All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - 10x06 - Bend It Like Brackenreid.FLEET.English.HI.C.orig.Addic7ed.com

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -

(shouts of encouragement)

(grandiose music)

- Gentlemen. Lovely day for it.
- Doctor.

Hello Dr. Ogden. I didn't
know you were a football fan.

I couldn't miss the match that decides

which Canadian team will
go to the Olympic games.

What I would give to go to St-Louis.

The World's Fair and the Olympics.

We have everything we need
right here in Toronto, son.

(little groans)

(referee's whistle)

(whistle and sigh)

(hubbub and whistle)

- Now, watch the post!
- Cover the p... the post!

(cheering)

Damn it!

These bloody free kicks
are the devil, I tell you.

Not to worry, Nobby. They've
only been playing five minutes.

Are you not cheering for Toronto?

We're for Galt of course,

since old Nobby and I go way back.

Ever since I came to Canada

- and started playing football...
- Teaching the colonials the English game.

You tackled Nobby, then took
your fight off the field,

and were mates ever since.

It's nice to know that
you listen sometimes.

Your father hasn't changed
a bit, still as opinionated

and stubborn as ever.

(with a chuckle): I'll say.

Ugh! On him! On him!

That Semple lad is quite the footballer.

Reminds me of a young Tommy Crawshaw.

He seems a bit selfish to me.

Nonsense!

You always have your best
player leading the attack.

It makes more sense to
me to pass the ball around

and use the whole
team. Like the Scots do.

You've got a young
tactician on your hands, Tom.

The English invented
football, not the bloody Scots!

- Kick and run, that's football!
- Harcourt! Pay attention!

(loud cry and whistle blowing)

Lord Love-a-duck!
Gourlay, what was that?

These Galway lads have got
to learn to tackle, Nobby.

They won't be able to compete
at the Olympic games like this.

But help him up. Be a
gentleman about it, at least.

Enough play-acting.

Take my hand.

Get up man.

He should be coming around by now.

Robert.

Robert!

Inspector.

Move aside lads.

Give him some air.

He's dead!

Julia. Sir. What have we?

Robert Semple, star player
for the University team.

Dropped dead on the
field after a hard tackle.

I believe he was stabbed.
I discovered a wound.

Stabbed?

Sir, you mentioned he was tackled.

Could the other player
have concealed a weapon?

This is football, Murdoch, not rugby.

The lad tackled him with his legs.

There was no way that Semple here
was stabbed on the field of play.

I agree. Based on the inflammation,

the wound is at least an hour old,

possibly as much as twelve.

He was stabbed and got kitted
up to play. I'm impressed.

He should have been in a
hospital, not a football field!

Will you be able to narrow
that timeline at all?

I'll do my best, but
I can't guarantee it.

Hm!

(indistinct conversations)

(birds chirping)

Murdoch, meet my oldest
Canadian friend. Nobby!

So called because of his knobby knees.

- Detective Murdoch.
- Or my last name:

Andrew Nobson.

Sorry to meet you under such
unfortunate circumstances.

Indeed.

- You're the trainer for the Galt team?
- I am.

Did any of your players
have contact with Mr. Semple

in the last twelve hours?

Well, we hosted a smoking concert
last night, for both teams.

I stayed away, so the lads
could enjoy themselves fully.

I imagine they would
have met Semple then.

- Any animosities that you're aware of?
- No.

No, they're good lads, focused
on nothing but the Olympic Games.

I can vouch for the lot. Of course.

Don't you worry, Nobby.
I'll come find you later.

Alright, then. So, let's
start with the Toronto captain,

- Wesley Patten.
- Sir.

Sure, I was
with Robert last night.

So was everyone else here.

At the Galt football
team's smoking concert?

A good fifty people were there.

What time did you leave?

Around eleven o'clock,
just like everyone else.

And Mr. Semple?

That was the last I saw him,

until we all got to
the field this morning,

around nine o'clock.

And did you notice anything

unusual about Mr. Semple this morning?

He was tired.

Robert's never been a morning person.

Where was Mr. Semple between
the hours of eleven, last night,

and nine AM, this morning?

Esther Fields might know.

She's Robert's sweetheart.

I don't know what happened.

He was fine last night.

His typical self.

What time was it when you
left Mr. Semple last night?

I suppose it was around
two or so, this morning.

We went to a speakeasy
after the concert.

I'm ashamed to admit it.

Which speakeasy was this?

The one at College and Brunswick Avenue.

I don't know the name of
it. I'd never been before.

Did Mr. Semple also leave when you did?

I doubt it.

He was in fine form,

refusing to walk me home...

in favour of more drink.

I don't know where he went.

Nor should I like to.

Dr. Ogden.

Look at this.

Thread?!

This wound was stitched.

Badly, at that.

The needle marks are quite jagged.

I daresay you would
do a much better job.

I'm not so certain.

I've never been much of a seamstress.

It's a bad business, Tom.

Bad for both teams.

What will you do about the match?

It has to be replayed.

The apple doesn't fall too far, eh?

- He's got promise, that one.
- (Tom laughs a little.)

(groaning with effort and sighing)

Can't kick a ball
straight to save his life.

He's still young.

He can practice with
us while we're here.

I doubt it will do any good,

but that's very kind of you nonetheless.

Just what old friends do!

(grunts and chuckles)

Ah! Sirs, I have the
soccer team rosters here.

You mean the football team rosters.

Yes, I mean the same, sir.

"Soccer" is a term nicknamed
by some Oxford chap.

Apparently, it means "association".

As in association football.

Some Toronto lad was using the
term. It seems to be catching on.

I will not have you copying
some toffee-nosed prat

repeating another toffee nosed prat.

The sport is called football,
Crabtree, plain and simple.

Sir, should the nickname not be adopted?

I mean, we already have
another sport known as football.

It is somewhat confusing.

Should a sport wherein the
players pick up the ball

in their hands and run down
the field be called football,

or should it be the
sport wherein the players

- kick a ball with their feet?!
- (Georges groans dubiously.)

George, why don't you walk us through

- Robert Semple's final hours?
- Sir, gladly. Um...

At eight PM, he arrived
with his teammates

at the town hall for
the smoking concert.

He stayed there for the
duration, until eleven.

- He didn't leave at all?
- Nobody saw him leave, sir.

And I don't doubt it. What a show!

There was a boxing match and
not one, but two strong men.

Uh... champagne, a full steak dinner!

I wonder at the wisdom of a heavy meal

and alcohol the night before
an important sporting event.

A night out is a good
way to unwind, Murdoch.

Keeps the body limber.

It's why the English are the
best footballers in the world!

- Carry on, George.
- Right.

After the smoking concert
broke up at eleven,

Mr. Semple and a few friends
carried on to a speakeasy

at College Street and Brunswick Avenue.

The lads are searching there now.

- Where did Semple go next?
- Well, we don't know, sir.

Nobody saw hide nor
hair of him after two AM

until he showed up at
the field this morning.

Cause of death was shock
due to rupture of the liver.

Do we know how that happened?

It appears the liver
was nicked by the knife,

which itself would not have been fatal.

But when he collided
with the Galt player,

I believe the nick tore
open and the liver ruptured.

His body went into
arrest, stopping his heart.

I won't be telling that to the
young Galt player who tackled him.

Was he not in pain?

Given the amount of
alcohol in his blood,

he was likely inebriated enough
to dull the pain significantly.

What about the weapon?

The weapon appears to be
an average dinner knife.

One used to eat a steak
dinner, for example?

That would be consistent
with his injuries, yes.

As for when the wound was inflicted,

I believe Miss James
and I did rather well.

The wound was still in
haemostasis and appeared...

fairly new, meaning it
occurred within twelve hours.

There is some discolouration,
which can begin

four to six hours after
the bruise first appears.

Combine that with the
rate of inflammation

and the beginnings of scabbing and...

Perhaps you might cut
to Hecuba, Miss James.

Yes, yes. Of course, Inspector.

We believe Mr. Semple was stabbed

six to eight hours before his death.

So the stabbing occurred
between two and four AM,

likely with a knife that was
stolen from the town hall.

Also, he may have seen a
friend after the stabbing.

- How is that?
- We found remnants

of thread inside the
wound and puncture marks,

consistent with a sewing needle.

But the stitching was not
done by a professional.

Mr. Semple tried to stitch himself up?

- I highly doubt it.
- So, he got a friend to help.

But why not report it? Why
pretend it never happened?

He didn't want anyone to
know that he'd been attacked?

- Perhaps out of pride?
- Or he wished to keep secret

the reason for the attack,
out of shame or guilt.

Possibly.

Either way, it would have
cost him his chance at glory.

No athlete worth his salt
would want to miss a shot

at the Olympic Games,
no matter what the cost.

What have you, George?

Ah, sirs.

I enquired at the town hall.

They say catering is missing a knife

but that's not entirely uncommon
after such a large function.

In fact, they engrave the hilts
of their knives with "H&L,"

in order to discourage such theft.

Tell the lads to add
that to their search.

Sir, I will do. But no knife
of any sort has been found.

This is a list of all those
who accompanied the victim

to the speakeasy after
the smoking concert?

That's right, sir. Esther Fields,

Harriet Harcourt, Leland
Harcourt and Jack Gourlay.

The last two are Galt
players. Are you certain?

- Quite certain, sir.
- They've all said as much.

Uh, Esther Fields is
the victim's sweetheart.

Harriet Harcourt is Miss
Fields' bosom friend.

Leland Harcourt is a Galt player,

also Harriet Harcourt's brother.

- Harriet Harcourt is from Galt.
- That's right, sir.

And of course, Jack Gourlay
is Galt's team captain.

- Fine player, too.
- He is also Harriet Harcourt's fiancé.

- It's rather a tangled web.
- Indeed.

They are all connected to each other,

but only Miss Fields is
connected to the victim.

What motive could the Galt lads

have against a Toronto player?

Well, sir, Robert Semple is Toronto's
best player. Take him out and you're off

- Well, sir, Robert Semple to the Olympic Games.
- Exactly.

But if I'm Robert Semple

and I'm being stabbed by
my opponent, I report it.

Galt's disqualified and I'm
off to the Olympic Games.

But that didn't happen.

So it had to be one of
the lads on his own team.

But no Toronto players
were with the victim

- at that late hour.
- And there's our conundrum, Murdoch.

Crabtree, I want you to search every
nook and cranny of that speakeasy.

Find the knife. Murdoch,
talk to the ladies.

I'll have a word with the Galt players.

Mr. Harcourt,

what time did you leave
the speakeasy last night?

About one o'clock, I think.

I walked my sister home
then went back to my rooms.

How well did you know the deceased?

- I only met Semple last night.
- Tom!

- So glad you're here.
- Just a moment, Nobby.

Did you notice anything unusual?

Just his general demeanour
was not very pleasant.

Though I gather that
wasn't particularly unusual.

- I don't know what else I can tell you.
- Thank you.

Rejoin the practice.

- I'll talk to Gourlay next.
- Of course,

but Tom, while I have you here,
I could really use your help

with the lads' tackling.

- I wish I could, Nobby.
- Just a quick demonstration.

You always were the best.

- You had it down to a science.
- An art, more like.

Oh, go on then,

I can spare you a couple of minutes.

Right then, Lads! Be prepared to learn

the art of the Brackenreid slide tackle!

(chuckle)

I knew Robert Semple because of Esther.

I don't know why she stayed with him.

Why do you say that, Miss Harcourt?

He wasn't very attentive to her.

Ah.

Tell me about last
night, as you remember it.

There isn't much to tell.

I only went to the smoking concert

because Jack and Leland are in town.

- Your brother and your fiancé.
- Yes.

Leland warned me about Toronto.

But I so wanted to live here.

Jack was so good to wait to
marry until I finished my studies.

But Leland was right:

It's too dangerous here for a Galt girl.

Where did you go after
the smoking concert?

I walked with them to the speakeasy,

but I was tired. I
didn't even go inside.

Did you see anything unusual?

Anyone angry with Mr. Semple?

Esther was.

But... I don't know if
that counts as unusual.

(grunts)

It's a lost cause, Nobby.

- You're better off not tackling at all.
- Blasted free kicks.

I wish we could just
brick up the bloody net.

Good lord! It's that simple!

Lads! Six of you, shoulder to shoulder!

♪

(dynamic, heroic music)

Why are we making a wall of men?

It's not a wall, it's a barricade.

Against free kicks: your team weakness.

This must be against
the laws of the game.

The opposing players must
stand at least six yards away

from the ball during a free kick.

Yes, but it doesn't say
how many opposing players.

Why has no one thought of this before?

Because it's the height of foolishness.

- I don't want a ball aimed at my face.
- Or my head!

It takes an hour to
brilliantine my hair into place.

Tom, perhaps this is a bit
much. I can't ask the lads

to put themselves in
harm's way like this.

I can't believe I'm hearing this.

The fabled Galt
Porridge-Eating Invincibles

scared of a little old football?

Hardly the attitude
of Olympic champions!

I'll show you the
attitude of a champion.

John Brackenreid!

- Me?
- Get in the barricade.

Right, lads. Flank him either side.

- But Father...
- Tom!

Ready?

- OH!
- (moaning)

Good lord, are you all right?

'Course he's all right. Get up, John.

I don't believe it. It worked!

- Your barricade worked, Tom!
- Of course it worked.

Now you can give away all
the free kicks you like.

Right. My work here is done.

Better get back to some real work.

(runners panting)

Miss Fields, you neglected to
mention that you had an argument

with Mr. Semple last night.

There was nothing to mention.

It's somewhat of a daily thing.

Or was, I suppose.

What was the argument about?

Just his usual behaviour.

He refused to walk me home,

like I told you.

He was too busy
drinking and showing off.

Showing off for whom?

Jack Gourlay.

Harriet's fiancé.

As much of a drunken
lout as the rest of them.

I think Semple and I
parted ways about 2:30,

though I wouldn't swear to it.

And that was the last you
saw of him until this morning?

Right. Or, perhaps not.

- Explain, Mr. Gourley.
- After I left the speakeasy

I got a bit turned around.

I managed to find my way
back there and I saw someone,

who I think was Semple,
stumbling out of a laneway.

I called out but he didn't turn around.

Maybe it wasn't him.

What laneway was this?

Outside the speakeasy?

I don't know. It's my
first time to Toronto.

Uh, I think I saw...
something that looked

like over-large thimble.
You could ask Wesley.

Wesley Patten? The Toronto captain?

Well, yes. He's the one who took us
to the speakeasy in the first place.

One! Two!

Mr. Patten!

A moment.

Why is Galt practicing
so much with the ball?

Everyone knows it lessens the
hunger for it come game day.

Mr. Patten,

football is the least of
your worries at the moment.

You lied to me.

You were at the speakeasy
with Robert Semple.

- Right then. Off to the station house.
- All right.

Yes, I lied.

If it gets back to the
University that I went

to an illegal establishment,
I'll be kicked off the team.

Then why did you go in the first place?

I had to keep an eye on Robert.

Well, you didn't do
a very good job of it.

Don't think I don't know that.

I wouldn't normally
leave him in that state,

but we had a big match in a
few hours, and I needed sleep.

- What time did you leave?
- Just before 2 AM.

And that's the last
you saw of Mr. Semple?

Yes.

That's the truth, I swear it.

Sir.

Ah, Murdoch.

I've finally found a good use
for your chalkboard: tactics.

- Tactics?
- Formations, Murdoch, formations.

See, this is the standard 2-3-5.

The pyramid formation.

But on this side is my invention:

the 4-4-2.

- Oh!
- The more I watch football,

the more I've come to
realize the importance

of a good defense.

You can't win football games

if you're constantly letting goals in.

I suppose so, but if
you bolster your defense

at the expense of your offense,

you won't be scoring many goals, either.

I know, I know. The 2-3-5
does make more sense.

I just can't think anymore.

So, where are we at?

Well, sir, Jack Gourlay saw someone

stumbling out into the laneway.

Well, that could have been Semple.

Or it could have been his attacker.

If Semple was stabbed
outside the speakeasy,

we would surely have found
evidence of it by now.

Well, I don't believe he was
stabbed outside the speakeasy.

But...

somewhere nearby.

An over-sized thimble,

just as Jack Gourlay described
it. Good work, Murdoch.

And only a block away
from the speakeasy.

We may yet find our crime scene.

♪ (indistinct voices)

- Murdoch.
- Ah?

A blood trail.

- Two trails, it seems.
- One made by the victim

and the other by his
attacker, presumably.

- Which should we follow first?
- Sir, why don't you take that direction.

And what will you do?

How will you follow the
trail without the blue light?

Ultraviolet, sir.

And you are correct.

But I anticipated that
we'd have difficulty,

- so I brought two.
- Ah!

♪

♪

(loud knocking)

- Mr. Patten?
- Detective.

Tom!

What am I doing here, Tom?

You know what you're doing here, Nobby.

The blood trail led right to your hotel.

I don't know anything about it.

I wasn't even out the night
that poor lad was stabbed.

You know it's the truth.

Are all your players

- staying at the same hotel with you?
- No. They're all billeted.

Look, I can see what you're thinking.

It's far too great a coincidence

that the victim's blood ended
up on the steps of my hotel...

- That is the sum of it, yes.
- Come now, Tom.

You've known me for years.

- You know the type of man I am.
- Nobby...

And you know I've no time
for anything other than

preparing my team for the biggest
competition of their lives.

It's not every day the
Olympic Games come calling.

Murdoch.

Sir,

perhaps Mr. Nobson is telling the truth.

He's involved in some way,
whether he knows it or not.

I've sent George to search
along both blood trails

for the murder weapon.

What if someone is trying to lay blame

on Nobby or the Galt team in general?

Perhaps we should speak
with the person at the end

- of the other blood trail.
- The Toronto captain.

Wesley Patten.

(dramatic music)

We found Robert Semple's blood
in a laneway behind the speakeasy.

Two blood trails diverged
from that laneway.

One went to Mr. Nobson's hotel,

the other to your residence.

I can explain that.

At least, I can explain half of it.

Please!

I did leave the speakeasy
earlier than Robert,

like I told you. I just...

didn't tell you what
happened afterwards.

Which makes it the second
time you've lied to us

in as many conversations.

Talk! The truth this time.

Maybe an hour after I
got home, around three,

Robert showed up at my door, bleeding.

- Why didn't you go fetch a doctor?
- He wouldn't let me.

If we'd gone to hospital,

he wouldn't have been able
to play the match. And...

I'm ashamed to say, we needed him.

And the cut looked small enough.

So, you sewed it shut?

I insisted.

In the morning he
wasn't any worse for wear

than after any other night out.

He really did seem fine.

You don't seem to be
taking his death very hard.

It's a terrible thing to say,

but I'm almost relieved he's gone.

Why do you say that?

The University expects us to
conduct ourselves like gentlemen.

Robert was no gentleman.

I was tired of my future on
the team being tied up with his.

Never mind how he treated poor Esther.

How did he treat her?

A rumour went around the smoking
concert that he'd been unfaithful.

Just a rumour?

I doubt it.

Seeing as it was spread
about by Robert himself.

Why did you put up with him?

You're a pleasant young thing.

Surely you could attract a better beau.

I wouldn't expect a man to
understand a woman's burdens.

You were aware of his
indiscretions, then?

Unfortunately.

That is the real reason you
were angry at Mr. Semple.

You heard the rumour of his infidelity,

at the smoking concert?

So you took a knife from the dinner,

waited till everyone left, and
then stabbed him in revenge.

Of course not!

I was angry, yes, but...

I was more ashamed.

I confronted him, I admit it.

In front of everyone.

And you know what he did?

The bastard laughed.

He laughed at me.

I might have dismissed it

as one of Robert's cruel jokes except...

for her behaviour toward
me the past few weeks.

Distant. Apologetic.

Whose behaviour?

Surely you know.

It's been all over the university.

Harriet Harcourt.

(with a start): Detective! Inspector.

My brother is waiting
for me at the field.

Oh. Allow us to escort you.

How is the investigation going?

We are proceeding.

Have you a suspect in mind?

We have learned of
certain events recently

that have narrowed our
search considerably.

Which is why we need to speak to you.

I'm sure I can't help you.

Did you have an affair
with Robert Semple?

(She starts crying.)

Perhaps a bit direct, sir.

Got a result, though.

Certainly seemed like a yes to me.

In that case, no one had more motive

than the last man that was with Semple:

Jack Gourlay.

Beware a man cuckolded.

Yes, sir.

Ugh...

(honking)

Just how bad is a constable's salary

that he is forced to forage
for his lunch in such a manner?

Ha ha ha... Miss James!

What a pleasant surprise.
Although, not for you,

- considering the state I'm in.
- What are you doing?

I'm looking... for the murder weapon.

Detective Murdoch
discovered a trail of blood

and I'm to follow the
route, checking every...

garbage can and sewer hole.

Perhaps I can help.

I'm used to having my arms elbow-deep

in arguably worse conditions.

And I know the kind of
knife you're looking for.

Both excellent points, Miss James.

Consider yourself deputized.

Where should I begin?

Julia?!

William!

- What are you doing here?
- Mr. Nobson asked me

if I could recommend a doctor
who could help out with the boys.

So I offered my services.

Oh, I fear you'll be overworked.

I tell you, William, the way
these boys abuse their bodies,

they should have a doctor
follow them everywhere they go!

Indeed.

Good!

- (groan)
- Nobby!

Tom. I am in the middle of practice.

I've come to see Mr. Gourlay.

Gourlay!

The lads should go easy on
practicing the barricade.

You don't want any injuries
before for the match.

I can manage my team, thank you.

Put John in the middle.

John, get yourself up here.

Let him take the brunt of it.

Lads, practice aiming
your kicks at John.

(panting): I wish I could, Father, but

I've hurt my ankle, I can barely stand.

(with a big sigh)

Go and see Dr. Ogden on the sidelines.

Mr. Gourlay, you're coming with me.

I have been jealous of Harriet, I admit.

She's been in the city, having
all sorts of adventures...

I've been working at my
father's dry goods store in Galt.

You must have been looking
forward to this trip.

Oh yes! The match, the smoking concert.

But most of all, Harriet.

Yes, your visit with Miss Harcourt

hasn't gone exactly as you expected.

Harriet's been so cold.

So odd. She won't talk
to me, she won't touch me.

She didn't even want to
go to the smoking concert.

She needn't have bothered, she
was a wet blanket all evening.

You must have heard the rumour.

Semple and your fiancée.

It's a pack of lies.
I said so to his face.

He was no Toronto gentleman.
He wouldn't even apologize.

- It made you angry.
- I couldn't just let it go.

Though I'm ashamed of what
happened on the field the next day.

The tackle, you mean.

- It was a hard one.
- Unsporting.

And I'd already made my
feelings known the night before.

The two of you fought at the speakeasy?

We were both so drunk neither of us

managed to land a single
blow. We agreed to let

the match settle our grievances.

Why did you leave all of this
out of your earlier account?

I'm not normally one to
stoop to a barroom brawl.

I'm the captain of
the Galt football team.

And I may well soon be an Olympian.

It's no light responsibility.

- (shouts from the game)
- It's my left ankle.

But you were limping with your right.

John, do you not want to play?

I do want to play.

Just not my father's way.

But a Brackenreid plays
like a true Englishman.

And a Brackenreid tackles at the knees.

A Brackenreid brawls
on the field and off.

Surely there can be more
than one kind of Brackenreid.

Not according to my father. Hm!

Your father is a fair man,

if a little pigheaded at times.

But you are old enough
to be your own man, John.

But in the meantime,

I'll wrap your foot

and we'll keep up your pretense.

At least until you can
build up a little of that...

infamous Brackenreid courage.

I admit I don't know
much about football,

but it does look quite fun.

Oh, Miss James, I'm
sure you would excel.

Surely, there is a ladies
team at the university.

I don't think I'd be welcome.

In that case...

let's you and I have a go right now.

I couldn't.

There you are, come on. Nobody watching.

Constable Crabtree!

That looks like blood.

Crabtree!

Sir.

There are no fingermarks on the knife.

It's been thoroughly wiped cleaned.

- Is that the murder weapon?
- Yes, sir.

Rebecca James confirmed
a much, as does the

engraving on the hilt.

Where was it found?

- Outside Andrew Nobson's hotel, sir.
- Oh...

So we're back to Nobby.

Or at least someone who
wants us to think it's Nobby.

Sir, there's one more piece
of evidence you should see.

(very hushed): Oh...

A.N.

Andrew Nobson.

Protest, Nobby.

Tell me it's not yours.

Tell me we're wrong.

Look, I'm on your side,

but I need you to speak
up in your defence.

Bloody hell, Andrew!

All our years of friendship
have come to this?

I'm sorry, Tom.

Not as sorry as I am.

Crabtree searched Nobby's room.

His boots were caked with grass
and dirt but no trace of blood.

He couldn't have been the
one to make the blood trail.

- His guilt does seem unlikely.
- But until he speaks to us...

He's protecting someone.

I can't see any other
reason for his silence.

Then we should re-examine
the Galt players,

Jack Gourlay and Leland Harcourt.

Gourlay has motive,

seeing as his fiancé was the
one carrying on with the victim.

But without Nobby's cooperation
we have nothing on him.

Well, if Mr. Nobson won't speak to us,

perhaps Miss Harcourt will.

The last time we tried with
her she burst into tears.

Ask the good doctor to lend you a hand.

These past few days
must have been difficult?

Having to mourn the loss
of a lover in secret.

He wasn't my lover.

I hated him.

Mr. Semple told your fiancé

of a dalliance the two of you shared.

He told Jack that?

Was it true?

I can't deny it.

But it only happened
once. A terrible mistake.

Jack didn't kill Robert.

- I know it.
- Your faith in him is admirable, but...

I know it because I did it.

I killed Robert Semple.

Miss Harcourt, do you
realize what you're saying?

I do.

Robert attacked me.

I stabbed him to defend myself.

Where did this happen?

In a laneway.

And then you went to the speakeasy?

Or... return to the speakeasy?

Yes. Or...

no.

It was before the speakeasy.

Or after. Um,

- I don't recall.
- Take your time.

Start at the beginning.

It's all a blur.

He attacked me, I
stabbed him. I went home.

And what did you do with the knife?

I left it there.

In the laneway.

Miss Harcourt, did you visit
Mr. Nobson that evening?

No. Of course not.

I stabbed Robert.

No one else knew anything about
it. I'm the only guilty one.

Miss Harcourt, I imagine
you could use a cup of tea.

Please, excuse me.

Miss Harcourt,

your description of the incident

doesn't match the evidence.

I'm telling you I did it.

Isn't that enough?

You didn't stab Robert Semple.

But he did attack you, didn't he?

But perhaps not on
the night in question?

You think by taking the
blame you'll feel better.

But in my experience,

it's only the truth
that brings you peace.

Harriet.

Whatever you tell me,
I will believe you.

One evening I was
walking home from class.

I ran into Robert.

He was going to see Esther, he said,

and would walk me to our residence.

I agreed. Why wouldn't I?

He said he needed to stop by his room.

I was going to wait outside,

but he offered to sneak me past the Don.

It was cold,

and I knew him.

He took advantage of you in his room?

It was all my fault.

I went in willingly.

I put myself in that position.

I am entirely to blame.

You told no one?

I tried to pretend it didn't happen.

Jack would have left me. My family...

would have been disgraced.

But Robert...

Robert wouldn't let me forget.

Which is why you didn't want
to go to the smoking concert,

or join your friends at the speakeasy.

I thought it would happen again.

You took a knife from the dinner,

to protect yourself.

I would have used it.

But you didn't.

Mr. Gourlay did.

No.

I swear Jack had
nothing to do with this.

Oh, Harriet.

You've been protecting your brother.

(sobbing)

My sister was so frightened she
was walking around with a knife.

You could have come to the police.

And pit her word against
the great Robert Semple,

hero of the University football team?

He would have said she consented

and the matter would have disappeared.

You walked your sister home,

- that much is true?
- Yes.

She was so upset.

I had to pry the knife out of her hand.

You then went to
find Robert Semple.

Hey, Semple!

I told him to leave Harriet
alone. I'm talking to you!

He refused.

And?

Leave her alone. He said:

All girls play the innocent,
but it's just for show.

(cry of rage, slide of knife and groans)

One moment the knife was
in my hand, the next...

it was sticking in Robert.

You then ran to Mr. Nobson for help?

He told me to go home,

get my rest for the game.
It would all be all right.

Then I saw Robert on the field
the next morning. I thought...

maybe I'd dreamt the whole thing.

I've let everyone down, haven't I?

(knocking)

(sad, melancholy music)

- Go! Go!
- (grunts)

Good, lads!

Very good!

(chuckles)

That's it!

That's it!

Leland is a good lad.

He just made a bad mistake.

- As did you.
- I know, Tom.

And I'm prepared to pay for it.

Why do you only have
ten men on the field?

We didn't travel with any substitutes.

We have to play a man short.

John, get yourself up here.

He may only be a young man,

but he's a man nonetheless.

You're in, lad.

Halfback.

No.

- What?
- I said no.

I won't play unless I can play my way.

What are you on about?

I don't tackle, and I don't
run straight for the net.

I won't kick long balls.

I will pass and use my
teammates like the Scots,

- because that's the way I play.
- Bloody hell.

I may not be able to
kick a ball straight,

but I'm a good player

and I know the game as well as anyone.

And I am a Brackenreid.

Except I'm John Brackenreid,

and there is room for more
than one kind of Brackenreid.

No son, you're wrong.

There is only one kind of Brackenreid.

The one who speaks his mind.

Now get out there

and pass your way to
the Olympic bloody Games.

(rising momentum in music)

Pass it on! Pass it on!

Let's go! Let's go!

Bring it up! Bring it up!

Pass it on!

Shoot! Shoot!

- YES!!
- (whistle blow)

(acclamations)

- Nice one!
- (chuckles)

(triumphant music)

Tackle him. Tackle him! On him!

(whistle blow and cheering)

Let's keep it going!

One minute to go.

Defense!

- Foul, there!
- (whistle blow)

Yes!

This is it. This is it.
This is our moment. Gourlay!

Take the kick!

Gourlay's got this! Yeah!

What are they doing?

Good lord, Tom, they're
copying our barricade!

We should have seen this coming.

This is our last chance to take
the game. What are we going to do?

John should take the kick.

But he can't kick a straight
ball to save his life.

Exactly.

(chuckling)

John Brackenreid! Take the kick!

Huh?

(some shouts)

(some clapping)

(whistle blow)

(groan)

(loud cheering and whistle blowing)

We won! We won!

We're going to the Olympic bloody Games!

(chuckles) God!

You'll deserve any medal
they win as if you were

right there with them. McNabb!

Thank you, Tom.

Being here for this match
means the world to me.

Just what old friends do.

The lads will be needing
a firm hand in St. Louis.

I wouldn't trust my team to anyone else.

Good luck.

Thomas C. Brackenreid,

Olympian.

I'll only be gone a couple weeks.

Be sure to write us the results, sir.

Write? I'll be telegraphing.
Sod the long distance.

How often will I get to manage
a team at the Olympic games.

Too right, sir. And if you
have a chance to pick up

some of that fairy floss,
I'd be much obliged.

I'll see what I can do, Crabtree.

Now, Murdoch, the
payroll is in the safe,

mark the ledger exactly as I do it.

Also, the shed needs clearing out.

I've left a long list
of duties on my desk.

We'll try to manage, sir.

Oh, and, uh, be sure to visit the
electrical pavilion at the fair.

I understand they have a new
plug and wall socket installation.

I'll be sure to make it my
first port of call, Murdoch.

Right. And these are from Dr. Ogden:

bandages and a liniment
of her own creation

- for players' aches and pains.
- That's very kind of her!

- Please, thank her for me.
- Ready, Father?

We don't want to miss the train.

They've decorated a special
car just for the team,

with red and white
bunting, and streamers,

and a sign telling everyone
the Galt Football Team

- is going to the Olympic Games.
- Well, let's get going then!

Ah! George Crabtree

spies an open Rebecca James.

(chuckles)

Not bad, Miss James... for a lady.

Who knows, Inspector,

maybe one day there'll be
a team of Canadian women

vying for Olympic gold.

(chuckling): That'll be the day.

Come on John, let's go get a medal.

(grand musical conclusion)

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -