All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S15E20 (EN)

*MURDOCH MYSTERIES*
Season 15 Episode 20

Episode Title: "Pendrick's Planetary Parlour"
Aired on: March 14, 2022.

To live in the
modern world is to bear witness

To an unfolding miracle.

A short while ago, information
moved at the speed of a ship.

Now it moves at
the speed of light

across a telegraph network
that spans the globe.

A letter written in Toronto
can be printed in New York,

as can images.

Now imagine doing all that from
the comfort of your home

Without the use of
a telegraph operator.

Sending the message to a friend
on another continent

and receiving
a reply within seconds.

Impossible, you say?

But the technology
already exists.

All it took to put it together
was some imagination

and a little bit of money.

Make that a lot of money.

This is the Pendrick portal.

It's a window into
a world we're calling

Pendrick's
planetary parlour.

Please, step forward.
Don't be shy.

It appears I'm receiving
a message.

Would you look at that, it's
our chief operating officer,

Garth Trent, from his home
in parkdale, Ontario.

Another message.

This one appears to be
from France.

It's my friend Jacques
from gay paree.

Bonjour, Jacques.

Ça va bien?

Another message.

From Mr. Cormac, one of our
parlour users here in Toronto.

You're sending worry?

I think we've got enough
of that already.

Or should we be
worried that...

W-What's happening?

Dear god! Mr. Cormac's being
murdered before our very eyes.

Struthers!

What should I do?

Call station house
number four.

Tell them to send
detective Murdoch.

Yes, sir.

Were all witness to a murder

That happened
across town.

Across town?
Then why are we here?

Because this is where
they witnessed the murder.

How can that be?

Sir, when James Pendrick
is involved...

Detective Murdoch.
Constable crabtree.

Thank you for
coming so quickly.

James Pendrick.

I believe you've met
Ernest Harding.

Ah, yes. You created a version
of babbage's difference engine.

Analytic engine, actually.

And people often
make that mistake.

Mr. Harding's machine
is an integral component

to my latest venture.

And just what
is that venture, James,

and how does it
involve murder?

It might be easier
to show than to tell.

What on earth is this device?

Images and text
are processed by the computer

and then transmitted
to local receivers,

which are connected
to a network.

We call it
cellular telegraphy.

I've retrieved
the transmission of the murder.

I-it's been recorded?

All our transmissions
are first recorded

to a coil of
magnetic wire.

What am I looking at here?

Electrons, Murdoch.

What am I looking at
in this image

and, more importantly,
who is this?

His name is Vincent Cormac.

He was a participant
in our face space.

Face space?

When a group of people
gather together

in a mutual conversation,
we call it a chat space.

When they transmit images,
we call it a face space.

It's just marketing.

Ah.

And how well do you know
this Mr. Cormac?

I didn't. He was chosen at
random to participate.

He was a professor
of mathematics.

I'd met him a few times.

"Worry, I'm sending it."

It's a bit cryptic but
clearly, he was under duress.

A warning, perhaps?

Good lord!

Sir, could this be
some sort of hoax?

Possibly.

Where did this happen?
We should go there now.

Garth Trent, our chief
operating officer,

would have
that information.

He was also part of
the face space. Struthers!

Yes, sir?

Have you contacted
Mr. Trent?

He telephoned.
He's on his way.

Very good. Thank you.

What's this now?

Sir, that looks like the grin
of the cheshire cat.

It could be
the killer's icon.

Icon?

His representative symbol.

Lately our users have
taken to using icons

instead of their faces.

I came as soon as I could.

Detective Murdoch,

this is our chief operating
officer, garth Trent,

And the son
of our main investor.

Pleasure.

I take it you know
where this happened.

Mr. Cormac's address is listed
as 247 Agnes street.

Sir, that's miss beazley's
boarding house.

It's just around the corner.

Who are you?

Oh, Margaret brackenreid.
I'm just here to assist.

Brackenreid.

I know that name.

My husband's
a police inspector.

They were looking for Bobby.

And they found him.

What?

It's number 13.

Mr. Cormac? Police.

- So, not a hoax.
- No.

Sir. Take a look at this.

What is it?

Well, he was a mathematician,

but this seems much more
diagrammatic in nature.

George, notify Mrs. Hart
that we have a victim,

bring Mr. Cormac's machine
to the station house

And take
a photograph of this.

Sir.

Very good, George.

Could you copy this onto
my blackboard

exactly as it's depicted
in the photograph?

Sir, I was going to go down to
miss beazley's boarding house

And dust for fingermarks,
take some statements.

I can do that.
Agnes street, isn't it?

Thank you.

Have you gained access
to the machine yet?

Not yet.

We need to reconfigure
the passcode manually.

What's in here, then?

Hopefully Mr. Cormac's
latest transmissions.

So you can send a message to
anyone in the world with this?

If they have a portal, yes.

We currently have
a thousand machines.

We want to make that a million.
And then a billion.

You're not half ambitious,
James.

I want to bring the world
together, inspector.

The free exchange of ideas
between people and peoples.

I just want to send a message
without talking to anyone.

Oh, but sir, it
could be so much more than that.

I mean, if anyone can send
a message to anyone,

then, presumably,
anyone can send a message...

To everyone!

Books could be transmitted.
Newspapers. Sports scores.

If images could be transmitted,

what's to keep you from
browsing the eaton's catalogue,

Placing your order directly
from a Pendrick portal?

Well, George, I hardly think
people will want to read a book

from such a device.

What else do you see?

Why not a global university?

You could attend from anywhere,

a treehouse,
a lighthouse, a yurt.

Come work for me.

Uh, but, sir,
I already have a job.

- I'll double your salary.
- Oy!

You're right, Tom.
I'll triple it.

You think about it,
Mr. Crabtree.

I've gained access.

I haven't been able
to get into two sections.

What? Why?

Ah, Mr. Cormac seems to have
reconfigured his machine

to prevent access.

I need to override
his instructions.

Are you able to imprint
to paper what you have thus far?

I appreciate you
coming to pick me up.

- Excuse me, Mrs. Farrow.
- Hm?

What do you know about my son?

- You?
- Bobby.

Bobby brackenreid.

I've never heard of him.

- You mentioned him by name.
- Margaret!

Not now.

You must be so excited.

- Is that what this feeling is?
- Isn't it?

Well, I don't know, effie.
It's a big change.

Permanent change.

And then, you know,

there's my friendship
with detective Murdoch.

I'm sure your friendship
will survive.

You'll just have to get used
to calling him William.

I don't think
I'll ever do that.

According to
the transmission log,

Mr. Cormac's previous
communication

Was at 2:34 P.M.

It says, "don't worry.
I'm sending it now."

If the killer was able
to send his own icon,

then he was likely
a parlour user himself.

Icon?

Ah.

Well, I've spoken to
everyone

at Mr. Cormac's boarding house,
no sightings.

But his neighbour heard someone
walk past her door at 2:30.

Heard? That could be anybody.

Well, if it was the killer,

that's one full half hour
before the murder.

And if the neighbour heard no
sign of a disturbance,

then it was likely someone
known to Mr. Cormac.

Success? Gather round,
we may have something here!

I've managed to access
some of the blocked sections.

Bloody hell. He's naked.

Small wonder he wanted
to keep that hidden.

Uh, sorry to interrupt.

Uh, detective, inspector
might I have a word?

Sirs, as you both know,
six years ago

I withheld information
during an investigation.

At the time, it was to protect
edna Garrison and her son.

But I was told
because of that,

I would never
make detective.

Is that still the case?

I can't honestly say
it isn't, crabtree.

Right. Well, I appreciate
your honesty, sir.

George,
Mr. Pendrick's ventures

seldom work out.

Yes, I'm aware of that.

And I thank you both for
everything you've done for me.

Would have been
the last moment I saw him.

- Tearing a bookcase apart.
- I agree.

Uh, Mr. Pendrick.

If your offer still stands,
I accept.

Wonderful.
I am so pleased.

Harding, meet our new director
of creative development.

Oh, well, welcome aboard,
Mr. Crabtree.

Thank you.

- Congratulations, George.
- I'll bloody miss you.

But you never heard
that from me, bugalugs.

Our loss is their gain.
Good luck.

I wish it was me
that was leaving.

Right. Well, a pint then,
to celebrate.

Oh, not tonight, crabtree.
We've got a case to solve, hm?

Let's discuss this.

Higgins, when you're done?

They have me doing
your job as well.

Right. Well, uh...

Another time, then, and, uh,
and best of luck with the case.

Right, then.

So, Cormac was trading
in pornography?

Not just pornography.

There were conversations
about adulterous liaisons

and prostitution.

Not just a mathematics
professor.

Hmm.

I don't want Pendrick's
parlour to be associated

with this type of business.

Is there anything
we could do about it?

Hey!

It's the decon-recon sequence.

The what?

For reasons of security,
outgoing messages are scrambled

with a simple algorithm.

This is it.

How did Cormac get it?

Well, he figured it out.
He's a mathematician.

He should never have been
given a portal.

So, he had access
to every transmission,

every private conversation.

- A peeping Tom, then?
- Perhaps.

But why did he record only
the transmissions

that were potentially
damaging to the senders?

He was blackmailing them.

Bloody hell. There's your
motive right there, Murdoch.

Dear god!

People sent
these to each other?

They assumed
the exchanges were private.

Well, I have a photograph or
two I could send to you.

So you think he was
compiling all of these

for blackmail purposes?

He recorded these separately
from his other transmissions.

What were they about?

Mundane things.

Cats.

Pictures of cats.

Jokes about cats.

And Cormac wasn't the only one,
nearly everybody.

Well, how odd.
I wonder why.

George will have a theory.

How are you
feeling about that?

Feeling?

I wish him all the luck in
the world in his new venture.

You'll still be friends,
William.

Morning, detective.

Have you been here all night?

We're just wrapping up.

We gained access to the final
blocked section.

I printed off the contents.

- A cipher?
- Ah, not a cipher.

But a code of some kind.

But why encode it
in the first place?

Perhaps he feared that
if he could spy on others,

others could spy on him?

What is happening?

Someone's taking control
of the machine.

How?
I don't know,

But he's erasing
the recorder!

Quickly, pull the plug!

Do you mean to tell me that
the intruder can not only spy

on our face space
transmissions,

But they have access
to the actual machine?

That's why each machine
is protected with a passcode.

A passcode?

A secret key, a passcode
known only to the user.

So, someone knows
Mr. Cormac's passcode,

possibly the killer.

I'm going to have to take this
machine back to headquarters

and analyze it.

Right, then.

Begin.

My goodness.
I don't know.

What are my options?

George crabtree, I presume.

- Ah, yes. We met yesterday.
- Not by name.

I'm melody struthers,
assistant machine instructor.

I'm not sure what that means.

It means I write coded
instructions for the machines

and professor Harding
gets the credit.

Ah!

This used to be his desk.

I'm over there in
the operations section.

We'll be working together.

You come up
with brilliant ideas

and I'll explain in boring
detail why they can't work.

Well, that sounds
a lot like my old job.

Sir?

I thought
professor Harding took this

back to their
headquarters.

It's not Cormac's.
It's ours.

Ours? Why would we?

It's the future, isn't it?

Sir, they are
demonstrably not secure.

We have a passcode.
Come here. Come here!

Keep it to yourself:
It's Wednesday.

The team! Football.
Sheffield.

Ah, yes, yes, yes.
No one will ever guess that.

Look at this,
someone sent out a photo

of a cat hanging
from a clothesline.

Bloody priceless!

Sirs. I've spoken to
the parlour users

Mr. Cormac spied on.

They all have alibis except for
naked photograph man.

He's in the interview room.

Clothed, sir.

Oh, good. Good.

Uh, Henry, copy this to
my blackboard

exactly as it's written,
please.

Sir.

Oh, yeah.

My goodness.

This is your front door.

Yes. The images renew
every six seconds.

How about that?

And what's all of this?

Each light represents a cell,

Each blink
represents a transmission,

987 machines transmitting

To 40 cells
on three continents.

What about the costs
of overseas transmission?

We transmit in units
of seven bits,

which allows
for very high speed.

And who are your users?

Oh, volunteers, mostly.
Some random.

Some specifically chosen.

Ah. Welcome Mr. Crabtree.

Look, I've told the front staff,
now I'm telling you.

No contact with Pendrick
or Harding until further notice.

Is this about
the Cormac murder?

That's none of your concern.

You're not a copper anymore.

Where'd you get that?

You transmitted this?

I sent it to a lady friend.

Is that why I'm here?

You're here because
you are under suspicion

of the murder
of Vincent Cormac.

I don't know
anything about that.

The data of this image
was found in his machine,

we believe for
the purposes of extortion.

You believe what you want.

I didn't kill him.

Margaret?

Donna farrow?

Margaret,
this is private information!

She knows
something about Bobby.

She said they found him.

Who found him?

I don't know!
But I need to find out.

It may be something you
don't want to hear, Margaret.

Are you prepared for that?

I have to know.

I'm his mother.

Ah, sir.

It's all done.

Very good.

Now, there's a pattern
here somewhere.

If you say so, sir.

There's a symmetry
of sorts there.

And this one is almost
a palindrome

except for the a
and the n.

Uh-huh.

A...

N.

A, dot, dash, n, dash, dot.

Uh... Each half is the mirror
of the other in morse code.

That's it!

Henry, convert this entire
sequence to morse code.

We need to make a visual
representation of this.

We'll need a grid,

Roughly 65 squares by 28.

And in the fields, instead
of inserting dots and dashes,

you will then colour the square
or leave it blank.

Yes sir.

I'll get some paper.

Good luck.

Yes. Thank you.

No.

A belated welcome,
Mr. Crabtree.

How are you settling in?

Very well, thank you.

Is everything all right, sir?

I'm not a knight;
There are no sirs here.

Call me James.

Quickiepedia?

Yes. I'm thinking...

A compendium
of all human knowledge

written and edited by parlour
users themselves.

The knowledge of experts,
available to all?

And quickly.

It's ingenious.

You rekindle my faith,
Mr. Crabtree.

Oh, sir!
Come and see this.

I wrote out the morse code
as you asked.

It looks like a smile.

Henry, bring in Mr. Pendrick.

Sir.

At is the function
of the cheshire cat grin?

Figuratively, or literally?

Bits of information,
if sent in a specific sequence,

Will do something.

What does this sequence do?

Well, sent as code,
it could be an address,

or a set of machine
instructions.

But a transmitted image is just
that: It has no coded value.

What if we were to send this
sequence as text?

Let's try it.

We'll be needing that,
inspector.

Not right now, I'm afraid.

I'm in negotiation
with a Nigerian prince.

What?

Well, he's about to be
overthrown

And he wants to hide
his fortune in Canada.

He's willing to pay me 5,000 $
as a consultancy fee.

The originating cell
is from niagara.

You mean Nigeria.

N-no, niagara as in falls.

It seems to be some sort
of confidence scheme.

Oh, bloody hell.

- Then, who is it then?
- Don't know.

They're masking their identity.

Ah!

All right.

First sequence.

Ah, six, five...

five, five...

And seven more fives.

Oh. Yes. And...
A nine.

Uh, next.

Zed, ten fives and then three.

We're in someone else's machine.

Whose?

A man by the name of
Milton Jarvis.

But his last transmission was...
Two months ago.

Wait a minute.

Someone's trying to get in.

- Milton Jarvis?
- No.

Someone else.

Operator, give me
Pendrick headquarters.

Run a scan on cell 7, unit 23.

I want to know
who's transmitting.

We're conducting a trace.

- Ah!
- Ah!

Yes, yes.

Thank you. Very good.
Keep a record.

The originating cell came
from a man named Sam waters.

- Isn't that the naked man?
- Indeed, sir.

We now have more than
just motive.

We need to bring Mr. Waters back
in and confiscate his machine.

Imagine you could type
"chicken soup recipe"

And find different recipes
shared by various users.

That information would be
stored on individual machines.

We don't have access.

Yes, but imagine every user
had a line to a Pendrick machine

Dedicated solely to storage.

You send your chicken soup
recipe up the line, I send mine.

We all upline our recipes
and there they are, stored,

to be accessed by any user,
at any time.

We would need dedicated
connections;

Dedicated addresses;

An automated index to allow
for quicker searches.

So, it's possible?

It's possible.

Dedicated storage?

Magnetic wire is cheap.

Land is cheap.
Power is cheap.

I see huge upfront costs
without defined profits.

Well, yes, but surely
the benefit...

to whom?

Mankind.

That is exactly
the kind of dreamy thinking

that will obliterate
my father's investment.

Tell me how
this will make money.

Well, it will make
the parlour better.

You'll sell more machines.

I don't see that.

Well, that's fine.
I'm sure James will.

James!

Oh...

Yes, I see. You've had the, um,
"we're a team" chat.

Teams have hierarchy.

James may be the owner,
but I am your boss.

You'll address me as
Mr. Trent.

Oh, and, by the way, um,

No eating at your desk.

We have a lunchroom for that.

How did he know
I was eating at my desk?

Small men focus on
small things.

His father bequeathed him
his interest in this company.

Immediate profit
is all he cares about.

This was transmitted at the moment of
Mr. Cormac's death.

It is a binary
representation of this.

It also contains a sequence that
provides direct access

to the machine of one
Milton Jarvis,

Whom we have learned
is living abroad currently.

Binary...

Representation?

Don't play me for a fool,
Mr. Waters!

You are deeply connected
to the murder of a man

for whom you had motive
to kill.

I didn't have motive.
You've got it wrong.

Cormac wasn't trying
to extort me.

We were both trying to catch
the man who was extorting me.

About a month ago, I received
a copy of the photograph I sent

and a message asking
for 500 $

Or else the photograph would be
made public.

The next day,
I got a message from Mr. Cormac.

He'd been monitoring
my transmissions.

He told me the man who was
extorting me

had access to our machines.

We called him Mr. X.

Cormac wanted my help
to trap him.

I agreed.

That's why he was murdered.

You believe by this Mr. X?

Cormac told me he was close
to discovering his identity.

He'd found a way to track him.
He'd compiled evidence.

But he needed to hide it where
Mr. X wouldn't think to look.

In the machine of a man
living abroad.

And why the cheshire cat grin?

We needed a code Mr. X
wouldn't guess.

And why transmit it during
Mr. Pendrick's address

to his investors?

I've no idea.

He sent it to me in a chat space
a half hour earlier.

2:34.

His last transmission
was to you.

"Could you be
the cheshire cat?

Because it happens
that I've failed you.

Curious?

Meet me on the bench across
from Pendrick hq."

Is it possible

that Vincent Cormac was killed
at 2:34 P.M.,

But his murder was transmitted
26 minutes later?

You think that's what
happened?

It would explain the gap on
the primary recorder.

Is it possible?

You have to edit
the recording directly;

Transfer the content
to the other recorder;

Find a way to align the text
and the image...

they're stored separately.

And then you'd have to
manually roll back

The timing mechanism
on the secondary recorder.

You'd need physical access
to the machine.

How long would
all of that take?

- 10 minutes?
- Ah...

I could do it in five.

He was killed
26 minutes earlier?

I believe so, yes.

Why go to all the trouble
of making it appear

That he was killed during
Pendrick's demonstration?

I've been giving it
a great deal of thought

And I can think of only
one reason.

He wanted an alibi.

What better alibi than to be
in the company of everyone

watching the murder being
committed with their own eyes?

That includes everyone that
was attending the investors' demonstration.

It just so happens that
miss beasley's boarding house

is only two blocks away
from Pendrick headquarters.

It would have taken 10 minutes,

Leaving 16 minutes
to get to the demonstration,

shake hands, be seen.

It's tight.

But it opens up a whole
new field of potential suspects.

Professor Harding
can attest to that.

Actually, I cannot.

I was, uh, waylaid by matters
relating to babbage

and I arrived at the demonstration
just before 3:00.

Babbage? The inventor
of the analytical engine?

Yes.

But, in this case,
it's the name of my dog.

- Is babbage all right?
- Oh, she got lost again.

- She's getting old.
- Oh, dear.

So, you don't have an alibi?

No, I don't.

I absolutely could have
killed Mr. Cormac,

changed the recording
and made it to the investor demonstration.

But I would like to stress
that I didn't.

I've got nothing to tell you.

I know you know about my son.

It's my husband's business

and he don't like me
talking about it.

You said they found Bobby.

And I've already
said too much.

Please.
I'm his mother.

I just want to know
if he's alive.

Please.

He's alive.

Least he was
when they found him.

Where? Where is he?

Wh...

You're the cheshire cat.

Ha! I guess that makes you
the curious cat?

You left me waiting.

Well, you're here now.

Have a seat.

Let's talk.

What does the cheshire cat
smile mean?

Nothing.

It was bait.

Bait?

A few months ago,

I became aware of a lurker in
one of the face spaces.

- A lurker?
- Trespasser;

Uninvited participant.

So, I conducted a scan
and caught him.

He turned out to be
Vincent Cormac.

The murder victim.

But I soon learned
that Cormac was himself

trying to discover the identity
of a man he called Mr. X

Who could break
into individual machines.

Why didn't you go
to Mr. Pendrick with this?

Because...

Mr. X had access to information
stored on machines

that aren't connected
to the parlour.

So, he worked
for Pendrick enterprises.

For all I know,
it could be Pendrick himself.

So that's when I said,

"miss struthers, you had to come
in and talk to detective..."

Yes, of course, of course.

Well, thank you both
for coming in.

George, if you could
please excuse us.

Oh, right. Yes.

Yes, of course.

- Miss struthers.
- Yes.

Please help me understand
this, uh, "bait" gambit.

I wasn't looking for the man
who would show up to meet me.

I was looking for
the man showing up to see

who was showing up.

To meet you.

Ah, but if the plan was
to trick the killer

Into reacting to the symbol
of the crime he'd committed...

The symbol was just to get
his attention.

It was this verse
that was meant to trap him.

"Could you be the cheshire cat

because it happens that
I've found you."

I don't understand.

Oh, you're not meant to.

But Mr. X would.

How so?

The first letters of each line
spell out the passcode

he was using to break
into individual machines.

One universal passcode?

It works on every machine.

And how did you come to have
this passcode?

We tricked him
into transmitting it.

That's why Cormac sent
the image of the cheshire cat.

Well, that wasn't meant
for Sam waters?

No. It was all a trick
to convince Mr. X

we were on to him.

We knew he'd be reading
Sam's machine.

We knew he'd try the codes
Cormac transmitted.

And when those codes
didn't Grant him access to the machines,

He would be forced to use
his universal passcode.

Yes. I was doing a scan
the whole time.

As soon as he transmitted
the passcode, we had it.

You then used this riddle
to force him to expose himself.

Yes.

But he didn't take the bait.

The bait?

Why this sequence?

Could be random.

The odds against someone typing
in that exact sequence

would be a trillion to one.

A cipher, maybe, sir?

Perhaps.

Might be as simple as going
ahead or back a letter for each.

So: B, A, B, B, A...

- G.
- A, B, C, D.

E. Sir!

Cabbage!

Babbage!

Very good.

George... oh, I'm sorry.

Henry!
Bring in professor Harding!

This is your passcode?

Yes.

How...
How did you...?

It acts as a universal key.

It granted us access
to every machine we've tried.

You designed it that way
so that you would have access

to other machines
for the purposes of extortion.

Mr. Cormac found out
and you killed him.

You then delayed transmission
of the murder

to provide yourself
with an alibi.

There's no override sequence.

No, I tried that.

The back flow sequence? No.

It's in the machine itself.

It's in every damned machine.

What do you say
to these charges, Mr. Harding?

I did this. It was me!

Is that a confession?

Mr. Harding!
Mr. Harding, stop!

Mr. Harding!

Professor, what are you doing?

Oi!

10 years ago
I discovered a man

by the name of Karl schreyer
using my computer,

so I installed a passcode into
the machine itself.

But when we moved
to the new interface,

Passcodes became electrical
and I forgot all about it.

- I-it was...
- A backdoor.

To every machine we ever built.

That's how he was able
to get in.

Mr. X?

Who?

How did he get your passcode?

Sir, I think I know how.

I think he observed
Mr. Harding entering it

Into his own machine.

There's a photosensor
in the ceiling above my desk,

which used to be
professor Harding's desk.

Photosensor?

A camera capable
of transmitting images in real time.

To whom?

Garth Trent.
He used it to spy on me.

In fact, that's why
he didn't take the bait

for miss struthers' trap.

He was watching me
through the camera.

Mr. Trent was a participant at
your presentation, was he not?

He suggested it.

Thinking it would give him
the perfect alibi.

Hold it.

Trent was transmitting
from parkdale.

He couldn't have killed Cormac

and made it to the face space.

What if he wasn't?

What if he wasn't
in parkdale at all?

What if he was in Mr. Cormac's
room the whole time?

I suppose he could have
relayed the face space transmission

From Cormac's machine.

Well, let's bring up
his face space transmission.

George.

Blackboard.

He never left Cormac's room.

Right.
Let's arrest the bugger.

A confession could spare
you the noose.

What do you want to know?

How did you know
professor Harding's passcode

was universal?

I didn't.

I only meant to break into
Harding's machine.

So you obtained his passcode.

And when I did,

I found that I'd broken into
the wrong machine.

But the passcode still worked.

It worked on every machine
that I tried.

Why, Mr. Trent?
You had everything.

You had a stake in the company.

My father squandered
my inheritance

building a thousand
Pendrick portals.

Did you no longer
believe in the venture?

I never did!

Pendrick has no head
for profits.

All that he cares about
is progress.

So you found another way.

I had access to every secret.
I could have made millions.

I-I got impatient.
I...

I wanted to test it.

And in so doing
you attracted the attention

of the one person
who could track you down.

It was him or me.

You're folding the company?

I envisioned a better world,
Mr. Crabtree.

I built a tool that was meant
to bring us together.

Instead, it was usurped
by criminals and charlatans.

I keep making the mistake of thinking
people are better than they are.

Well, I'm truly sorry,
Mr. Pendrick.

I'm sorry, too.

And I made you quit your job
and now I've dashed your dreams.

Oh, not at all. As much as
I appreciated the opportunity,

Turns out,
I'm a copper after all.

Hm.

Sorry it didn't work out,
crabtree.

Sir.

I don't suppose my old job
is still available?

The thing is, bugalugs,

We've already promoted baker up
to constable second class.

Ah.

But, luckily, we have
an opening for constable first class.

It pays less than Pendrick,

But it's a good bump up on what
you were making before.

We've also inquired
with the chief constable.

If I and the inspector draft
letters of recommendation,

They will waive the prohibition.

You won't make detective
this year or even next year.

But the door will no longer
be closed to you.

Welcome back, George.

Good to be back, sirs.

Subtitling: Difuze