All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S18E18 - The Incredible Astonishing Adventures of Constable George Crabtree

(distant dog barking)

(train bell ringing)

- Good gracious! Henry,
a prisoner in the Don Jail

crafted a bomb and used it
to destroy one of the walls.

- My, oh, my. How many escaped?

- Dozens, it says.

God knows what sort of havoc
they'll wreak on the city.

Or if we'll even be able
to catch them all again!

- George,
we're the Toronto Constabulary.

We won't rest until
we've caught every last one.

- You're absolutely right,
Higgins. In fact...

(baby crying)

Good God, Henry! There's a baby
hanging out of the window!

Out of the way! Out of the way!

(crowd shouting)

(baby crying)

(crowd cheering)

- The baby was hanging
right out of the window!

You should have seen it!
I-If we'd been there

a moment later...
(smacks hand)

(all): Oh...

- Would've crashed
to the ground.

Thank goodness
for George Crabtree.

(applause)
- No.

- Yes.

- No, no. Any one of you
would have done the same.

If you could.
- Marvellous work, George.

You saved a life today.

- Yes. Yes, I suppose I did.
Thank you, Detective.

- But what is life?

Is the life of a child really
more valuable than that

of the noble fern?

Some believe God created us
in His image,

but there are more plants
than men on this Earth.

Who's to say God didn't
create plant in His image

and man as a mere lark?

- I believe the Detective
is calling me.

(static hissing)

- Oh! Fiddlesticks!

- Sir?
- Huh?

- What's that?

- It's my latest invention,
but it isn't working.

- What does it do?

- It's a device capable
of listening in

and amplifying
criminal conversations

over great distances.

- Only criminal conversations,
sir?

- Well, any conversations,
I suppose.

Although, I don't see
the point of listening in

to conversations
that aren't pertinent

to the commission of a crime.

- You know, sir, I once had
an idea for similar invention,

a device that could
monitor space

and listen for communications
from beyond the stratosphere.

- No one lives beyond
the stratosphere.

- Perhaps, sir.

Or perhaps we're just
not listening.

(gasps)

- George! It works!

- You're welcome.

- Sir.
(knocking)

There's been a problem
at the National Bank.

- Good Lord!

Someone's used a bomb
to breach this vault!

- I'm not sure about that, sir.
No blast residue.

- You're right, George.

No sign of a fire
or incendiary device.

Perhaps the thieves used
a wrecking ball?

- I'm not sure about that,
either, sir.

(grunts)

- Someone's robbed this bank
using a cannon.

(theme music)

- That's right, a cannon!

He set it off and an onyx orb
flew like,

like a speeding train,
bringing the wall crashing down.

- And you saw this?
- Yes, sir.

I was sitting right here,

imbibing in a refreshing
bottle of ale.

- What time was this?

- Ah, couldn't have been before
three AM. In the morning.

- And how many thieves
were there?

- Only one, sir.

- One man? Wheeling a cannon
through the streets of Toronto?

How was he able to make off
with all the money

while managing such
a cumbersome weapon?

- I know, sir.
He wasn't wheeling the cannon.

It was of his person.

- How was the thief
carrying this cannon?

- It was attached to his arm.

- An entire cannon?
How was he able to lift it?

- This was not just any man,
sir.

He was a Mechanical Man,

his arms composed not of flesh,
but of wrought iron!

- Right.

If we have any more questions,
we'll let you know.

- Eh.

- I take it you're not convinced
by his story?

- No.

- Sir, you're not the only
person on the planet

who can invent things.
Perhaps this Mechanical Man

is your villainous counterpart.

- An ordinary man committed
this robbery, George.

Just like every other robbery
in the history of the world.

We just need to find out who.

- Sir, what about the bombing
at the Don Jail?

Perhaps the man
who made that bomb

has also made some sort of
mechanical suit of armour

that allows him to break through
walls and rob banks at will.

- A fanciful idea, George,

supported not by fact,

but by a town drunk.

I intend to stick
with the evidence.

- Well, I hardly think
a Mechanical Man made of metal

is going to leave
behind fingermarks.

(Margaret): Prices have never
been lower, Thomas.

Verna Jones bought one
at Eaton's just last week.

- What do we need
a refrigerator for?

- Well, to keep things cold.
- Like what?

(sighs)
- Meats, cheeses.

- Why do we need to keep
them cold?

They're going to end up
in the oven, anyway.

You only want one because
Verna Jones has got one!

- Thomas, you are impossible.

I'll leave the Eaton's
catalogue out for you tonight.

- Oh, bloody hell.

- Sir, we've just returned
from the National Bank.

But we've yet to identify
a suspect.

- However, we believe it could
be a mad metallurgist,

and that the whole thing
could be connected

to the breakout at the Don Jail.

- Where am I going to find
the money to buy a refrigerator?

(Murdoch): Sir.

We were discussing the bank.

- What's to discuss?
Solve the case!

(curious music)

(crickets chirping)

- George Crabtree,
you are one in a million.

- You're not so bad yourself.

- I've known a few men
in my day,

but none have come close
to satisfying me like you.

(exhales)

Let's make love all night.

- Effie, I have to go through
these files you brought

from the Crown Attorney's
office.

- What did you want
with those anyway?

- These are all the escapees

from the breakout
at the Don Jail.

I have a feeling
one of them's responsible

for the bank heist last night.

- I admire you, George.

You're the best man
I've ever known.

(sighs)

- What is it?
- Nothing.

It's just that I know

your heart will never
truly be mine.

- Effie, what are you on about?
You know it's already yours.

- No, don't you see?

Your heart belongs to justice.

- Oh, Effie.

Sir, I've got it.

Dr. Virgil von Zrill.

He was a brilliant inventor
until he was arrested

for stealing from the doctors
in his employ.

- What about him?

- Sir, he's one of the escapees
from the Don Jail! And look!

He was horrifically injured
when one of his inventions

went awry. He was crippled,
he lost an arm,

horrendous facial scarring,
barely survived.

- Huh. George, this doesn't seem
like the type of person

that would become
a criminal mastermind.

- Sir, think about it!
This is why!

This is why he encased himself
in metal.

To make up for his broken body

and to give himself
superhuman strength.

- George, that's
an outlandish idea.

- Sir.

There's been another robbery.

- I've never seen anything
like it.

A Mechanical Man,

seven feet tall,
wielding a mighty cannon.

- Do you mean to say
he was carrying a cannon?

- It was a part of him.

Where an ordinary man
would have an arm,

he had a cannon.

- Thank you very much, Miss.

- Dear Lord, George,
you were right.

Why didn't I listen?

Your mind is so often
one step ahead.

Damn my intransigence!

- Sir, don't be hard
on yourself.

We all miss things
from time to time.

Sir, there's something
I haven't told you

about Dr. Virgil von Zrill.

At his trial, when he was
convicted, he vowed vengeance,

not just on the city of Toronto,

but, indeed, on all of Canada.

Sir, I fear these bank heists
are just the beginning.

- Revenge on all of Canada.

George, that would mean...

(dramatic music)

- We have to warn
the Prime Minister.

- It could be dangerous.
- Dangerous, sir?

I don't know
the meaning of the word.

(crowd shouting)

(clamouring)

(glass shattering)

- My God, George!

He's laying waste
to the entire city.

- Sir, look.

- It can't be.
Mr. Prime Minister!

- Sir! He's gone.

- But, George,
without the prime minister,

Canada will surely fall.

(canon blasting)

- You devil!

You may have taken
the prime minister,

but you'll never
take Station House Four

of the Toronto Constabulary!

- And you spent months
writing that travesty.

- Sir, the publishers
quite like it.

I've had several
offers already.

- It's an amusing yarn,
I suppose.

But what are you
trying to say about

the Inspector's character?
He's a henpecked drunk.

- Uh, well, I--
- Crabtree, let me tell you:

It's all right making Murdoch
into a bit of a ninny,

and Watts a, a bookish bore,

but I wear the trousers
in my household.

A drop of whisky never stopped
me from running a tight ship.

- Sir, when one creates
a work of fiction--

- His name is Breckenride.

And he's from Lancashire!

- Sir, what did you think
of the ending?

I'm having misgivings about it.

- It's a bit much.

- Sir. George.
Where is the Inspector?

- He's on holiday.
He's back tomorrow.

He's enjoying the company
of a lady friend.

- Oh, right! Miss Mandelbaum.

Um, well, then perhaps
you'll want to join me, sir.

There's been an incident
down on River Street.

A carriage carrying prisoners

has been held up,
and the convicts are on the run.

- Come on, bugalugs.

Let us remind you how
a real station house is run,

the ninny and the drunk.

- He had a rifle.
There was nothing we could do.

Took my keys,
opened the back door,

and started letting them out
one by one.

- How many prisoners?
- Eleven, sir.

- What did he look like?

- Uh, he was short.

But other than that,
I can't say.

He had a, a bandana
covering his face.

- Did he communicate with any
of the prisoners

that he released?

By that I mean did any of them
seem to know him?

- No. No, he just
let them go and they ran.

- All right. Thank you.
Get back to it.

- Of course.

- Right, then.
We've got the whole area

cordoned off. We've got men down
on Queen Street, up on Gerrard.

And, also, we've got officers
from Station House Six

patrolling the whole
of the river in case

any of them try to swim across.

- Good thinking, sir.
They won't get far.

- Not while I'm in charge.
Eh, Crabtree?

- One by one,

they ran off, mostly in
the direction of the river.

- Did any of them
flee in groups?

- Not that I saw.

- Did any of them
speak to the gunman?

- Not a one. He was on his own.

- Other witnesses say
he was wearing a bandana.

- That's right.

- A red one?

- Yes, sir. What about it?

- Good work, lads.
Seven of the men caught,

four still on the loose.

We have posters
of the missing men

ready to be plastered
all over town.

We will not rest until
these men are back behind bars.

Carry on, gentlemen.
- Ah, sir!

Sirs.

I feel I have to mention
the perpetrator's red bandana.

- What about it?

- Well, don't you think it's odd
that the villain in my novel

wears a red bandana
to cover up his scar

before he turns himself
into a Mechanical Man?

- This is real life, Crabtree,
not a silly little novel.

- Sir, you've read
George's latest novel?

- I have. You haven't?

Oh! He's done a right number
on you, Murdoch.

Oh.

Figure out why the man
in the bandana

wants to free the prisoners
in the first place.

- I have a hunch, Henry.

Why would somebody stop
a police transport

and let a bunch of prisoners go?

- Uh... by mistake?

Perhaps he thought
it was a different carriage

that had money in it.
- No!

Well, actually, I suppose,
maybe.

But what if he knew
one of the prisoners,

wanted to help him escape,

but decided to let
the whole lot of them go

in order to hide his connection
to that one prisoner.

- It's a bit complicated.

- Oh, indeed. And to pull it off
would take meticulous planning.

I think we're looking
at a master criminal.

- So, why would
a master criminal

want to spring
a small-potato convict?

- That I don't know yet.

But I think we should start
by speaking

to the greatest
criminal mastermind we know.

Henry! Look at that man!

He's wearing a red bandana!

Oi! You, there. Stop!

(dramatic music)

(grunting)

(grunting)

Well, well, well.
Look who it is.

Ralph Fellows.

- Enough of this daydreaming.
This is ridiculous!

Who's to say that Ralph Fellows
is even in Toronto?

- No, sir, perhaps you're right.

- Figure it out.

- "As they all beheld George's
strapping six-foot-three frame."

Well, you did make
a good point, though, George.

- I did?
- Yes.

Whoever the man behind
the red bandana actually is,

perhaps he did want to free
one of the prisoners,

but he freed
all of the prisoners

in order to obscure
his connection.

- Sir, my thinking precisely.

- Get the court records
on all the prisoners

and see who testified
on each of their behalfs.

Perhaps we're looking for
a friend, or a relative.

- Sir.

(curious music)

(crickets chirping)

(George sighs)

- Effie Crabtree,
you are one in a million.

- You're not so bad yourself.

I pulled those files
you asked about.

Looking for friends and family
of the escapees?

- Beauty and brains to match.
How did I ever get so lucky?

- Well, I suppose I'm a sucker
for a good writer.

Have you got any ideas
for the new ending of your book?

- I'm not sure.
I can't really put my finger

on what's wrong
with the current version.

- Too unbelievable?

- Maybe. But for me,

the villain has
such good history.

That keeps it just real enough.

If I change him, then the whole
thing goes sideways.

- I was talking about the hero.

He's so perfect.
It's not very believable.

- Oh, so you don't think
I'm perfect?

- I think that the real
George Crabtree is so wonderful,

that if he were written
in a book,

nobody would believe it.

- Stop it.

Do you think I should
dial back the bits

where I'm an extraordinary
lover?

- No, absolutely not.

The readers love the racy bits.

- You're right.

- And the racy bits
are the most believable.

(playful music)

- George Crabtree?
Charles Chalk.

We spoke on the telephone.

Wowee! Are we ever pleased
as punch

to be publishing your novel.

Can't wait to get it
on the shelves.

- Well, that's wonderful, sir.

- Sir? Please, no need
to be so formal.

- Of course, Mr. Chalk.
- Chick.

- I beg your pardon?
- It's Chick.

- Mr. Chick.
- Mr. Chalk.

- You just said it was Chick.
- You can call me Chick.

- I did call you Chick.
- You called me Mr. Chick.

- That's right.
- It's Mr. Chalk.

- Well, wha-what?
- George his name is Chick,

short for Charles, Chalk.
You can call him Mr. Chalk,

or, as he prefers, Chick.

- Mr. Chalk...
- Uh...

- Chick. I wanted to chalk--

I mean, check with you
if it's not too late

to make a couple of changes
to my manuscript.

- Huh.

- Changes? The type's
already set.

- Well, you can un-set it,
can't you?

Unless you've already
started printing?

- I suppose.

It's a lot of work.
How big are these changes?

- Yes, what kind of changes
are you thinking about, George?

- Well, it's the ending.
It never quite sat

right with me.
But if it's too much work...

- George, it's not
too much work.

- It's a lot of work.

- Well, it's not so much work
that it can't be done.

You can change the ending,
George!

- I didn't know you felt that
strongly about me changing it.

- You know, life is hard enough
without people like you.

- I beg your pardon?
- How long do you need, George?

- A week.

- Then a week you should have.

Philip, stand down.

(sighs)

We will publish
the best book we can,

or my name's not Chick Chalk!

- My lord, what a sad,
bitter man.

- Did you notice
his handkerchief?

- Whose?

- Chi, Cha-- Mr. Chalk.

- No. What about it?
- It was red.

I just wondered if...

Oh, I'm sure it's nothing.

Thank you for buying me
some more time.

You know,
I have half an idea--

What's going...
Oi, Mac! What's going on?

- Uh, there's been
a bank robbery!

- A bank...?

I'd better attend to this.

Sir.

- That's one way
to make a withdrawal.

- Oh. Ha-ha. Very good, sir.

Can I point out this is exactly
what happened in my novel?

- George.
- Well, it's an awful

coincidence, don't you think?

- There are stark differences
between reality

and your novel, George.

For example,
this was likely the result

of an incendiary device,
uh, gunpowder.

- And not the result
of a cannonball

fired from
a Mechanical Man's arm.

- I suppose you're right, sir.

- Aha! I believe
this is the casing

of the explosive device.

Thin metal, welded shut

and likely had
a short-term-release fuse.

- I've never seen
anything like it.

- It's crude, homemade.
Then, again, unlike your novel.

- Sir, does this mean that
you've read my book already?

- It was a quick read,
George. Yes.

- What did you think?

- Well, it was, uh, brisk,

compelling, expertly written.

The ending, however--

- I know, sir, I know.
I'm working on it.

- I, I found I especially

related to the detective
character.

- Well, you know, sir,
you provided some inspiration

for that character.

- I, too, often find I strain

against the bounds
of my intellect.

It's quite frustrating.
- Well, now, sir--

- Luckily, I have
a constable on hand

whose genius, insight
and physical prowess

know no bounds.

- Sir, when one creates
a work of fiction--

- Chief Constable.

- Bloody hell. Two in one night.

- What?

- Savings and Loan on Wilton.

Wall blown out,
exactly like that.

Everything stolen.
Station House Three

are investigating.

Oh, and look,
this was found at the scene.

- What is this?

- Sir!

Metal armour!

As if to construct
a Mechanical Man?

- Welcome back, Inspector.

There's a lot been happening.

- So I've gathered.

- So, no witnesses, no leads.

What in God's name
is going on, Murdoch?

- Well, sir, the similarities
to George's book

are far too much
of a coincidence to be ignored.

- You finished your novel?
- I did.

- You're a man of many talents.
- Please, don't encourage him.

- Huh. And you're saying
there's a connection

between these crimes
and the constable's manuscript?

- Absolutely, sir.
And last night,

I was reading
through the case files.

One of the escapees
has connections

to a criminal gang
who have robbed banks

all across Ontario. His name
is James David Anderson.

- Was he ever caught?
- Sir, still on the run.

- Prime suspect, then.

- Well, sir, it is compelling,

but how on Earth
did this Mr. Anderson

obtain a copy of George's book?

(machine clacking)

(chuckling)

- Chalk, you're wanted
for questioning down at the--

What on Earth is all this?

- What are you doing here?
Buh, this is nothing!

It's an advance.

- These bills are from
the National Bank.

It was you. You stole my book

and used it as inspiration
to go on a rampage of crime!

- It was an ingenious idea.

All I had to do
was follow your story,

and soon I'd have my hands
on a cool million.

- You're a villain.

- Me? It was your

sick, brilliant mind
that lit the path!

(laughing maniacally)

(mocking maniacal laughter)

- A laugh, so maniacal.

- You're a bloody lunatic,
Crabtree.

And so is anyone
who would copy your book.

- You're not wrong, sir.

But it appears someone has,

and George does
make a good point.

- Somehow, his novel got
into the hands of the thief.

- And, sirs, the only person,
besides us,

who's read the thing
is the publisher,

who, I also noted,
uses a red kerchief.

A red bandana was seen
by a witness

at the site of the escape.

- Right, then. Inspector,

I suggest you get hold
of the file on Mr. Anderson

to Watts.
Crabtree, you go with Murdoch,

round up this publisher

and anyone else who's read
your bloody book.

- Sir.

- Oh, uh, George,

if you are planning
on changing the ending

of your book, anyway...

- What's this?

- Just some mathematical

and scientific corrections

to help make the book more...
realistic.

- Oh.

- May I?

(playful music)

James David Anderson,

known associate of Allan Henry
and the Milhouse gang.

- The fugitives with
the connection to bank robbers.

- Hm. Mm.

- Something the matter,
Detective?

- No.

- You seem rather...
taciturn today.

- Don't mind me,
I wouldn't want to go on and on

like some sort of...
What was it?

A, a...

"A blathering philosopher"?

- Watts, when one creates
a work of fiction...

- It's quite all right.

- Don't worry, George.
I liked your book.

I thought I came across
just as I am.

- You've read it already?
- Absolutely.

Well, I skimmed it
for my parts.

(sighs)

- Some madman's been copying
the crimes in the novel?

I'm shocked. Shocked!

- It's so fantastical
as to be absurd.

And yet, somehow, it's true.

- Given the book hasn't actually
been published yet,

very few people have had
the opportunity to read it.

- Oh, you can't suspect me.

- You carry a red handkerchief,
do you not?

- Well, yes.
What does that matter?

- That remains to be seen.

Who else have you shown
the manuscript to?

- Well, the only people
who've read it are myself

and those in my employ.
- How many is that?

- Well, there's June, of course.

Mr. Abernathy, of course.

Of course, there's Philip
and Frank and Jeffers.

That's it.

- All right.
We'll need all of them

to come down to the station
house for questioning.

- Of course.

- Sir, you don't think
this will affect my book

getting published, do you?

- Not so long as we catch
whoever's behind this,

I do-don't think. Maybe.

- You shared a cell
with James David Anderson?

- What of it?

- And you were both
in the prison transport vehicle

that was held up
on River Street.

- I had nothing to do with that.

- I don't doubt as much.

But I wonder
if your cellmate did.

- How should I know?

- Did he confide anything
in you?

- No.

- Was he acting unusually
the day of the escape?

- He didn't know anything.

Anyway, he's probably
in another province by now.

I saw him heading
for the rail yard.

- What about the man
in the red bandana?

Was he headed
in the same direction?

- No. Didn't see where he went.

But there was one lad
who seemed to know him.

- How so?
- When he got out,

he put his hand on his shoulder,
right before he ran off.

- I want men stationed
at every bank in the city.

Every post office,
every savings and loan,

every credit union.
- We are on the job

24 hours a day
until we bring him in.

- Sirs! Sir-- lads! Lads, wait!

The Mechanical Man
has been seen nearby.

- What, by some bloody drunk?

- No, sir. People as sane
as you or I.

We're-we're getting calls.

The telephone's been
ringing off the cradle!

(dramatic music)

- Bloody hell, Crabtree.
He's straight out of your book.

- He's taking the gold!

- He appears to have
some sort of mechanism

for launching explosives
and-and not an actual cannon.

- Sir, may I?

Oh my goodness.

Sir, i-i-it's the chap
we spoke to earlier,

the trash collector.

- I don't care who he is.

We need to bring him down
before he can use those guns.

- Prepare to fire.
- Sir?

- Do you have a better idea?

- Lads, take position!

(guns cocking)

- Ready? Fire!

(gunfire)

(growls)

Take cover!

(shouting)

Dear God. He's an invincible
killing machine.

- Our bullets are useless
against his armour!

- This is no time for heroics,
lads! Fall back! Fall back!

Fall back! Fall back!

- Why would anyone want
to turn one of Crabtree's

stories into real life?

- Is there any chance
that it's just a coincidence?

- That doesn't seem likely.

- So you think there's
someone out there

as crackers as you are

walking around
the streets of Toronto?

- I have to agree
with Inspector Choi.

A coincidence is just
far too unlikely

given how many similarities
there are to George's book.

- So that's it.
I've created a monster.

An indestructible, mechanical,

killing-machine monster

capable of laying waste
to entire cities!

- Let's focus on
what we do know.

The Mechanical Man
is one of the escaped convicts

and he evaded recapture
by posing as a trash collector

near the site of the escape.

- The man in the red bandana
must have left him

a change of clothes,

which means
they knew one another.

- Precisely.
Whoever the Mechanical Man is,

his accomplice must be someone
who read George's book.

We need to figure out
who that is.

(grunts)

- What's the story, trash man?

How did you get your dirty
mitts on the manuscript?

- Who gave it to you?
Who are you working with?

- What are you talking
about, George?

- How do you know my name?

- Come now, there's no need
to pretend

we don't know one another.

(grunts)
- We don't know one another!

- Of course we do.

How do you think I got
your book? You gave it to me.

- What?
(Higgins): George...

- What on Earth
are you talking about?

- George!

(loud stomping)

(growling)

- Bloody hell. Fine!

Why don't we just have done
with it and lock Crabtree up?

- There is some truth
to what George is saying.

- If a tad fantastical.

- Just a moment.

George created this character,

and much like we are
reflections of our Creator,

the Mechanical Man
is a reflection of... George.

- That is a make-believe
Mechanical Man,

not whatever maniac is out there
terrorizing Toronto!

- Oh, perhaps the real criminal

is someone who read
George's book

and identified with the villain
character so greatly,

that he decided to recreate
his string of crimes.

- So the secret
to the culprit's identity

may lie somewhere
in George's mind.

- Oh, God help us all.

- He's right. Nobody knows
that character better than you.

So what do you know about him?

- Well, I did conceive of him
as a version of myself.

But instead of the world
granting him grace

and opportunity,
it gives him nothing.

In fact, he's crippled by fate,

losing both an arm and a leg.

So he decides
to rebuild himself.

- To feel powerful in a world
where he was powerless.

- Right. He doesn't think
he's doing anything wrong.

He thinks he's just
evening the scales.

(both): Seven-thirty.

- He looks around the world
and he sees people like me.

People who are happy,

people who are lucky,
and he thinks,

"Why does the world give that
to some people, but not to me?"

- So he's taking what he feels
the world owes him.

- Exactly.

- But, George, someone like that

isn't just you
if you'd been dealt

a different hand in life.

Every privilege
that's been afforded to you

has come because you meet
the world with kindness

and love.

- Do you think?
- Of course.

Whoever this person is
who's decided to become

your villain must be consumed
with everything

that is the exact opposite
of George Crabtree.

He must be a sad and bitter man.

- Oh my goodness. Effie,
that's it! You're brilliant!

- I am?
- A sad and bitter man.

I know who it is.

Sir, with some help from Effie,

I made the connection.

I realized that chap
who does the typesetting

down at the publisher's house,

he fits the profile
of my villain exactly.

His name is Philip Armstrong.

- Do you have proof it's him?
- No, sir,

but Mr. Armstrong appears
in the case files

of one of our Don Jail
escapees.

He was a character witness
for Vernon Lloyd.

- They're friends?

- Brothers. Half-brothers,

hence the different surname.

But I asked around,
and the description

of Vernon Lloyd
perfectly matches

that trash collector
we spoke to.

- And where is this
Philip Armstrong now?

- Sir, he's waiting for us
in the interview room.

- I, I don't know anything
about anything.

I never even read that book.

- Mr. Armstrong,
there's no use in denying it.

We know you read the book.

We know you donned a red bandana

and released a wagon
full of prisoners,

one of them your brother,
Vernon Lloyd.

- We have constables searching
for the money at your home

right now. They're also
searching for your brother.

- He's not there.

- So you admit it, then.
It's true.

- Yes. Yes, it's all true.

- Why?

Why did you do all this?

- My brother always looked out
for me growing up.

But recently,
Vernon fell on hard times.

It wasn't his fault.

The world never
cared much for us,

never gave us a thing.

So, I made a plan
for us to commit a robbery.

- When was this?
- Last year.

I had it all figured out.

But it went bad.

Vernon got caught and it...

it was my fault.

I was free while Vernon
was stuck in jail.

- So you decided
to break him out.

- Thanks to you. I was actually
inspired by your novel.

It felt like you were
telling my story.

Vernon and I, we-we used to play
in our grandfather's metal shop

when we were kids.
We dreamed of being invincible.

Of being men made of metal,

just like in your book.

I-I thought we could finally
make those dreams come true.

- But it's...

It's mad.

- Yes, of course it's mad.

But I knew I could
build the suit.

And he had the strength
to manipulate it.

And together we could finally
take what was ours!

- All right. Enough.
Where is your brother now?

- You'll never find him.

And even if you did, I mean,
how could you stop him?

- You're going to take us
to the place

where you built this suit.

- This was grandpa's old shop.

We grew up right here,
learning the trade.

- You were lucky to have
a mentor.

(chuckling)
- Lucky?

The old man was mean
as a snake.

He forced us to work with
hot metal without protection.

On our birthdays,

he would throw pennies onto
the street for us to pick up,

after he'd heated them
in his oven,

so they'd scald our fingers.

- That's awful.

- And if we complained,
or cried?

That's when things
got really bad,

especially when he was suffering
from the brass shakes.

That's when he would do this.

(ominous music)

- Dear God.

- He branded you.

- No wonder you sought
revenge on the world.

- You're damn right.

And we'll get it, too!
My brother isn't finished!

We'll take everything
we deserve.

And leave the likes of you
with nothing!

- Henry, take him outside.

- Inspector.

- Sir.

There's no doubt Vernon Lloyd
will strike again.

We just have no idea
where or when.

- I don't know how
we're going to stop him.

- Hm. Our bullets didn't even
leave a dent.

He nearly killed the lot of us.
- Yes.

I believe we have
only one option.

- Magnets.
- Magnets?

- Well, sir, he's made
out of metal.

We could use magnets
to stop him.

- Yes! Ingenious, Constable. Hm.

- Yes, George. A very good idea,

but not what I was thinking.

We need to fight fire with fire.

- Detective?

- We're going to make
our own suit.

(tense music)

(whirring)

- This is our best idea?

- Sir, the Mechanical Man
is equipped

with an automatic gun

and a device that launches
explosives.

We can't simply
send constables in there

to take him down.

- Sir, you remember
what happened last time.

- So we now have our own
bulletproof suit.

- You're all crackers.
- Not necessarily, sir.

I-I've equipped ours
with a non-lethal device.

Uh, an amplified version
of my weaponized capacitor.

If it strikes any part
of his suit,

the metal will conduct
the entire electrical charge.

- Turning its primary feature
into a weakness.

- Who's going to wear it?

- I will.
- Sir, I have to object.

This whole situation
is my fault.

If it wasn't for my
awe-inspiring,

otherworldly imagination,
none of this would be happening.

I have to be the one
to wear the suit.

I have to destroy
my own creation.

- Good man.

- Detective, Inspector.

I have something. I've
discovered the identity of--

What is going on here?

- We already know the identity
of the Mechanical Man, Watts.

It's Vernon Lloyd.
- That's right. Never mind then.

- Watts!

What else have you discovered?

- I may have some information
about his next steps,

but I wouldn't want to go on

and on like some sort of
"blathering philosopher."

- Watts, when one creates
a work of fiction--

- Watts, carry on!
Get on with it.

- When Vernon Lloyd
was in the Don Jail,

he wrote a series of letters.

They were never delivered. They
were intercepted by the guards.

- He threatens to kill
every jury member

and the judge for putting him
behind bars.

- And the Crown Attorney.

- Wait a minute.

Effie was the lead attorney
on that case.

- Where's your wife now?

- She's due at
the courthouse today.

- We have to get down there now.

- Right.

- Sir, I have to be the one.

- All right, George.
You'll wear the suit.

But I have a plan.

You need to lure
the Mechanical Man

next to the statue
of Queen Victoria

that's out front of City Hall.

- Sir, why?
- Trust me.

Get him to the statue.

(stomping)

(grunting)

(suspenseful music)

(breathing heavily)

(whirring)

- Effie!

Get down!

(gasps)

(gunfire)

(screaming)

(grunting)

- Effie, stay back!

- George?

What's happening?!

- I think they're going
to fight.

- Constable George Crabtree.
Let's do this.

Get back!

(grunts)

- George!
- Stay back!

(zapping)

(groaning)

(screaming)

(gunfire)

(zapping)

(grunting)

(grunting)

(clicking)
- Huh?

- Ah!

(grunts)

- Sir!

(grunting)

- Do you really think
this'll work?

- We're about to find out.

George! George! The statue!

- What are you waiting for?

- He's not close enough.

(grunting)

Get back!

(low whooshing)

(screaming)

- It worked!

- Murdoch, he's had enough.

(grunts)

- George!

- Effie.

(screaming)

- Our grandfather always said
we would never

amount to anything,

that we'd be poor
our whole lives.

Of course we wanted
to prove him wrong.

- You had the money.

You could have
simply disappeared.

- And let them get away with it?

Let them get away with
locking my brother up,

the judge and jury?
That horrible lady attorney.

- She was just doing her job.

- That woman took away
my freedom.

All we wanted to do
was just feel powerful.

- And for a moment, we did.

- And now you'll be going
to prison for a long time.

- What will happen
in the new ending?

- Oh, I've got a couple
of ideas.

I'll send you a copy.
You can read it in your cell.

(soft music)

- Well, your new book
is a smash hit, George.

Readers love the new ending.

- I took inspiration
from real life.

Instead of the hero
doing it all himself,

all the characters had to come
together to defeat the villain.

(both): Seven-thirty.

- I'm not sure that's
what made it a hit.

- Oh, no?
- No.

I think it's because
the readers like the racy bits.

Myself included.

- Oh, is that right?

- Now there's only one question.

What are you going
to write next?

Another instalment?

- You know, I've been thinking
about just that.

And I have two words for you:

Mole Men.

- Mole men?

- Mole men.
They live deep beneath

the Earth's surface,
subterranean.

Effie, they exist! I-I've seen
them with my own eyes.

- Oh, dear.

So, what are you going to do
when you become

a famous novelist? Quit your job
at the constabulary?

- I shouldn't think so.

Where else would I get
the inspiration for my stories?

- Mm. I suppose.

I could help you
with the racy bits.

- Mrs. Crabtree.

- Mm.

(theme music)

Subtitling: difuze