location
on the day in question

was right beside
Madison's cannery.

The killer
called from Madison's.

Meaning he was
likely an employee.

And one of our suspects
works at their lunch counter.

Good work!

We know it was you, Douglas.

We know the killer
worked for Madison.

I didn't kill anyone.
It was the Frenchman.

Mr. Prideaux's dish
did not kill Mr. Gordon.

What's your relation
to Mr. King?

- Do you work for him?
- King?

No, I'd never work for him.
That meat is disgusting.

Aren't they the ones
who tried to pass off

the bad batch as Madison's?

We never told anyone
about King being the culprit.

People knew. I was told
by a customer weeks ago.

About the fake tins?

No, no, no.
About the bad batch.

I just
put two and two together.

Who told you this?

He did. Him over there.
Mr. Rhodes.

- What are you doing?
- Nothing.

- Are you fiddling with my salt?
- No! I would never!

It must have been
someone else.

Baking soda! You cheat!

Mrs. Brackenreid, I was going
to do you a kindness this day.

But now you can be sure
to see George Crabtree

at his culinary best!

Contestants!
Ready your pans!

On your marks, get set, cook!

Please, gentlemen.

Mr. Powers, the man who
was poisoned by King's meat...

He's an old friend of mine.

I telephoned the reporter,
nothing more.

Why would you want to destroy
your own company?

"The man who saved Madison's."

Guiding the company
through a crisis,

taking responsibility,

engendering the goodwill
of the public.

They'll teach students about me
in business schools.

I'm sure
they'll include the fact

that you were hanged for murder.

I-I don't think so.

I put a few Madison labels
on some bad tins.

I sent one to Miss Cherry.

But I have no idea
who gave one to Gordon.

I'm not sure
anyone will believe that.

But it's true, Detective.

I wasn't even at the
photograph opportunity that day.

It's true, sir.
Mr. Rhodes wasn't there.

You see?

Now, I appreciate
your diligence, gentlemen,

but I have a contest to judge.

Maybe he switched the tin
beforehand.

Mr. Gordon was adamant that the
switch occurred at the scene.

It had to have been
someone who was there.

Three! Two! One!

Spatulas down,
hands off your pans!

It's time to taste
these fine concoctions!

He had to have
been involved somehow.

That second mislabeled tin
was no coincidence.

Then we have to presume that
he was working with one of them.

But why kill Gordon?

Sending the tin to Miss Cherry

would have achieved
the same result.

An exposé doesn't create
the same splash as a death.

A warm hand
for all our contestants!

He had to have had
another reason to kill Gordon.

Oh, no.

It's truly horrible.

Marvelous work, Constable!

What a unique showcase
for our fine beef.

Thank you, sir.

Fabulous. Fabulous!

Fine work, ma'am.

Fine work!

Thank you.
Thank you.

Thank you.

A very difficult
decision, indeed.

But I can award victory
only to one.

Miss Kathleen Cooper!

What?!

What?!

No!

I can't have lost.
There's no way that woman won.

There's no benefit
to be had

from being a sore loser,
Margaret.

I'm telling you,
she can't have won.

I swapped out
her salt.

You what?
You swapped out her salt?

I wanted to win.
I deserved to win.

- Mr. Madison.
- Just a moment.

Just a moment.

Mr. Rhodes,
perhaps you should taste

this dish one more time.

Why would I need to do that?

Because it's utterly inedible.

You wanted Miss Cooper to be the
new face of Madison's all along.

So the two of you conspired
to kill Mr. Gordon

and set your plan in motion
in the process.

I didn't do anything!

Look out!

Wait!

One question, Mr. Rhodes...

Why add murder to your plan?

That part was her idea.

Mm. You were happy
to go along with it.

I wanted to be great,
to be renowned,

for the public to know my name.

The public will know your name.

I'm going to do it.
I'm doing it.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is
my honor to present to you

the new face of Madison's...

Margaret Brackenreid!

Thank you!
Thank you so much!

Thank you!

Look at us!

Fine work, Miss Cherry.

For that, you have my thanks.

- And your apology?
- For what?

For judging me unfairly.

It may once again be safe,

but I'm not sure
I'll ever regard meat

with the same enthusiasm again.

Perhaps you should stick to
freshly butchered cuts.

I thought the same.

Then I read up on the abattoir
conditions in the stockyards.

The Shelleys subscribed
to a Pythagorean diet.

Da Vinci too.

Pythagorean?
You mean vegetarian?

I do.

"My body," said da Vinci,

"will not be a tomb
to other creatures."

Yes.

Yes, it's the only way to live,
isn't it?

Join me, Miss Cherry.

From this day forward,
we shall follow the ranks

of all moral men
in our strict adherence

to vegetarianism.

Uh, I don't think so.

What, are we cows”?

William, are you going to
spend the next seven months

too afraid to speak?

I-I was looking for
the right thing to say.

It seems I've become
quite the burden

now that pregnancy has made me
just a little emotional.

Burden?
No, not at all.

It's just that I-I spend
a great deal of time

trying to figure out
how best to help, and I...

I feel useless.

I feel the same.

Let me just say...
Good choice, Crabtree.

Sir, to be entirely honest,

I didn't
let Mrs. Brackenreid win.

I tried my best.

She won fair and square.

I suppose I'm not
such a terrific chef after all.

Few men are.

There's an idea, sir.

What if bachelors like myself
didn't have to cook?

What if you could just purchase
a prepared meal?

- What for?
- For convenience.

It would be ready to heat,
ready to eat.

That would be the slogan,
and I would call it

uh, Tasty Vittles Dinner.

Bit of a mouthful.

Well, I suppose
I could shorten it.

TV Dinner.

And you could eat it
whenever you're watching

whatever you can see
out your window, I suppose.

I mean, the news of the day,
some copper solving a case.

Perhaps a cooking competition.

That sounds ridiculous.

Why wouldn't you just
get yourself a wife?