All language subtitles for murdoch.mysteries.s12e16.1080p.bluray.x264-rovers

How many this time?

Twelve.
It's double our last attendance.

Wonderful.

At this rate, we'll have
a best-seller in 40 years.

There is not a lot of people,
but the ones that are here

are very much looking forward
to your reading.

I know you're all dying
to hear Detective Murdoch

read from his and Dr. Ogden's
new book.

Let's have
a big round of applause

for Toronto's
most famous detective!

Good evening.
Thank you for coming.

Each chapter in our book

recounts a different
murder investigation.

Chapter one
is about a most peculiar case.

It was a bright, sunny day
on July 16, 1904,

when strollers at Cawthra Park

happened upon
a most unusual statue.

There's really nothing to...

- Oh, my.
- Nothing to see here!

Just stay back!

Where did the statue come from?

No one knows. It certainly
wasn't commissioned.

A nude not commissioned
by our city fathers.

Why am I not surprised?

I must say it's very good.
She looks almost real.

A stir is clearly
what the artist intended.

Sir!
Sir, get back here!

This vulgar display
is an affront to decency!

Sir! Sir!

Give me that!

Oh, my God.

Sir.

Doctor.

What is it, George?

I believe this is
no ordinary work of art.

The statue was, in fact,

the electroplated body
of a young woman.

Excuse me.

What is it, Henry?

The owner of the Windsor
House Hotel has asked for you.

She thinks she's found a body
in her lobby.

She thinks?

It's best that you come, sir.

Um, you'll have to excuse us.

Uh, we have an urgent matter
to attend to.

Uh, is it a... a murder?

Possibly.

Ah, the books
are for sale in the lobby.

I'll take one!

Hello, Miss Matthews.

Thank you for coming. I hope
this isn't a waste of your time.

If it isn't
the famous detective...

And published author,
I'm to understand.

You remember
our hotel detective.

Mr. Fellows.

We understand
you've discovered a body.

It was delivered anonymously
to the lobby,

and I told Ralph
to have it carted away.

But I recognized it
for what it was.

Oh, my goodness.

I believe you'll find
it's an electroplated body.

Just as in our book.

Have you read our book, then?

It may astonish
the two of you

that the world doesn't revolve
around just you.

The case was
in the newspapers.

I think you'll need this.

You were just
reading about this.

It's chapter one.

It may be a coincidence.

Mr. Fellows is right.

It was
all over the newspaper.

In my professional opinion,
this is the work of a copycat.

You're a hotel detective,
Mr. Fellows.

Your professional opinion
is hardly required.

Nevertheless.

You may be correct,
Mr. Fellows.

But is the killer copying
the newspapers or our book?

"During the
electroplating process,

dissolved metals are drawn
by electrical attraction

to form a thin, coherent coating
on a surface of opposite charge.

In this case, a waxy coating."

The waxy substance
likely contains

a pulverized nitrate of silver.

The body is then immersed
in copper sulfate

and the electrical current
is applied.

The result is a metallic mummy,
as it were.

George, were you able to find

any information
on electroplating facilities?

Yes, sir.

There's only one electroplating
factory in Toronto.

We actually had cause
to visit there

on another case some years ago.

"An endeavor such as this

required a large
electrolyte bath,

and the capacity
for large current draws,

suggesting the killer made use
of a purpose-built factory.

James Kirkham's electroplating
facility on Niagara Street

provided the perfect means."

And there you have it...

All the instructions
on how to electroplate a body.

You even gave the killer
the address.

Henry, head down
to Kirkham's factory

and see if anyone's
been in there after hours.

Sir.

It's horrific,

but we must face
the possibility

that the killer got the idea
from our book.

It shouldn't be too difficult
to obtain the identities

of those who purchased
the book.

Perhaps it's a good thing
that so few have sold.

I'm sorry, folks.

It is impossible to know
who has the book now.

But you told us
we've only sold 12 copies.

Sold, but we've given copies
to libraries,

police stations,
book reviewers.

The number of people
with access to your book

would be in the hundreds.

Inspector Hamish Slorach.

What brings you
to my station house?

I'm packing it in, Tom.

Had a long talk with the dog,
and we decided it's time.

You're younger than me,
aren't you?

Oh, no, no,
I'm just better-looking,

and I plan to keep it
that way.

Well, the constabulary won't be
the same without you.

Ahh. Well, I'm having
a little bash tomorrow night,

and I would like you to give
the farewell speech.

Me?

What, is there a cop
I've known longer? Huh?

- Well, I'd be honored.
- Thank you. Thank you.

It means so much to me.
It really does.

Detective Murdoch! Oh!
I was hoping I'd run into you.

Oh! I bought your book.
Huh?

Soon as it came out.
I couldn't put it down.

Entertaining as well
as instructive.

Thank you.

You imagine how many more
criminals I would have caught

if I'd read
this thing earlier?

Boy, oh, boy, huh?

Can I get you
to sign my copy?

Oh, certainly.
Um...

Oh, allow me.

I am the co-writer,
after all.

"To Hamish, my good friend."

Hamish.

Good friend.

There's a man, huh?

And I'd like to invite you to
my farewell bash tomorrow night.

- Oh, you're retiring.
- Dying, actually.

Just kidding! Ha ha ha!
I'll see you all there.

- Is this the way I came in?
- Yes.

Okay.

Sir, Mr. Kirkham
died last April.

His factory is closed,

but the lock on the back door
was broken.

So the killer
could have accessed

the facility at any time
without detection.

Also, sir, a Mr. Robert Brown
claims his daughter is missing.

That's my Amelia.

What kind of monster
would do such a thing?

We intend to find out.

She was stabbed in the heart,
just as in your book.

Oh, you've read the book?

The relevant passages.

This page in particular.

"The victim
had been stabbed in the heart,

but that's not how she died."

A single thrust to the heart.

The wound was very clean,

suggesting the knife
was pushed in and withdrawn

at the same angle.

Which led you to believe

that she was incapacitated
when she was killed.

Yes.
I analyzed the stomach contents.

She'd drunk and eaten
shortly before she died.

I found significant amounts
of the sedative sulfonal.

He wanted her unconscious.

She died
approximately 18 hours ago.

The killer waited
until rigor had set in.

Once rigor
was fully in evidence,

and the body was fixed
in the pose,

he set about the task
of electroplating.

It's quite the operation.

She sat down to share a meal
with her killer.

It might have been
someone she knew.

I don't know why
you came to that conclusion.

She could have just as easily
dined alone.

But in all other respects...

The meal, the sulfonal,
and the timing of the rigor

are the same
in Amelia Brown's case.

I raised her by myself.

She was a handful as a child,

but she grew into
a fine young woman.

I can think of no one
who would wish her harm.

Although I could name a few
who would wish harm on me.

How so?

I've been with the Pinkerton
Detective Agency for 30 years.

I've dealt with my share
of hoodlums and bad actors.

And you fear one of them
may be out for revenge?

Sir?
They've found another body.

His body was pulled
from the lake an hour ago.

He appears to be
in his 60s or early 70s.

He was struck
in the back of the head

with a blunt instrument

and then fell or was pushed
into the water and drowned.

So, not inspired by our book.

That's something of a relief.

I know this man.

You do?

Dr. Morley.

He was a surgeon at
Toronto General for many years.

Dr. Ogden, his blood is black.

The vessels
of his brains, lungs, and liver

are all filled with black blood.

- Poisoned.
- Precisely.

What kind of poison
turns blood black?

- Something organic?
- An alkaloid, perhaps.

- Was it ingested?
- Most unlikely.

The dosage required
to kill someone

would need to be massive.

- Injected, then.
- It's much more likely.

Far more efficient.

Then there would have to be
an injection site.

I was hoping to have found it
before you arrived.

I can wait.

Have you had a chance
to visit with your sister?

- Yes.
- Mm.

I received some arresting news
from her.

Regarding?

Your conviction of character.

Puns... the feeblest form
of humor.

Is it true, then?

Your arrest?

One hot summer evening
when I was home from university,

my colleagues and I enjoyed
swimming off Hanlan's Point...

Sans clothing.

Most risqué.

I don't know which was worse...

Being arrested or having
our parents find out.

I found it.

I'm S ry?

I found it. The puncture mark.
Come see.

It goes straight through
the sclera

and into the anterior orbit.

There it is.

William, this is
from chapter two.

The killer appears to be
going through the book,

one case at a time!

Oh, Henry?

Find out all you can
about Dr. Morley...

Any enemies, debts,
that sort of thing.

Sir.

So we have a sequential killer
on the loose.

You think he's working through
it one chapter at a time?

That would appear to be
the case.

How many chapters
in your book?

28.

Oh, crikey.
What's chapter three?

The lipstick murders.

The woman who kissed
her victims to death.

I suppose I should
pull out the case files.

Murdoch, before you go...

Slorach has asked me to
give the farewell speech,

but I'm having
a bit of trouble.

Sir, I'm not the most
entertaining writer.

- As I've come to discover.
- Bugger the writing.

I can't think of anything good
to say about his career.

He's not
a very good policeman.

He only made detective
because he solved

the case of the Jarvis strangler
back in '91.

Speak about that.

What's to speak about?

As I recall,
a witness told him everything.

He's a very upbeat fellow?

Oh, Mr. Kellogg, honestly,

you tell
the most fantastic stories.

Really, you are
truly magnificent!

Ruthie.

Henry!
What are you doing here?

I'm looking into a doctor
who used to work here.

I thought I'd come say hello
to my favorite wife.

Oh! Well, your timing
couldn't be better. Try this.

What are they?

We're conducting an experiment.

Mr. Kellogg is hoping
to market these...

- What did you call them again?
- Granose flakes.

Ugh! Sounds like a disease.
What are they made of?

Toasted corn mash.

We'll call them that.
Without the "mash" part.

Corn flakes.
I like it!

Eat!
Eat, eat, eat.

It's rather dry.

Exactly.

Now try.

It's rather good.

Suggest serving it with milk.

It's a one-two punch
of yumminess.

It is better that way,
I agree.

Help!
She's stopped breathing!

We need a doctor!

"The case
of the lipstick murders began

with the discovery of a
young man's body in a swan boat.

While the motif of the swan
was to prove a key clue,

the defining aspect
of the murders

was the manner in which
each victim was killed."

It's not clear what killed him,
but he died 5 to 10 hours ago.

A canoeist found him
floating in the lake.

Oh, and William, look at this.

"Let's get acquainted
for fun and results."

It's a flirtation card,

to be slipped discreetly
to someone you wish to meet.

So a woman gave him
this flirtation card,

arranging a meeting.

He then brought her here
to this lovely spot.

Romance ensued, judging by
the lip rouge on his face.

Love was in the air.

More than that.

I believe I'm detecting
the smell of bitter almonds.

It could be cyanide.

Likely not the "fun and results"
he was expecting.

"While it was clear the victims
died from cyanide poisoning,

the manner in which
the poison was administered

proved to be a puzzle."

Yes, we discovered
that the poison

was delivered
by way of lip rouge.

But your book specifies

that the poison came
from a cut on the lip.

I don't see
a point of entry here.

That's true.

In this case, it must have been
administered some other way.

- Injected?
- Or ingested.

That would slow the effects
long enough

to see her to hospital.

And obscure
the timing of the murder.

Is that what he's doing, then?

Copying crimes in your book

but leaving out the parts
that would get him caught?

I don't know, sir,
but we now have three murders.

Our best hope is to find
any possible connection

between each of the victims.

We've had
a few sequential murderers.

What's been
the connections there?

Well, the point of connection

is usually related
to the motive.

In the electroplating murders,

it was the betrayal
of a mutual friend.

With the lipstick killer,

it was the man
who had humiliated her.

You needn't be afraid
of this rouge stick.

I chose the color
especially for you.

And with the elder murders
from last year,

the point of connection
was a red herring

to obscure the true motive.

Men over 60 should be
euthanized with chloroform.

Perhaps Dr. Osler didn't realize

the influence
his words would have.

Right, now, the only connection
that we know of is your book.

Am I right?

Sir? Dr. Morley had
a reputation as a drinker.

He was also the defendant
in several malpractice lawsuits.

Interesting.

Henry, find out if anyone
involved in those lawsuits

was connected
to any of the victims.

Oh, and while you're at it,

gather all of the information
that you can

on each of the victims...

Where they were born,
where they lived,

where they went to school,
jobs,

any friends they may have had.

We're looking for anything
that connects one to the other.

All right.

Oh, and this just came out.

Well, at least we have a couple
of suspects with motive.

Who is that?

You and you.

Yes, yes, this is
Constable Higgins-Newsome

from Station House Four.

I'm trying to track down
some information on...

All right.

Anything popping up?

- We've found some connections.
- Yes, sir.

Amelia Brown and Dr. Morley
both lived on Wright Avenue,

but at different times.

Rebecca Collins was once
neighbors with Eve Wilson,

who was a patient
of Dr. Morley's.

Also, sir, Miss Brown
and Mrs. Collins

both appeared to enjoy
romance fiction.

Romance fiction?
Bloody tenuous, if you ask me.

I'd have to agree.

Any connection between two
victims is likely happenstance,

but when a connection between
all three victims is found,

we need to pay strict attention.

Right, then. It's time
for Slorach's send-off.

Oh, I-I can't go.

These sequential murders
are a bloody nightmare, Murdoch.

Get your head out of it for
a while, then come back to it.

- Like a jigsaw puzzle.
- Sort of.

Come on, Murdoch.

I'll just stay here, then.

They're crowded into the alley.
It's quite the turnout.

Well, he was never much of
a cop, but an easy man to like.

No luck in the case,
but book sales are good, I see.

Mr. Fellows.
I-I didn't realize you...

That I used to be a cop?

Of course not. I am just
a hotel detective, after all.

- I don't remember you.
- I had to leave the force.

Injury in the line of duty.
Some pay the price.

So you worked with
Inspector Slorach?

My, you are the sleuth!
How did you figure that out?

Oh, right.
I'm here.

Ralphie boy!
How's the knee?

Well, it's had 30 years
to heal.

Great, great, great.
Get yourself a beer.

- First round's on me.
- I already have my first beer.

Hey, I just saved 10 cents.

Oh, Tommy, I'm looking forward
to your speech.

Give me your worst. No one
will laugh harder than me.

We'll see about that.

If I could
have your attention, please.

I'd like to say a few words

about everyone's
favorite inspector.

Or as we used to call him,
Sloppy Seconds Slorach!

It's true! It's true, they did!
They did!

Sorry to interrupt,

but there's a telephone call
for the man of the hour.

That would be me.

Right.
Quiet down, lads.

Let the man of the hour
hear the bloody phone.

Hello?
W-Who is this?

Can you hear me now?!

What happened?!

He's been shot!

Angels. I see angels.
Angels are carrying me.

I'm floating away.

Angels!

Learn anything, sir?

Bloody useless,
the lot of them.

You'd think in a barroom
full of coppers,

someone would have
seen something.

We didn't
see anything either.

So, what would make an earpiece
explode like that?

I believe it was struck
by a high velocity projectile.

You mean a bullet?

- Well...
- I didn't hear a shot.

Not exactly a bullet, sir.

I believe this crime
was inspired

by chapter four of the book.

What's chapter four?

"Murder at
the Hall of Inventions."

As you might remember,

I had been called
to the convention

to investigate a threat
to an inventor.

That's me.

Mr. Schreyer,
under the circumstances,

I would advise you
not to go up on that stage.

No. I have worked for years
for this moment.

I'm not
going to be intimidated.

Mr. Schreyer
accepted his award...

...and paid the price
with his life.

Seal the exits, George.
This man's been murdered.

- There was no gunshot?
- None that was heard, sir.

Obviously, something penetrated
his skull. As to how...

Must have been someone
who used one of those mufflers

that silences a gunshot.

How could someone have used such
a weapon without being seen?

A bit higher, Constable.

Higher.

We determined the trajectory
of the bullet.

There.

Oh, that's odd.

You found it led
to a killing machine.

- So where would that be, then?
- Well, let's see.

Inspector Slorach was
standing here, facing this way.

So the shot had to
have come from...

Well, well, well.

Your book has certainly turned
out to be quite inspirational.

How do you know
that's what this is?

I am a detective.

I may not write books, but I am
capable of abductive reasoning.

You're also connected
to the first murder

and this latest attempt.

Oh, am I a suspect now?

How do you explain
the coincidence?

How do you?

Yes, I'm connected to two,

but you're connected
to all of them.

Furthermore,
you have a motive.

Your books are just
flying off the shelves.

Nothing like a little murder
to goose sales.

I'll goose you if you don't
shut up and let him work.

Oh, yes, of course. Let the
master detective ply his trade!

He's written a book, you know?!

Bloody pain in the backside,
he is.

All right, then.

Excuse me.
What's behind here?

Storage room.

Well, we've seen this before,
haven't we?

What is it?

I have no idea.

This is a battery.

There are wires leading to
a switch of some sort.

But then this appears to be
a switch as well.

I'm going to bypass
these switches

to see if I can figure out
what the...

I believe we've found
our murder weapon, George.

There are some similarities.
But it can't be the same.

Why is that?

Because Karl Schreyer
shot himself.

He put himself in the position
and triggered the device.

In this case,
the killer had to

control the timing
as well as the position.

- So the killer was among us.
- Not exactly.

This device was triggered
by this alarm clock,

set for 8:00 p.m.

So no one in the room
could have affected the timing.

As for the position, the killer
had him speak into the telephone

at precisely 8:00 p.m.

Henry!

So whoever telephoned
tried to kill him.

That would appear to be
the case.

- Sir?
- Any success?

The switchboard operator
remembers the call.

She said the voice
sounded like it was put on.

He likely disguised it.

Did she remember
where the call came from?

Yes, sir. It came from
the Windsor House Hotel.

Ralph Fellows works
at the Windsor House Hotel.

Yes, but Ralph Fellows
was at the retirement party.

He couldn't have placed
the call.

He wasn't one of the coppers
that I talked to

directly after Slorach was shot.

The Windsor House Hotel is,
what, three blocks from there?

Could he have
run to the Windsor House,

placed the call, and run back?

He did seem a bit winded.

As far as I know, Mr. Fellows
was here all evening.

He wasn't.

He was at a retirement party

for at least
part of the evening.

I didn't give him permission
to leave.

Regardless, I need to know where
he was at precisely 8:00 p.m.

Some time ago, I caught
Mr. Fellows sleeping on the job,

so I had
one of these installed.

He's required to punch in
on the hour, every hour.

8:01.

Is Fellows our man, then?

He is a strong suspect.

What could his motive be?

Taking you down a peg or two.

Well, he's always resented
your success.

And you're Toronto's
most famous detective.

And now you're infamous

for writing a how-to book
for murder.

Not even Ralph Fellows
is that spiteful.

But if he did have motive
to kill these specific victims,

then I suppose taking us down
a peg could be a welcome bonus.

Sir. Ralph Fellows once worked
for Miss Brown's father.

The Pinkerton fellow?

- Bring in Mr. Brown, Henry.
- Sir.

Yeah, I hired Ralph.
He lasted exactly one week.

What happened?

I came back from lunch
and found my Amelia

shooting bottles in the alley
with his pistol.

He gave her his pistol?

Well, no,
he didn't give it to her,

but clearly he left it in
a place where she could find it.

Worst of all,
he wouldn't admit it!

Claimed he kept it locked up.

I fired him on the spot.
Haven't seen him since.

What, you think he murdered
my Amelia

because she got him fired?

It did seem a bit much.

I don't disagree, but we have
a connection and motive.

Let's see what the constables
have found.

Henry, what have you?

Well, the hotel owner gave us
the access to Mr. Fellows' room.

- We found this.
- "Learn German."

It suggests he may be
intending to flee.

Anything else?

Yes, we found some of
his old correspondence.

Tells somewhat of a sad story,
I'm afraid.

Go on.

Well, in 1865,

Ralph Fellows applied to be
a detective at Scotland Yard.

He was accepted.

Ralph Fellows
for England's finest?!

Why didn't he go?

The woman he was courting at the
time hid the acceptance letter.

How did you learn that?

Well, she wrote
a subsequent letter

admitting what she did, sir.

She blamed bad advice from
a friend for her treachery.

What was the friend's name?

Becky Winters.

Becky.

Becky is short for Rebecca.

Henry, telephone city records

and see if Rebecca Collins'
maiden name is Winters.

You're thinking she
might be victim number three.

If Mr. Fellows is our killer, he
certainly would have had motive.

Sir.
I just found this.

What is it, Murdoch?

A letter
from Mr. Fellows' lawyer.

He was suing Dr. Morley.

Sir, Rebecca Winters
married Rupert Collins in 1881.

What about Slorach?
What's the motive there?

Ralph Fellows aspired to become
a detective. He never made it.

Slorach did.

So Slorach reaches
the pinnacle of his profession,

while Ralph Fellows ends up
a hotel detective.

That's got to rankle.

Ralph Fellows had motive
to kill all four victims.

Bring him in, Higgins.

Three counts murder,
one attempted.

Sir.

Planning on leaving town?

I suppose the notion
of self-improvement

must be inconceivable
to someone

who considers himself
to be perfect.

But you're not perfect.

You have arrested
the only man that I know

could not have committed
these murders.

How is that?

I'm pretty sure
I would've known

if I was going around
killing people I don't know.

Oh, but you do know them.

I know Slorach.
I have no reason to kill him.

Detective Slorach
was promoted ahead of you.

Undeservedly.

But you wanted that job.

You may have
eventually made detective,

but a botched surgery rendered
you unfit for service...

A surgery performed
by Dr. Morley.

You, of course,
remember Robert Brown.

You worked with him
at the Pinkerton's.

The body of the woman
that was found in the lobby

was his daughter.

No.

I believe
she found your pistol.

Yes, I know what happened!

Likewise, you also
remember Rebecca Collins.

Who is she?

Her maiden name was Winters.

Dear God.

That was Becky?

Each of the victims
harmed you in a way

that forever denied your
ambition to become a detective.

That was my ambition.
I admit that.

As a child,
I used to play detective.

I uncovered
all my sister's crimes.

But I did not place
that call.

Nor did I kill the doctor
who destroyed my career

or that loathsome child
who decided to play pop gun

with my pistol
outside my boss' window.

And I most certainly

did not kill Becky Winters
with a lipstick kiss of death.

Then who did?

Who else knows
of all of these connections?

No doubt that you think that
there's a lineup of people

around the block who wish
to set me up for murder.

Nobody hates me that much.

Then how do you explain
the connections, Mr. Fellows?

I used to be lucky.

As a child, I was blessed.
Everything went my way.

My father
was a pathetic drunk.

He was gone
by the time I was seven.

My sister
got lumped with him.

I got to live with my mother
in Canada.

I was always her favorite.

And her new husband just
happened to have a brother

who worked in Scotland Yard.

So when you came of age,
you applied,

knowing you would be accepted.

But you never heard back
from them.

Because Miss Winters hid
your letter of acceptance.

Her friend convinced her
that she would lose me.

The irony is,
I would have married Becky

and taken her with me.

That's the day my luck turned.

You're a Catholic.
You must believe in God's hand.

Surely you must have
felt it on your back

when you got your perfect job,
your perfect wife,

your best-selling book.

I believe in His grace.

Then surely you must allow
for the opposite...

Denial of grace.

Malevolent fortune.

At every juncture, the fates
conspired against my ambitions,

my happiness.

You want my explanation?

Here it is...

There is a killer out there

using your book
to kill people randomly.

It's just my bad luck
they all happen to be people

who I have motive to kill.

Or do you consider me
stupid enough

to leave a correspondence trail
that links me to every victim?

Just my luck.

It's got to be him.

Who else would have the motive
to kill these people?

I don't know, sir.

But I take his point...

Would he have left
such a trail of evidence?

Is he that stupid?

And if so,
how did he conceive of,

let alone execute,
all of these crimes?

If it is a setup, is the real
killer out to get Fellows,

or do they have
the wrong motive?

Well, we know
that the killer telephoned

from the Windsor House Hotel.

What about the hotel owner?

She was the one who bought
the machine that ensured

that Fellows would be there
on the hour.

She's also the one who invited
the constables

to search his room.

Sir.

Becky Collins' friend,
the one who advised her

to hide Mr. Fellows' acceptance
letter... Her name was Eve.

- Eve?
- It could be short for Evelyn.

You're thinking she
acted to sabotage his career?

I don't know.

But if she was behind
his first failure,

it stands to reason

that she had a hand
in the rest of them.

Pookie!

Uh, Mr. Kellogg.

Mr. Kellogg is forming

the Battle Creek
Toasted Corn Flake Company.

We've come to see
if you are free for dinner.

I can't.
We're in the middle of a case.

Oh. Pity.

Well, I suppose
we'll have to

celebrate our partnership
without you.

I'll meet you at the restaurant,
Mr. Kellogg.

Very good.
I'll see you shortly.

A rooster on the box.

Brilliant!

- Do I look like a rooster?
- Partnership?

Oh, not an equal partnership,
but he's given us 1,000 shares.

- Really?
- Mm-hmm.

How much are they worth?

$100, but think about
how much more they'll be worth

in 10 years' time.

Pumpkin...

I really don't see people
eating dried flakes,

especially not at breakfast.

Are you sure, Henny?

- Sure as sunshine, Ruthie.
- Oh.

I'll tell you what.
Sell the shares.

We'll buy that new chesterfield
that you were looking at.

Oh, I did very much
like that chesterfield.

Sir!

Evelyn Matthews' maiden name
was Wilson,

and an Eve Wilson was
a Pinkerton's client in 1886.

When Amelia Brown was five.

Do you think
she tricked the little girl

into stealing Fellows' pistol?

Sir, did I hear you say
Eve Wilson?

Yes.
What have you?

Eve Wilson was a patient
of Dr. Morley.

Perhaps she got him drinking

before he operated
on Mr. Fellows?

Where's the connection
to Slorach?

Did she arrange for him to
solve the Jarvis strangler case?

It's more likely that
she impeded

Ralph Fellows' own investigation
of it.

Why would she dedicate herself
to ruining Mr. Fellows' life?

Henry, I need you
to telegraph Scotland Yard.

Your maiden name was Wilson,
and you went by the name of Eve.

I'm still called Eve
by my friends.

You were friends
with Rebecca Winters

in the late '60s.

For a short time.

You advised her to hide

Mr. Fellows' letter of
acceptance from Scotland Yard.

You hired
the Pinkterton Detective Agency

while Mr. Fellows worked there.

If you say so.

And you were a patient
of Dr. Morley's.

You are connected to
every victim in this case.

Doesn't mean I had reason
to kill any of them.

I believe you did.

I believe you deliberately
set out

to destroy Mr. Fellows' life.

And for the coup de grace,
you set him up for murder

and were prepared to
watch him hang for it.

Why would I do that?
I barely knew him.

Your birth name
was Catherine Evelyn Fellows.

Ralph Fellows' sister.

- You resented him.
- Is that what he told you?

He had good fortune,
and you did not.

Fortune had nothing
to do with it.

He got everything he wanted

because he was
a little bootlicker.

And as for me, every time
I stepped out of line,

he was there
with his magnifying glass

and abductive reasoning
to find me out and turn me in.

And it wasn't just me.

It was Ralph who uncovered
our father's adultery

and ended their marriage.

Everything bad that happened,
he made happen.

It's his fault.
All of it!

So you admit it?

Oh, I admit
I dedicated myself

to squelching his ambition,
and I don't regret it.

He would have made
a terrible detective.

The truth was staring him
in the face the whole time.

I even hired him just to
make his life miserable,

and he never put it together.

That his own sister was the
architect of his misfortune.

He thought
it was all his bad luck.

What an idiot.

So go ahead.
Charge me.

All the evidence
points to him.

Any jury will see that.

Evelyn was Catherine?

She set out to destroy you,
Mr. Fellows.

But...

I always liked Catherine.

I'd always hoped the best
for her.

Will she hang?

If she confesses, no.

But she refuses.

I'm sorry.

Don't be.

You gave me back my life.

I always thought God hated me.

Turns out it was just her.

As a child,
I used to play detective.

I uncovered
all my sister's crimes.

Why did he tell me that?

If he'd never told me
about his sister,

I never would have
put it together.

So you think
Mr. Fellows discovered

Evelyn Matthews was his sister?

Once he'd figured out
what she'd done,

he set her up
by setting himself up.

Gambling that you would figure
that much out but no more?

If you look at
the bulk of our cases,

the first suspect
is rarely the culprit.

But to conceive
of such a revenge,

let alone carry it out,
would take a genius.

Does Ralph Fellows really
strike you as a genius?

I'm saying it's a bad idea.

The banquet,
or the fact

that it's being held
in complete darkness?

Well, obviously
I'm not against banquets.

I do work in a hotel.

This dinner is in honor
of a very special guest

who is both blind and deaf,

which is why we've invited
blind and deaf guests

as well as charitable donors.

Exactly.
Mixing the rich with the poor?

With the lights out?!

And a constituency specially
skilled for such circumstance.

The opportunity for theft
is obvious.

As a fellow detective,
you must appreciate my position.

He's not a fool, Julia.

He's just desperate
to be taken seriously.

Which can make anyone
seem like a fool.

He must have known
we thought him unintelligent.

Maybe that's what
he was counting on.

He uses our book
to set up his sister

and gets revenge on us

when we have
an innocent woman hanged.

But, William, the one lesson he
must have taken from our book

is that you always catch
the killer in the end.

Would he not have
taken precautions?

- We found this.
- "Learn German."

It suggests
he may be intending to flee.

Sir, Ralph Fellows bought
a ticket to Hamburg on a ship

that sailed two weeks ago.

Purchased September 18th.

Right before
the murders began.

He planned it all out.

And he bloody well
got away with it as well.

Henry, contact
the German authorities.

Right away, sir.

Ah, Hamish!
How are you faring?

Have I seen fairies?

How are you faring?

Oh, good.
Very good, very good.

I don't know why Thomas
is asking about fairies.

- However did he make inspector?
- I heard that.

Oh! Come here.

- Can you hear?
- See? It works.

- Detective Murd...
- You figured it out.

Mr. Fellows.

Where are you?

You win.

For now.

Where are you going?

We're heading down
to the Staten Island ferry.