All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S14E06.WEBRip.x264-BAE

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

In fact, I'd go as far as to pronounce

Miss Melita Bentz'
invention revolutionary.

- Revolutionary? A paper filter?
- Absolutely.

My morning cup is vastly improved

by the exclusion of spent coffee grinds.

Perhaps I shall install a
drip coffee maker in the shop?

- For the customers.
- Promotional gambit? Ahh...

"A coffee break with
your sirloin steak."

"Slake your thirst and buy liverwurst."

This evening?

Of course.

I've paid in full!

I've been waiting here for half an hour!

- If you do not hand over what is mine...
- Can I help you?

Oh! Detective Lewellyn Watts.

Uh, I'm waiting for a delivery.

Here? What type of delivery?

- Ah...
- Axel Crawford?

I'm Axel Crawford.

Constance Weatherly.

I serve Virtue's Ministry.

Is there a problem?

Only problem is you're late.

My apologies.

The kitchen took woefully
long to warm my gruel.

You have business with this gentleman?

Mr. Crawford is a
client of the Ministry's.

Well, then, I'll leave you to it.

Are you ready to collect
your bride, Mr. Crawford?

Miss Weatherly, Maddie's
locked herself in the lavatory.

Our Virtue Girls often
need to be gently pried

from their surroundings at this stage.

Ah, Detective, could you...

Those are Maddy's slippers.

She's got to be in
there, but she won't...

Madeline Tomkins!

- Come out here immediately!
- What is this place?

This is the Ministry's dormitory.

A way station for Virtue Girls
on the road to redemption.

This is Detective Watts of
the Toronto constabulary.

Please open the door!

Ahem!

Miss Tomkins?

- Madeline?
- Oh my God.

Her name was Tomkins?

Madeline Tomkins. That is correct.

And what's your
relationship to the deceased?

She was one of my wards.

Ah, Mr. Crawford paid
her fare from England

in exchange for her hand in marriage.

She gave her hand in marriage
in exchange for a boat trip?

Oh, it's far more complicated than that.

Our Virtue Girls have limited prospects.

They ought to be grateful for
any proposals they receive.

'Virtue Girls'?

Beneficiaries of the Virtue's Ministry.

Female convicts who
have been given a choice

between a filthy cell
in Holloway Prison,

or a virtuous marriage
to a Canadian bachelor.

I've not heard of this Ministry.

Oh. Perhaps you don't need a wife.

Do you have you any
idea why Miss Tomkins

may have committed suicide?

Well, Madeline's life was a
virtual cabaret of depravity.

It's possible she could
no longer endure the shame.

The shame?

She was a harlot.

I find that an uncharitable
view, Miss Weatherly.

She was just a struggling
soul... like the rest of us.

My apologies for speaking harshly.

My nerves are terribly frayed.

Mr. Crawford, I will speak with you

once I'm finished with Miss Weatherly.

Madeline Tomkins was
arrested for prostitution?

Tried and convicted at the Old Bailey.

She was given a choice:

serve prison time or serve as
a dutiful wife to Mr. Crawford.

She chose the latter.

Seems she's had second thoughts.

Those women are also "Virtue Girls"?

Correct.

Kate Barker, Flannery Oats, Sadie Lange.

I am chaperoning them to new homes,

new husbands and new hopes.

Is that the case, ladies?

Are your prospects as sunny
as Miss Weatherly is proposing?

My condolences for the
loss of your friend.

This must be a terribly upsetting time.

So's having a constable spew
hollow sympathies in your face.

I assure you my concern is genuine.

Never met a cop who gave
a toss about a whore.

Detective William Murdoch.

Do any of you know why Miss Tomkins

may have taken her own life?

Well, it's possible she didn't fancy

spending the rest of her
life in some muddy shack,

bedding a hog farmer.

If that was my lot, I'd off myself, too.

But I'm marrying a very prosperous man.

Very prosperous old man.

Old just means he'll die sooner

and you'll be rich and rid of him.

That's just me joking, Detective.

So, you are all willingly
uprooting your lives

to marry perfect strangers?

It's better than rotting
in Holloway prison.

What was your crime?

Broke a few windows.

That's it?

At 10 Downing Street, she did.

The Prime Minister's Residence.

I was protesting with the suffragettes.

Brick through a window tends
to get people's attention.

Specially when it cracks
a lawyer's skull open.

Well, that part was an accident.

And your crime?

They claim I'm a public menace.

Happy go lucky. That's me.

Plus, I been banned
from every pub in London.

What's the point of staying in
a city where I can't get a drink?

- Detective?
- Yes?

What will become of poor Madeline now?

Our coroner, Miss Hart,
will perform a post-mortem.

What could possibly be
gained from assaulting

her flesh even further?

It's a procedure that legal
protocol demands, I'm afraid.

In the meantime, I'll need
to contact her next of kin.

Oh!

Miss Tomkins has no kin
who would want word of her,

living or dead.

Note her eyes.

There's a dark band of discolouration.

- What is that?
- It's known as "t�che noire de la scl�rotique".

- "Black spot of the sclera".
- Yes.

It occurs when mucous
congeals upon the sclera

of one who's died with their eyes open.

The mark can take at
least two hours to form.

So, she's been dead at least two hours?

Longer, I'd say.

Her body temperature suggests
she expired late last night.

If you can be any more
specific, Miss Hart,

it would be greatly appreciated.

Good day.

I'm not sure what to think
about this "Virtue's Ministry".

You don't approve.

Of shipping desperate
women across the ocean

to marry strangers who've
paid for them? Of course not!

Men are paying their
passage here, Julia.

These women are criminals.

And yet I've never heard of male
criminals being forced into marriage.

They aren't being forced.

They're given the freedom to choose.

William, when the choice
is marriage or prison,

which of those sounds
like freedom to you?

Forgive the intrusion, Detective.

- Miss Hart.
- It's Madeline Tomkins.

Upon further examination,

I found that her hyoid bone is broken.

- But that would indicate...
- Strangulation.

I've determined that her
wrists were slashed postmortem.

Miss Tomkins' death was not a suicide,

but a murder.

Murder?

But the dormitory was
locked for the night.

The girls were all securely inside.

At least, I believed they were.

Poor Madeline.

Did any of the girls
hold any sort of animosity

- toward Miss Tomkins?
- Not at all.

Those girls are thick
as... Well, thieves.

Uh, Detective?

I've found something.

Pardon me a moment, Miss Weatherly.

I've searched through Miss
Tomkins' personal effects.

This was with the dress
she wore last night.

C.M.E. Not the victim's initials.

So, I noticed. And,

while pondering this fact, I
gazed out this window, like so,

which led to a discovery
even more compelling.

Watts?

With me, Detective.

There!

You spotted these footprints

from Miss Tomkins window?

- I did.
- Keen eyesight.

Sharp as an eagle.

The left print has a distinctive mark.

Perhaps a hole in the heel of the shoe?

Prints lead right up to
Madeline Tomkins' window.

Do you think a Peeping
Tom was inspired to expand

his criminal repertoire?

- Arthur!
- Hello, darling.

This is the most punishing
mattress I've ever lain upon.

- It's a gurney. Not a bed.
- I say it is what we make of it.

A dead woman lies beneath that blanket.

Have some respect for my
place of employment or leave.

My flesh erupts in
goosebumps when you scold me.

But respect for employment is
not one of my strong points,

- so I will see myself out, as you wish.
- Mm-hm.

But not before extending a
most optimistic invitation

to my home this evening,

where the mattresses are plush and thick

and upholstered in the finest silk.

I have no idea of its origins. Unless...

oh, dear.

Madeline could have pickpocketed it

on the ship coming from London.

The maker's mark indicates
a Toronto jeweler.

Well, someone on the train?

Maddie were no pickpocket.

And you're certain of this?

She never had the knack for it.

Oh! Very good.

Just showing the
detective how it's done.

We found a man's footprints
outside of Madeline's window.

Any idea who put them there?

Oh, hell! We might as well tell him.

It's not like we broke any laws.

What is this about, Sadie?

The girls and I snuck out to
the Tipsy Ferret before curfew.

Sorry, Miss, but with
all us getting married,

it felt like our last night of freedom.

My Virtue Girls engaged
in public debauchery.

T'was nothing compared to
Maddie's private debauchery.

What are you referring to?

She snuck a fellow from
the pub into her room.

It's probable the locket was
payment for services rendered.

Can you describe this man?

- He were handsome.
- He were balding.

He was, uh, taller than
me and shorter than her.

He was skinny, had a drooping mustache

- and, uh, little beady eyes.
- A very handsome man.

You're looking for Edwin Ebersol.

Mr. Ebersol pawns his
wife's jewelry to buy drink?

And as much as I have sympathy

for the long-suffering
Cathleen Marie, a tab's a tab.

Well, any idea where I
could find this Mr. Ebersol?

He ricochets between
the pawnshop and the pub.

Edwin!

This detective would
like to talk to you.

What can I tell you?

The wench was utterly captivated by me.

Madeline Tomkins was captivated...

- By you?
- She was all over me!

But I rigorously rebuffed her advances.

I'm a married man, after all.

Ah, yes. And your wife's name is?

She needn't be involved in this.

Cathleen Marie Ebersol, by chance?

Her locket was found amongst
the deceased's possessions.

That wench must have
lifted it from my pocket!

Is that why you killed her?

I did no such thing!

Convince me otherwise, Mr. Ebersol.

How am I supposed to do that?

I... I... I have made many,
many mistakes in my life.

But murder is not one of them.

How's that?

Violet Hart,

I'm normally a man of endless
wit. I'm rendered mute.

Trust me, it's not your
wit I fancy, Arthur.

- We're being watched.
- Let them stare.

I'm going to be late for work.

Which do you love more,
Violet? Work or me?

I'm handsomer and I've
got a much bigger...

- Good day, Mr. Carmichael!
- bank account.

When did this happen?

Must have been last night.

_

Jack, you should go home.

- But, I...
- Go home. I'll deal with this.

Uh, did any of you see who did this?

Didn't. But it's a
shame it should happen

to such a fine upstanding businessman.

Detective Lewellyn Watts.
Is this by chance your work?

Not work, really.

More of a calling, I'd say.

You painted the slander on the window?

Slander? Where?

Well, would you look at that!

The butcher's a fairy!

I'm just doing my part
to help, Detective.

We can't let degenerates
overrun this city.

Mm-hm. What's your name?

Marcus Hinkie.

Just a law-abiding... Hey!

Marcus Hinkie, I'm placing
you under arrest for vandalism.

Come on now.

The man did nothing wrong,
it's a public service.

The Ministry is grateful
for your diligence

in investigating this heinous crime,

but I've got girls to marry off,

suitors awaiting and a
train to catch this evening.

- I'm well aware.
- Thank you.

As you can imagine, we are
eager to get on our way.

These women deserve a
chance to start anew.

Do they?

I'm not convinced of that.

A thief, a drunkard
and a violent anarchist

are sent to my country
instead of going to jail

and you want me to welcome them?

Inspector Brackenreid,

I do not ask that you
assist in God's work.

I merely ask you not hinder it.

Who am I to stand in the way
of the Almighty, Miss Weatherly?

Well, then, good day, Inspector.

Good day.

So, who's the lout taking
space up in my jail?

A Mr. Edwin Ebersol, sir.

His wife's locket was found
amongst the victim's possessions

and her companions saw a man

bearing Ebersol's description
in her room that night.

He climbed through the
window is the theory, right?

Yes, but the footprints
outside the building

don't match Ebersol's shoes.

A man can own more than
one pair of shoes, Murdoch.

What's the motive?

- That is yet...
- You!

What do you think you're doing?

I will kill you!

I will snap your neck, you bastard!

- Have we met?
- Madeline Tomkins was my fianc�e.

Madeline Tomkins was a whore.

- This way.
- Escort Mr. Crawford to the cells.

No, wait... wait!

Let me see your shoe.

The hole in the heel of your left shoe

matches footprints found
outside Ms. Tomkins' window.

What of it?

I did peer through her window,
but not with lewd intent.

I'd waited so long for
her arrival. I just...

wanted to get a look at her.

Perhaps you did get a look at her.

And you saw her in bed with
the man that you attacked.

I do wish that you
would not speak of that.

You threatened to kill Mr. Ebersol.

I threatened him. Yes.

And any sane man would understand why.

Madeline Tomkins did not
deserve what he dealt her.

She came here to start a new life...

a life with me.

And he ended it.

He should be dead and not Madeline.

Do you not want me here?

Sorry, I just feel like

everyone is watching me.

Well, I've got news that
should ease your mind.

I've arrested the vandal.

You did what?

He even confessed.

- Rather proudly, I might add.
- What... what did you... ?

Charge him with? Well,
destruction of property and...

No, no, no. I mean, I...

I just wanted to make this...

go away. I didn't want an
arrest, or a trial, or...

- Justice to be served?
- It won't be justice!

It'll be every bigot in the city
gossiping about the fairy butcher.

It will kill my business.

- But...
- It will ruin me.

- Please...
- And how long do you think you'll last

at the Constabulary when
the rumours start flying

about the "Sodomite Cop"?

- Jack.
- That's what they call us, you know.

You saw it.

Splashed across my shop
in blood-red letters.

I'm sorry.

I just wanted to make this go away.

I can fix this.

- I wish you could.
- I can.

- I'll get the charges dropped.
- And then what?

What do you mean?

How will you fix...

... this.

This will always be against the laws

that you've vowed to enforce.

Maybe not...

always.

There's no way in the world
that this will end happily.

So we should at least end it quickly.

No! Jack.

Ah... You're right.

I... I should not
have arrested that man.

It was rash and ill-considered

- and I will never again...
- Lewellyn!

This is too dangerous.

For both of us.

I'm sorry, but,

it's over.

So, which one of the two of them
did it? We can't hold them both.

- Thank you.
- Fortunately, we won't have to.

I've ascertained the whereabouts
of both of our suspects

- on the morning of the murder.
- Go ahead.

Axel Crawford arrived on the
seven a.m. train from Ottawa.

A carriage then dropped him
at Virtue's Ministry at 7:25,

where he proceeded to shuffle about,

mumbling and peering into windows.

So, Mr. Crawford has an alibi.

By the time he arrived in Toronto,

Miss Tomkins was already dead.

And Ebersol?

That's a different story.

Edwin Ebersol was released

from the confines of
Station House Number Five's

drunk tank late this morning,

where he was being held since his arrest

for public intoxication at...

2:15 am.

Unfortunately, no one can
confirm his whereabouts

in the hours preceding the arrest.

Which was when Madeline
Tomkins was murdered.

Well, so that settles
it, then. Case closed.

Time of death solves it.

Seems my time of death estimate
was off by several hours.

- Several hours?
- Yes.

It seems the cold water from the bath

affected her body temperature,
which threw off my initial estimate.

You also initially misread Miss
Tomkins' death as a suicide.

- As did you, Detective.
- Hum.

We both know that new evidence
often corrects initial assumptions.

So, what new evidence
have you uncovered?

Stomach contents revealed she was dead

about an hour and half
before the body was found.

So, around six-thirty in the morning.

While Mr. Ebersol was in our cells

and Axel Crawford was on the train.

So neither of them could
have killed Madeline Tomkins.

Which means one of the Virtue
Girls must have done it.

But I don't understand.

You have two suspects
in custody, do you not?

We had two suspects.

New evidence has cleared them both.

Is everything all right, Miss Weatherly?

Ah, my heart aches at the
thought of Miss Tomkins

debasing herself with that vile man.

I won't debate your assessment
of Mr. Ebersol's character,

but suffice it to say that his
alibi does absolve him of murder.

And Mr. Crawford?

He, too, has an alibi.

I have faith that you will eventually

solve this case, Detective Murdoch, but,

we really must be going.

You have a train to catch. I understand.

Yes. Right. Thank you.

And in order to accommodate
your tight schedule,

I have summoned your
wards to the Station House

- for questioning, immediately.
- But, Detective, we...

Your Virtue Girls will
answer any and all questions

we have regarding the
death of Madeline Tomkins.

Violet, dear, you're not
really cross with me, are you?

That kiss outside the morgue?

Was that for me, or for the
people who stood gawking?

I was under the impression
that you enjoyed my affection.

Yes, but I do not enjoy being exploited

for your campaign to outrage the world.

Now, Violet, you love to shock
the hypocrites as much as I do.

And I worship your
brilliance, your beauty

and your ability to strike fear

in the hearts of the old
money snobs whom I loathe.

I'll be equally honest.

You are a fool who
indulges in my vanity,

sates my desires and finances
my love for luxury goods.

To us! I have an idea.

I want to host a party to
properly present you to my peers.

Meaning the old money
snobs whom you loathe?

Exactly.

I'm envisioning a theme, something like,

- "The Dark Continent."
- No.

- But...
- The answer is no.

No "Dark Continent".

No theme.

I will, however, be your guest of honour

at an elegant, intimate dinner party

where I promise to strike terror

in the hearts of those old
money snobs which you loathe.

I adore you.

I will need a new dress.

Charge it to my account.

- Thank you for coming.
- Of course. How can I be of assistance?

We're pressed for time
and I'm hoping your insight

can help me interpret their responses.

Interpret how?

Perhaps you can sense if one
of them is hiding something?

I'll do my best.

Thank you.

How would you describe Madeline Tomkins?

Lively. Beautiful.

She was a cooch dancer
at the old 'burly q'.

A cooch dancer?

You know? Burlesque.

Burlesque.

Maddie was the most
glamorous tart I'd ever known.

She could hold her liquor
almost as well as me.

But you told me you'd been
banned from every pub in London.

So, I'd have to be daft to
murder me best drinking buddy.

Exactly.

Maddie was smart, open-minded.

Independent.

Not the sort of woman
I'd like to murder.

And what sort of woman
would you like to murder?

I spoke imprecisely. There are
no women I'd like to murder.

What exactly were you doing that morning

up until the moment that
Madeline's body was discovered?

Well, I don't normally lift me head
from the pillow until I'm forced.

I'd barely gotten dressed
before I heard all the squawkin'.

I were working on me manifesto.

Chapter 82, "The Grandiose
Self-Regard of Men".

I have it memorized. Would
you like me to recite it?

- Yes!
- No.

No.

What were you doing exactly that morning

right up until the moment that
Madeline's body was discovered?

Well, uh, let's see...

I had to go to the
loo, but it was locked.

So I knocked and I knocked
and I got no answer,

so I paced up and down the 'allway
struggling to hold me water.

Pardon me, sir. Just being honest.

So, what's the verdict?

Are the Virtue Girls petty
offenders, or bloodthirsty killers?

Sir, we've yet to determine
motive for this murder.

I agree. I saw no malice toward
Madeline from any of them.

I will remind you they are criminals.

They know how to lie.

What I witnessed looked like
sincere grief for their lost friend.

Or remorse for having killed her?

All I know is that you have
three women and six hours

to coax the truth out
before the train arrives.

If you think they're lying,

why don't you drag out
the old honesty box?

The Autonomic Response Indicator.

The Truthizer.

Sir, it's not infallible.

A sophisticated liar
could fool the machine.

It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?

I say dust the cobwebs off that gadget

and strap the girls in for questioning.

- But, sir...
- Hark! Is that a train I hear?

The Truthizer may be able to
pick up something that we missed.

Detective Watts. How nice to see you.

Yes, of course.

Ah, Watts! Quick work
on nabbing that vandal.

At least one of my
detectives is earning his pay.

Ah, yes. Uh, about that.

I know this is unusual,

but I must implore you
to drop the charges.

Drop the charges?

I don't get you, Watts. I thought
Jack Walker was your friend?

He is. And my friend wishes
to avoid a public trial.

Oh, I see.

- Are you sure about this?
- Yes.

Very well, then. I'll release the man.

Perhaps it's for the best.

Are you ready to begin?

Ask your questions.

Did you kill Madeline Tomkins?

Hand to God, sir...

Hand to God, sir. I did not.

I could never harm a
hair on Maddie's head.

We've discussed this.
The answer's still no.

Who killed Madeline Tomkins?

I haven't the foggiest
notion, Detective.

I don't know. I'd tell you if I did.

None of us knows who killed Maddie.

The Truthizer has
exonerated every one of them.

But a few hours earlier you
claimed that that box of bolts

- was faulty at best.
- Well, it's faulty at worst.

But I have no reason to believe
the results are inaccurate.

There is one woman
you haven't spoken to.

- Miss Weatherly?
- Yes. Has she been ruled out?

Detective Watts witnessed her
arrival at the Ministry that morning.

She had come from the Empire hotel.

Before you say anything,

I got the charges against
Marcus Hinkie dropped,

- as you requested.
- Thank you. Unfortunately, now is not a good time.

- Please, Jack, just talk to me.
- Jack, who's that?

Invite your friend in.

The more the merrier!

Ah, what's the occasion?

Engagement party!

I'm going to make an honest man of Jack.

An honest man, huh?

Lewellyn, I'm sorry but this is, uh...

Don't dawdle in the doorway.
Come in and have a drink!

Oh, yes, join us.

Thank you, Miss, but I'm
here on police business.

I would never intrude on your joy.

Jack, what was that about?

Cheers.

Elegant accommodations for
a humble "matron of virtue".

While her wards stay in the
dreary confines of that ministry.

Why would a charity spend
money on such luxury?

Virtue's Ministry grows more
and more suspicious by the hour.

Hm. Pardon me, sir. A word.

- Yes, sir?
- Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

We're looking for one of your
guests, a Constance Weatherly.

She's employed by a
charity. Virtue's Ministry?

Ah, yes, Miss Weatherly.

Our lady of insufferable sanctimony.

I gather you're not fond of her?

The woman's satchel is
as heavy as a coffin.

And her notions of charity
apparently do not extend

to those who carry her breakfasts

up four flights of stairs to that
dreadful penthouse every morning.

She doesn't tip you?

Oh, she tipped me.

"Here's a tip," she says.

"'Ye shall have tribulation:

but be of good cheer; I
have overcome the world.'"

That's John 16:33.

She tips with a bible passage?

A veritable font of scriptural
witticisms, our Miss Weatherly.

One must admire the audacity.

Do you know where we could find her?

Sorry to disappoint, but

Miss Weatherly hasn't been
around since yesterday.

- Yesterday?
- She ate her breakfast before dawn.

Left at 5:30 am on the dot.

Excuse me.

If she left at 5:30 a.m.,
then she has no alibi.

And if she has no alibi...

Miss Weatherly could be our killer.

Did you return to your chambers

at the Empire Hotel after the murder?

No.

Why not?

I prefer to be near the girls
during this traumatic time,

to lend counsel and comfort.

The porter saw you leave the
hotel that morning at 5:30 a.m.

- Correct?
- No. He certainly did not.

What time did you leave the hotel

on the morning of Miss Tomkins' murder?

I came to the Ministry
straight away after breakfast.

Care to amend your
answer, Miss Weatherly?

Why would I do that?

Because you're lying.

Is it your intention to arrest
me for lying about breakfast?

Your Detective Watts saw me
arrive at the Ministry at 8:00.

This is a complete waste of time.

I was in charge of Madeline's welfare.

Why would I kill her?

I don't know.

Why did you kill Miss Tomkins?

I didn't!

See?

Your own device proclaims my innocence.

You have your answers.

How many times must I repeat
them before you release me?

I can't hold these women any longer

unless you show me something
that changes my mind.

According to the Truthizer,

Miss Weatherly did not
kill Madeline Tomkins.

And, yet, inexplicably she's lying about

what time she had breakfast.

I know I'm missing something.

I'm sorry, Murdoch. I'll
have to release them.

I assure you Mr. Carmichael's
account will cover it.

Telephone him if you doubt me.

Excuse me!

All that fuss about
dropping the charges.

You got what you wanted and
you're still skulking around

- with your face...
- No, I didn't get what I wanted. I...

I'm sorry.

I received news of an engagement.

And who are the happy couple?

A Miss Clara Cartwright
and a Mr. Jack Walker.

Oh.

Do you know what exasperates
me most about this engagement?

I'm not inclined to speculate.

That poor woman will be
stuck in a sham marriage

to a man who is too
frightened to live honestly.

Who are we to judge?

People get married for
all sorts of reasons.

I have to warn Miss Cartwright.

About what, Watts?

Maybe this is what
Jack Walker needs to do.

And maybe you should follow his example

and find yourself a nice young lady.

Well, I for one, am not
prepared to live a lie.

Nor should he.

Don't do anything stupid, Watts.

It's unfortunate that
you wasted such time

and effort harassing my wards.

And, yet, instead of seeking the killer

you're still here, lurking beside me.

I suppose I'll receive no
apology for this indignity

and inconvenience you
have served upon me?

In the world, ye shall face tribulation:

but be of good cheer, for
I have overcome the world.

Overcome the world, have you?

Bully for you, Detective.

Not all of us are blessed
with your arrogance.

Goodbye, Detective.

Stop.

You can't be serious.

Is there a problem?

This woman is not Constance Weatherly.

She isn't?

That's why she hid her face

from Mr. Ebersol in the station house.

She ate her breakfast before dawn.

Left at 5:30 am on the dot.

That's why she never
returned to the hotel.

None of us knows who killed Maddie.

I'd tell you if I did.

Hand to God, sir... I did not.

And that's why the
Virtue Girls were able

to truthfully deny
killing Madeline Tomkins.

Because Madeline Tomkins isn't dead.

Constance Weatherly is.

And the Virtue Girls killed her.

Nonsense!

Who are you?

Hm?

Are you Constance Weatherly,
a devout Christian missionary?

Or are you Madeline Tomkins,

a prostitute from the streets of London?

Perhaps another round with
the Truthizer is in order, hm?

I am indeed a working girl
from the streets of London.

But I'm not just that.

I'm an artist.

I'm an actress.

Ah, yes.

You inhabited the role of the woman
you murdered quite convincingly.

Thank you.

You're welcome...

Madeline.

Tell me what happened the morning

that Constance Weatherly was murdered.

Miss Weatherly shows up, as usual,

cracking the whip at the crack of dawn.

"Get up, you lazy raggabrash.

Your husband is on his way.

Wash your sinful flesh and
make yourself presentable."

And then?

Oh, I says to her, 'I'm
not marrying anyone.

You can't force me.'

And my girls gather round and they say,

"We ain't marrying, either!"

Constance tries to
yank me out of my room.

So Kate threw a
stocking 'round her neck.

Sadie kicked her knees out from under.

And Flannery? Oh! The woman is
a mastermind... I kid you not.

Flannery says, once Constance
stops moving, she says,

"Maddie, switch places with Constance.

Make it look like you offed yourself."

It's quite the show we put on, yeah?

We figure if we could
just get out of Toronto

we'd be free to start
new lives in Canada...

wouldn't have to marry.

Well, you are correct about that.

None of you will have to marry.

But you are all under arrest for
the murder of Constance Weatherly.

You are by far the most
beautiful woman in this room.

And you are by far the luckiest man.

And these are by far the most miserable

party guests I've ever encountered.

- They despise us, don't they?
- They do.

Isn't it delicious?

I think we can safely
say the party's a smash.

I can smell so many tiny little
minds short-circuiting all around us.

I think you overestimate your
talent for scandal, my dear Arthur.

Do you think you can do better?

I do.

Can I have everyone's attention!

Arthur and I are very
grateful you can join us

for this momentous occasion.

For this is no random
soir�e you're attending.

It's our engagement party!

It is with great pleasure

I introduce my bride-to-be,
Miss Violet Hart.

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