All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries (2008) - S07E04 - Return of Sherlock Holmes (1080p BluRay x265 Langbard)-eng

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I said stand back, sir.

Who the devil do you think...

You have no right
to touch the...

You are?

Detective Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

You telephoned?

Thank God you're here.

Herbert Greaves.
I manage this place.

I tried my damnedest
to stop this man

from touching the body,
but he insists on...

We meet again, Detective.

You know this... person?

Our paths have crossed.

Good day, Mr. Holmes.

My commiserations, sir.

He's an rude, interfering,
altogether...

The hotel guest you see
before you is Mr. Wallace Burns.

Now very much deceased.

How do you know his name?

When did Mr. Burns check in,
Mr. Greaves?

It was...

Thursday this week.

Thursday.

And you only discovered him
today, Saturday?

Actually, I was...

I made the discovery,
Detective.

You?

I'm on a case.
A matter of some urgency.

A case?

I was hired last evening
to find a Miss Webb.

Red-haired woman...

A red-haired woman?
Yes.

Detective, I saw such a person
leaving the hotel last night.

I was drawing the curtains
against the chill,

and I saw her
through the window.

That's the woman
I was instructed to find.

Instructed by whom?

I believe my client
was this poor unfortunate.

Perhaps Miss Webb found
Wallace Burns...

Before Mr. Burns
was able to find her.

How did Mr. Burns hire you,
Holmes?

I received
an anonymous note at my lodgings

requesting my services
in finding Miss Webb.

Enclosed was a one-pound note.
Newly minted.

Bank of Scotland,

a fine institution
despite its Jacobite sympathies.

My client was clearly
a recent arrival to Toronto.

And you set out to find him.

Of course.

I do not work for phantoms.

Go on.

A one-pound note not being
an insubstantial amount,

I inquired at the better hotels

regarding recent arrivals
from the British Isles.

I narrowed my search down
to 34 people.

Mr. Burns was my 16th call.

And?

As soon as I entered this room,
I was certain he was my client.

How so?

This is the anonymous note.

"Dear Mr. Holmes.

Unforeseen circumstances find
we will miss seeing Captain Webb

in the red by a hair.

He often frequents the bookstore
Allan and Montague Gar..."

What does this mean?

Written in code, Detective.

The same code used
by the villains

in "The Adventures
of the Glorioa Scott, "

a case I solved some years ago.

- Read every third word.
- Every third word.

"Holmes.
Find Miss Webb.

Red hair.
Frequents Allan Gardens."

Whoever hired you, Mr. Holmes,
is familiar with your work.

Exactly.

The book is well-read.

Mr. Burns was clearly a devotee.

If you examine
the gentleman's clothing,

made by
an Edinburgh bespoke tailor,

and remove his wallet,

you'll no doubt find similar
Bank of Scotland notes.

I'll take your word for it,
Mr. Holmes.

Detective.

What have you, Doctor?

The empty bottle, the smell
and stains on his clothing.

It looks like
our victim consumed

a great deal of alcohol.

Whiskey, to be precise.

In his drunken stupor,

he may have fallen
against something hard,

possibly the wooden bed frame.

The blow likely killed him.

This man was no drunkard.

Not a drop of alcohol passed
through his lips.

- Mr. Holmes, please.
- His bookmark.

Membership card of
the Scottish Prohibition Party.

Wallace Burns was
a dyed-in-the-wool teetotaler.

A less obvious explanation
is no doubt at hand

for the whiskey, Doctor.

Thank you, sir.

I will continue my work
in the privacy of the morgue.

Detective.

- Of course, Doctor.
- As you wish.

Shall we, Detective?

So, Mr. Holmes,
you've hung out your shingle.

With remarkably disappointing
results.

My advertisement
in The Toronto Gazette

garnered two cheating husbands
and a lost dog.

Hardly the challenges
my skills warrant.

Hardly.

You must truly welcome
a real case.

Welcome?
I feel rejuvenated.

Nothing like a missing woman
and a fresh corpse

to get the blood flowing
into the brain.

Indeed.

Now to find
the elusive Miss Webb.

Mr. Holmes, where are you going?

Fear not, Detective.

I will be in touch
as soon as I have Miss Webb.

Though it pains me to admit,
Mr. Holmes may well be right.

Not a drop of alcohol
passed Burns' lips?

It passed his lips,
but he didn't taste it.

How do you mean?

Mr. Burns had a great deal
of whiskey in his stomach,

yet none in his bloodstream.

It's possible the alcohol
was poured into him postmortem.

So someone feigned his death

to make it appear like
a drunken accident.

It could be.

Well, then, how did he die?

A blow to the head.

If I can give you anything
more declarative, I will.

In the meantime...

...about his clothing...

Let me guess.
A bespoke Edinburgh tailor.

Thank you.

Sherlock bloody Holmes!

Give me strength.

What's he doing back here?

It appears he has set himself up
as a consulting detective.

Consulting...
My Aunt Fanny.

There are people daft enough
to hire him?

So far, he has found
two cheating husbands

and a lost dog.

It's not funny, Doctor.

Do they think Sherlock Holmes
is a real person?

I suspect they do.

Well, then, they're as crackers
as he is.

He's not bloody Sherlock.
He's David Kingsley.

We're encouraging
an unhealthy delusion.

Not necessarily unhealthy.

David witnessed the murder
of his father

when he was a boy.

He sought a safe haven,
a psychic refuge if you like,

in the alter ego
of this fictional detective.

An alter ego wearing fancy dress
on my manor.

As irritating as he might be,

I advise we treat him
as Sherlock Holmes.

In his apparent manic state,

it could be harmful
to suggest he's anyone else.

Do you think I should go along
with this malarkey?

Oh, it's for the best, I'd say.

Just keep him away from me.

What about the dead man

and this missing woman
he's been gallivanting after?

Is there a connection?

According to the hotel manager,

a woman matching
Miss Webb's description

was seen leaving the hotel
last night.

So where is she now?

Gentlemen, Doctor,

I have ascertained the address
of the missing woman.

That was bloody quick.

You went to Allan Gardens.

Where I met
a motley crew of denizens,

several of whom claimed
a red-haired woman

frequented the park
with a young boy.

A woman with a perambulator
directed me to the greenhouse.

There the curator recalled
the same boy's curious inquiry

about snakes.

Swamp adders in particular.

I then went to
the public library.

Not so many withdrawals
on books on exotic snakes.

One, in fact.

And what has this got to do
with the missing woman?

As she was reported wearing
a uniform,

I deduced that she was
the boy's nanny.

I ascertained her address.

The residence
of Mr. And Mrs. McQueen.

However, I failed to gain
admission into the residence.

They wouldn't let you in?

They would not.

Perhaps that's because
you're dressed

as Sherlock bloody Holmes!

Thank you, thank you.

Excellent work, Mr. Holmes.

Thank you.

Honestly, Detective, why is
the Constabulary encouraging

such a deranged soul?

Mr. Holmes is assisting me
in an investigation.

I assure you,
he is quite harmless.

We would like to speak
to your nanny, Miss Webb.

She's not here.

And yet to return
after her half-day off.

Does her failure to return
concern you?

Not at all, Detective.

My wife and I are sure
Miss Webb will surface

with a suitable explanation.

I see.

And how long
has Miss Webb worked for you?

Five years.

She's cared for our son Ben

since we moved here
from England.

She came highly recommended.

Why does the Constabulary
want to talk to her?

Your nanny
may be able to assist us

in our inquiry
into a suspicious death.

Nora involved in...

I hardly think that possible.

I would like to see
Miss Webb's room.

I have no intention
of allowing...

Mr. McQueen, if you please.

Very well.

The elusive Miss Webb
indeed vanished in her civvies.

Something untoward has happened.

Why do you say that?

Miss Webb would not leave
without saying goodbye.

The famous Sherlock Holmes.

I'm Benjamin McQueen.

Everyone calls me Ben.

Detective William Murdoch.
Toronto Constabulary.

Miss Webb was your nanny.

Yes.

I'm pleased that a detective of
your caliber is looking for her.

You're familiar
with Mr. Holmes' adventures,

are you, Ben?

Yes.

I have a question for you,
Mr. Holmes.

I found a small discrepancy
in one of your cases.

Follow me.

Indeed.

In "The Adventures
of the Speckled Bird,"

you deduced a swamp adder killed
the victims.

But according to my research,
swamp adders don't exist.

In fact, there are no adders
in India

where the murders happened.

How do you explain that,
Mr. Holmes?

You've done your research.

I'm impressed.

Thank you.

"The Adventure
of the Glorioa Scott. "

What of it?

Wallace Burns did not hire you
to find Nora Webb, Mr. Holmes.

What do you mean?

The paper is a match,
as is the type font.

And the code is the one
from the "Glorioa Scott."

I believe young Master McQueen
here is your client.

You?

Yes.

Then why not sign the letter?

Would you take a case if you
knew your client was a child?

A case is a case, young man.

And a pound note a pound note.

Where did you get
that kind of money?

From my godfather
for my birthday.

Adroit powers of observation,
Detective.

You have not lost your touch.

If Wallace Burns was not looking
for Nora Webb...

What is the connection

between our dead man
and Ben's missing nanny?

We must find the connection

between the missing nanny
and Wallace Burns, Detective.

I suggest that we begin
by examining what I missed.

How did Ben's note take us
to Burns' hotel room?

How did I get it so wrong?
It cannot be coincidence.

We found the same book
in Wallace Burns' room.

"I pray for our sakes, Ben,

please withdraw
from all your games

in loving acknowledgment
of God, country, and father."

If I may.

"For Ben
from your loving godfather."

Detective, do you have Wallace
Burns' wallet on your person?

Yes, I do.

What do you have in mind,
Holmes?

The solution to the puzzle.
Remove the bills.

Both from the Bank of Scotland.

Very similar serial numbers.

One conclusion
can be drawn from this evidence.

Wallace Burns
is Ben's godfather.

Agreed.

Excellent work, Mr. Holmes.

A simple deduction.

But why do you have
my godfather's wallet?

Is he here?

Is he dead?

I'm afraid so.

That's terrible.

Are you investigating
what happened?

Yes.

Ben, what can you tell us
about your godfather?

He's a friend of my father
who lived in Scotland.

He loved Sherlock Holmes
and sent me his stories.

What does he look like?

I don't know.
I never met him.

No question.

That is Ben's godfather.

Where did you find him?

The Queens Hotel.

How dreadful.

Were you expecting a visit
from him?

Yes. But he was not due
until next week.

He clearly took an earlier boat.

Why would anyone want to harm
Wallace Burns, Detective?

I intend to find out.

Does Miss Webb know Mr. Burns?

Not that I know of.

This was his first trip
to Canada.

Do you think she had something
to do with it?

Possibly.

I'll need a photograph
of Miss Webb.

That's her all right.

That's the red-haired woman
I saw at the hotel last night.

Just a wee slip of a lass.

Easy on the eyes, mind you.

- Thank you, Mr. Greaves.
- Yes.

So, all roads lead
to this Nanny Webb.

I'll check out her background.

Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Holmes.

Who are you?

Ben McQueen, sir.

My client, Inspector.

Right.
Carry on, then.

That's all we need.
A miniature bloody Sherlock.

Mr. Holmes, I may have a clue.

Nanny went missing
on her afternoon off.

Sometimes she met other nannies
at a tearoom.

I observed she would often
come home from these gatherings

in need of a snooze.

A snooze after tea?

I may know the place
she frequented.

Mr. Holmes!
Over here!

Fellow nannies of Miss Webb.
We met at Allan Gardens.

Let's play this one incognito,
shall we, Detective?

Miss Naughton, Miss Selby,
charming to see you again.

Please, meet my good friend,
Mr. William Murdoch.

Pleasure.

Good day, Mr. Murdoch.
You must join us.

Two more cups here.

Hot or cold tea, gentlemen?

Thank you.

Thank you.

Mm.

A distinctive blend of tea,

but not, I suspect,
from the plantations of India.

It's quite potent.
Where is it brewed?

It comes straight from
the distillery.

Ellie, please!

Excuse her, sir.
She's had a cup too many.

In the company of two
fine ladies notwithstanding,

we must state our true purpose.

We seek your friend, Nora Webb.

Any information you have
would be most helpful.

Fear not, Miss Selby.

We are only interested
in Miss Webb,

not the origin of your "tea."

All I can say is Nora
would not up and leave.

Would she, Ann?

She's too attached
to that young boy.

Something is amiss.

Does she have any other friends?

A young man perhaps?

- Yes, she has a steady.
- Ellie!

Hold your counsel.

His name?

Gregory Skinner.

Gregory Skinner.

Thank you, Miss Naughton.

Mr. Skinner?

You brought what I asked?

Things will go bad for you
if you didn't.

Who the hell are you?

Toronto Constabulary.

What do you want?

Were you expecting someone else?

Have you seen Nora Webb?

Nora?

Not for days.
Why?

When exactly
did you last see Miss Webb?

Couple of weeks past.

On her afternoon off.

Something wrong, is there?

A visitor?

My brother.

What?

There a crime in that?

No, but it is to harbor
a suspect.

Consider yourself warned,
Mr. Skinner.

He was expecting someone,
but not his brother.

He'd cleaned himself up,

but only from his neck up
to his hands down.

Rings of dirt
were clearly visible

under his cuffs and collar.

So not someone with whom
he had amorous intentions.

And Miss Webb
may still be hiding now, too.

I noted a spoon placed correctly

on the right side
of each soup bowl.

Laid by somebody
taught to set a table.

Like the nanny
of a wealthy family.

Good manners.
Terrible taste in suitors.

Mrs. McQueen, were you aware

Mrs. McQueen, were you aware

that Miss Webb
had a gentleman caller?

Miss Webb is an attractive
young woman.

Her svelte figure
has not escaped

the attentions
of certain gentlemen.

Is there something
you're not telling me?

Mrs. McQueen, am I to understand
that your husband...

Attentions she reciprocated.

I see.

Which prompted me to check
Miss Webb's references.

They were fabricated.

I had no choice
but to give her notice.

You spoke with her
the day that she disappeared?

Yes.

She was not pleased
to be let go.

She left right away,

her possessions to be sent on
once she found another position.

Mrs. McQueen, you chose not
to tell me of this earlier.

Why?

I chose not to air
the sordid truth

in front of my husband,
Detective.

Of course.

Nanny brought me here
since I was a baby.

She says a daily constitutional
is good

for the mind and the body.

Excellent.
A woman who thinks like a man.

Benjamin.

Time for your tutor.

Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.

Good luck.

Ben, come along.
We're already late.

Yes, Mother.

Seems the boy's attachment
to his nanny

is far greater
than to his mother.

Not uncommon in wealthy families

where the raising of children
is left to the nannies.

Dr. Grace,
how can I be of assistance?

Now that rigor mortis
has dissipated,

I can ascertain how
an entire bottle of whiskey

was poured
into Mr. Burns' corpse.

Perhaps the perpetrator
used a tube?

There were no abrasions
in his throat to suggest that.

Now, his head would have to be
tilted back

to allow the liquid to flow
unimpeded down his esophagus.

Emily, perhaps
if he was sitting up.

This is somewhat awkward.

Whoa!

The liquid
would inevitably spill.

Yes, it would.

There was whiskey on the carpet
in the hotel room,

but not the chair.

- He had to be lying down.
- Right.

Perhaps if I supported him.

Oh, oh.

Now I can easily pour the liquid
into his stomach.

I've been doing some homework

on our missing nanny.

And it's quite a tale.

Nora Webb was brought up
in a girl's home

after she was abandoned
by her parents.

She came to the attention
of the Constabulary

when she was arrested
on suspicion of soliciting.

Which explains
why she fabricated references

for the McQueens.

Yet the boy trusts her.
Strange.

Sirs.
Dr. Grace has news.

- Gentlemen.
- Doctor.

I believe, should Miss Webb be
our murderer,

she may have had an accomplice.

I concur, sirs.

We conducted an experiment
to that end.

Mr. Skinner.

Bring him in, Murdoch.

Sir.

Sir, you're needed.

Gregory Skinner.

Distinct smell of alcohol.

His clothing is drenched in it.

Another "accidental death,"
it would seem.

Whoever killed Mr. Burns
has claimed another victim.

Mr. Skinner was killed in the
same manner as our first victim.

Alcohol was once again...

Used to disguise the murder
as an accident.

We've been over this.
We are wasting valuable time.

Apologies for boring you,
Mr. Holmes.

If Miss Webb is our murderer
and Mr. Skinner her accomplice,

- why kill him?
- Covering her tracks.

We are yet to make a connection

between the nanny
and the godfather.

Except for the boy.

Go over anything
we may have missed.

You, too, Mr. Holmes.

Have another word
with young Ben.

I need no reminder, Inspector.

Mr. Burns used a travel agency,
sir.

He's noted a train number here.

Mr. Burns arrived in Toronto
a week before he was expected.

This may explain his itinerary.

I'll look into it.

Any further information you can
provide the Constabulary...

I gather you and my wife
have spoken, Detective.

Yes, we have.

So you are fully apprised

of the rather
sensitive circumstances

of Miss Webb's sudden departure.

I am.

We've told you all we know
about this matter.

We are missing something.

Tell me again
when you last saw Nanny Webb.

I was right here.

She told me to stay in my room
until she returned.

I saw her leave from the window.

She was hurrying.

What else?
Think.

The wind catching the cape
of her uniform.

Her cape?

You're sure?

She looked like a blackbird.

The key to the mystery is held
by young Ben.

He recalled Nora Webb wearing
her black cape

the day she disappeared.

But her uniform
was hanging in her closet.

Odd, don't you think?

Memory can be extremely faulty,
especially in a young child.

My dear woman,

we are not talking
about months or years.

Miss Webb vanished
just three days ago.

It could be
that he's remembering

the day she disappeared

or perhaps the day before
or even the day before that.

We can never know.

I think he is very observant.

He reminds me of myself
at that age.

He is not mistaken about
Miss Webb wearing her cape.

Mr. Holmes,
you're being illogical.

We are finished here, Detective.

Might I suggest
we try hypnosis on the boy?

You're very relaxed, Ben.

Your eyes are heavy.

But you're awake.

Can you hear my voice?

Yes.

Good.

We're going to talk
about your nanny.

You like her, don't you?

Yes.

You miss her?

She looks after me.

She's kind.

Where were you
when you saw her last, Ben?

In my room.
At the window.

She is walking away
from the house.

What are you doing here?

Where exactly?

Through the garden.

Towards the back gate.

You see her plainly?

Her cape is fluttering
in the wind.

You remember that?

Hurry, Nora!

Yes.

What else do you see, Ben?

There's a man.
Walking towards her.

This way, Nora.

- Who is it?
- This way!

I can't see his face.

They are near some trees.

What are they doing?

Talking.

Then Nanny faints.

The man... catches her.

Carries her into the trees.

What are they doing now, Ben?

They have gone.
I can't see them anymore.

Nanny, don't leave!

Don't leave me!

Ben, you're safe.

You will wake up to find
you are with friends.

You'll remember what you saw,

but you'll know
that you're safe.

Mr. Holmes.

Ben.

Could you show us where you last
saw Miss Webb and this man?

Maybe.

You are now recruited

You are now recruited

to "The Case
of the Missing Nanny."

Thank you.

It's an honor
to be working with you.

But, Mr. Holmes, you have yet
to explain the snake

in "The Mystery
of the Speckled Bird."

I am aware of that,
Master McQueen.

Is this exercise
really necessary, Detective?

My son is rather prone
to the fantastical,

and he's clearly enamored
with this Holmes fellow.

We're simply following
every lead.

Feel free to wait inside,
Mr. McQueen.

As you wish.

She walked this way.

Those trees.

They look so much bigger
up close.

I'm not sure now.

Ben.

Close your eyes.

Picture your nanny and the man.

Where were they?

Be precise in your observation.

I'm here.

Which direction were they going?

This way, Nora. Let's go!

Where are we going?

Come on, let's go.
This way!

The leaning tree.

They went in there.

Detective.

- Keep an eye on things, George.
- Sir.

Master McQueen.

Let's go back to the house.

Detective.

The vegetation in this area
is quite different.

Hedera helix.
Not native to Canada.

Yet the surrounding growth

is still natural flora
of the forest floor.

It has been planted
deliberately.

Perhaps to hide something.

My curiosity is piqued.

Let us dig.

Sir.

Here.

At first glance,
I would guess a woman.

She's been down there
for some time, sir.

Stating the obvious, I know,

but this cannot be Nora Webb.

Her corpse would be at a much
earlier stage of decomposition.

Sir.

Look at this.

She likely died
from a blow to the head.

But who is she?

We have a technique
that might prove useful, sir.

Indeed we do, George.

Then what are we waiting for?

So our lady doctors
are reconstructing the skull.

Yes, sir.

I'm hoping the break
in this case lies

in this mystery woman's
identity.

What is the connection between
the disappearance of Nanny Webb,

the murders of two men,
and an old corpse?

Mr. Holmes,
I now share your opinion

that Ben is the key
to this mystery.

I only hope that he recognizes
the reconstructed face.

You cannot do that to the boy.

We've pushed him too far
as it is.

Ben has keen powers
of observation.

Not unlike yourself,
as you pointed out.

Murdoch.

I will not allow my client to be
subjected to possible trauma!

He seems little traumatized
to me.

- In fact...
- Mr. Holmes.

Do you not have a missing nanny
to find?

What?

The case you're working on.
Miss Webb.

Oh, yes.

The nanny.

I suggest starting
with Mr. Skinner.

I'll wager he was up to his neck
in all this.

Her paramour.
Of course.

I have yet to ascertain
his connection.

I must see his room.

You carry on, Murdoch.

I'll keep an eye on Sherlock.

We shall leave this instant,
Inspector.

This better be bloody worth it.

Thank you, sir.

I've determined
the average depth

of the victim's soft tissue

from remnants
still on the skull.

And now we contour modeling clay
to the height of the markers

to ascertain
the shape of the face.

Exactly.
Shall we begin?

I do so enjoy working together,
Dr. Ogden.

As do I, Dr. Grace.

Not much evidence
of a woman's touch.

Keep looking, Inspector.

A woman was here.
Of that I'm quite sure.

Why?
Because of a few soup spoons?

Maybe Skinner was reading
the etiquette column, eh?

Aye, aye, Mr. Holmes.

This technique was developed
by Wilhelm His, an anatomist.

But adapted
for crime-solving purposes

by yourself
and Detective Murdoch.

I suppose it was.

Fermented mash of cereal grain.

Skinner worked at a distillery.

Very good, Mr. Holmes.

But how does that help us find
our nanny?

Every piece is part of
a larger puzzle, Inspector.

When you met,
was it love at first sight?

Not expressed as such.

But surely...

Yes, there was an attraction.

But the detective lived
and breathed his work,

as did I.

That's what did it.
Working together.

I suppose.

A romance blossomed.

Yes.

It was so lovely.

So fresh and undiscovered.

But the excitement hasn't left,
has it?

Sometimes I feel that.

But in a lot of ways,
we've barely begun.

Mr. Holmes,
give me a hand with this.

What have we here?

Whiskey.

Pilfered from the distillery.

Bet Skinner was selling it
on the side.

No wonder he didn't want
the coppers snooping around.

The distillery.

Part of a puzzle, Mr. Holmes,
just not the right one.

Don't be so hasty, Inspector.

Steady on.

A distinctive blend of tea.

What?

No time for explanations,
Inspector.

Sir, I looked into
the train number that we found.

- It's very unusual.
- How so?

Well, that particular train
isn't running anymore.

There's no way Mr. Burns
could have been a passenger.

I wonder why he made note
of the number, then?

I could continue to look
into it.

Thank you, George.

Doctor.
Good day, Ben.

Good day, Detective.

Mr. Holmes is not here?

No.
No, he leaves this to you.

Please.

I wonder if you might recognize
this person.

I will do my best.

Nanny?

She wore earrings.

Like this?

That's hers.

Whose, Ben?

Nanny Jess.

Another nanny?

What if Ben had two nannies?

He witnesses the sudden
disappearance of the first one,

Nanny Jess,
when he's very young.

He buries the traumatic memory.

Then the memory resurfaces
on some level

when his second nanny,
Miss Webb, also goes missing.

He's conflated two events
into one.

But who killed the first nanny?

Back for another cuppa,
Mr. Holmes?

Another time, Miss Naughton.

You!

What have we here?

Nora Webb,
I'm arresting you

for the murders of Wallace Burns
and Gregory Skinner.

Good work, Inspector.

Thank you, Mr. Holmes.

I have no idea who this is.

Mrs. McQueen?

I am sorry, Detective.

We should take Ben home now.

We have
last-minute preparations

to make for our trip, Ben.

Mr. McQueen,
you are both to remain

here at the station house
for further questioning.

Constable.

Quite impossible.

We have passages booked.

Please escort Mr. And Mrs.
McQueen to the interview room.

And post a guard.

How do you explain
Ben's recollection

of another nanny, a Nanny Jess?

As I told you before, Detective,
my son lives in a fantasy world.

That skeleton was likely
in the ground

long before we arrived.

You both know far more
about this

than you're letting on.

I intend to find out what.

Sir.

That train that's no longer
in service?

I've discovered why.

It was involved
in a serious collision

coming from Montreal to Toronto
about five years ago.

Among the fatalities were
a Mr. And Mrs. Donald Parker.

George, what does this
have to do with our case?

Sir, the McQueens
were on the same train,

in the same compartment.

The McQueens.

Any mention of a son?

No,
but I suppose Ben and the nanny

could have taken
an earlier train.

It's possible.
Anything else?

Well, sir, it turns out

that the Parkers were a pair
of English confidence tricksters

recently arrived in Canada.

George, I believe
the McQueens are dead,

and Mr. And Mrs. Parker
are still very much alive.

The Parkers took advantage
of the train wreck

and assumed
the real McQueens identity,

knowing that they were also new
to Canada.

So they arrive in Toronto
as their new identities,

and discover Ben and Nanny Jess
at the house.

Knowing that she will expose
them, they murder her.

Why not kill the boy?

He's only 3.

They assume he won't remember
his real parents.

Right, so five years later,

Wallace Burns decides to visit
Toronto to see his godson.

The impostors know
he'll unmask them.

So then Nanny Webb
is sent to kill Mr. Burns

and disappear with some tale
of being dismissed?

Miss Webb is not our murderer,
Detective.

- Where are the McQueens?
- In the lockup.

What about Ben?

With the constable
out for an ice cream.

Oh.

Miss Webb overheard the McQueens
plotting to take care of Burns.

She went to his hotel
to warn him.

But he was already dead.

Exactly.

Fearing for her own life,
she went into hiding.

In plain sight, as it happens.

At the tearoom.

I should have seen through
her disguise on our first visit.

Distracted
by the pretty nannies, perhaps?

Perhaps.

There's hope for you yet,
Mr. Holmes.

Nanny!

Hello, Ben.

- Are you all right?
- Yes, I am.

But things
may have been different

without your quick thinking.

Elementary.

I just hired the right man
for the job.

Ah, a team effort, I would say.

Indeed.

Master McQueen.

A pleasure to work for you.

I will settle my fee
at a later time.

About that snake, Mr. Holmes.

This is what comes
of you being soft-hearted.

I never thought
the boy would remember.

You should've taken care of him
when you had the chance.

So you keep saying.

Charming pair.

But why kill Gregory Skinner?

Nora Webb told him everything.

Mr. Skinner mistakenly
tried to extort money

from the "McQueens."

East End lowlife.

I'll take your word for it, sir.

The reference to the swamp adder
was one of my good friend

Dr. Watson's
unfortunate inaccuracies.

I did not say swamp adder, the
deadliest snake in all India.

On the contrary,
I said the samp-aderm,

the deadliest skink
in all India.

- A skink?
- A skink.

A swift-moving lizard from
the family of the Scincidae,

snakelike in form.

Master McQueen, I'm giving you
this correction to my story

despite my loyalty
to my faithful associate.

But you have your great name
to protect, Mr. Holmes.

Indeed, I do.

Miss Webb, we are going
back to the library.

Our research must begin anew.

All right, then.

I will be in touch, Mr. Holmes.

Master McQueen.

Good day, Mr. Holmes.

And thank you.

Thank you.

Good day, Ben.

Good day, Detective.

Such an annoying child.

I've taken quite a shine to him.

And as you suspected,

he was the key
to solving the crime.

Kudos, Mr. Holmes.

Thank you for all your help,
Doctor.

It was my pleasure.

You are fortunate to have such
an able right hand, Detective.

I should consider acquiring
a female assistant.

To aid you in your consulting
detective work?

Exactly.

I plan to build on this success.

Mr. Holmes, should you like
to talk at any time,

my office is always open.

No, thank you, Doctor.

I'm quite partial to the hat.

Until next time.

He is a remarkably good
detective.

Remarkably good?

Well

Almost as good
as the great Detective Murdoch.

Dr. Ogden,
shall I escort you home?

It would be my pleasure.

Ripped By mstoll