All language subtitles for Ripper.Street.S03E01.Whitechapel.Terminus.720p.WEBRip.x264-FaiLED

And you are?

I'm Railways.

Who are you?
- We

own guns.

My apologies if I'm late.

Another way it has been layed out for me.

In these here indications.

It is you who now will tell us
the wins and outs.

You have met him.
- I have not.

But all these instructions.

He is a sly one, is he not?

Wait in his cell far away from us all.

Well come on then,
tell us how this way to get rich.

The time tabelling, the point systems,
I have computed it all.

And here, see? This is how the Bishopsgate
goods line may be intruded upon.

The one we pinch will be bigger.

See?
Railways.

Transcription by Vera
Sync and corrections: minouhse

Good Morning, Chief Inspector.

What is it brings you by?

Well, if you might be distracted
from your beloved archive.

There is news
I would share with you, Edmund.

Indeed.
Urgent, I imagine, given the hour.

First however, there is a matter
to which I must attend.

If you please, Constable Grace.

Eight and a half by

six and a quarter, Inspector.
- Other features?

Scarring left mastoid collarbone.
- What is this?

This ain't coppery.

You may well say.
- Is it not, Mr Cree?

What?
Haslen.

Not the name that you gave
to my booking sergeant.

But you are Herbert John Cree.

Three counts of receiving stolen goods.
One of larceny.

Wanted on suspicion
of two counts of burglary.

It's no wonder to me

that you have so informed
an opinion on our work.

What is it you wish from me.

I wish you to enlighten me, Mr Cree.
- You wish me to snitch, were you.

But I knew.

On all and on everything.

Each villain, every paymaster.

Each and every whispered scheme or rumour,
no matter how trifling they seem,

I want them all.

You?

How I am now alone with my vices.

I'm taking my pension, Edmund.
Bournemouth.

Or so Mrs Abberline's thinking runs.

It is my reccommendation,
I should be replaced by you.

Who then to seek my work here completed?

The archive, Chief Inspector.

Do you not see what it is I built here?

Be they pimp or pornographer

confidence man or blackmailer,
thief, fence and cracksman or pickpocket.

Soon there will not be a villain
in Whitechapel or the East, whose

particulars, habits or associates
are not known to me.

To me, Fred.

And you would have me dozing
in a deckchair in St. James' Park.

I would, my Friend.
Dozing in the sunshine,

blessed by a breeze.

Instead this.

The villains of this quarter,

turn from blood and bone,
into scratchings on paper.

In what hope, Inspector?

The fat cyphers might carry you
to the door of the devil himself.

Fred Abberline lectures me on obsession
as is a rum night.

No, I am yet your superior,
and you will mind me.

Drake is gone, your Yankee dismissed.

Yet here you are still.
Alone, but for your books.

I would see you gone from this place, Edmund,

before it swallows you hole.

Now there's only you to work this system.

I do hope, that you are as good
as your word, Railways.

Railways.

This signal system
was first built in april '75.

Before then were points who has been
hand worked down on the tracks themselves.

Railways.
I care not.

Now.
He stirs

he gets a clad.
Understand?

We go to set our trap.

Use that knowhow of yourse
ans send that engine to us.

People have died to contact you.
- It's at Whitechapel.

They die for day.
- 55 lives,

given up for 350.000.

People have died to contact you.

It's at Whitechapel.

They die for day.

Hail morning to you, darling.

Oh God, he's American.

I never did make any pretence to the fact.

I'm Hermini...
- Morton.

It's Mimi for short.
I remember.

You're found at Bob Blewitt's
two months back.

Ever since then you attend even performances
on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays

usually around a company, but occaisionally
you bring an escort.

Damn you, Ivan.
- His name you remember I see.

Well.
Who are you?

If you will not say, I shall see for myself.

A doctor?

That man.
The Ripper.

There was a notion, was there not,
that he was perhaps, an American doctor?

It persists.

Shall I be very frightened?

Captain Homer Jackson.

You were an army man once?

Once a law man also,
but now only a sawbones.

So you be careful, it's sharp.
- Is it indeed.

Do you wield it with skill?

If harm came onto me in these dark streets,

would you bring me here and clean my wounds,
and make me whole again?

If you ask nicely.
- I ask now.

Ask nicer.

And when you are done

with courtesy.

The documents you asked for, Miss Hart.

My solicitor, Mr Capshaw.

Counselor Cobden.
It is a pleasure.

Our clinic.

It makes something new here

and should not anticipate such an undertaking
to be met with universal approval.

There will be complaint.
Some of it certain to be legal.

Your organisation.

When I think on what
Obsidian its state once was,

a bastion of inequity,

and what it now is.
Something that was once so opaque,

self-serving primitive,

it is now a beacon of civic participation
and progress.

And it is all down to you, Miss Hart.
- Counselor, you're too kind.

Too kind by stretch.

It's about the soundest of business philosophies
that we here embrace.

Indeed.
And would you share it?

There is no great sophistication,
it is simply this.

What is best for the people of the East,
is also best for Obsidian.

Miss Hart.

Our first intakers selected.

The Obsidian Clinic's
first students and nurses.

I have met them all this week.

And each calls this quarter their home?
- Off course. As you insisted.

Will you be here to greet them yourself?

It is thanks to your generosity after all,
that I employed them.

I will, Doctor Frayn.
And all those that follow.

Fourteen past eight.

The Dock's Company engine crosses
the cutting at St John's.

Only this morning it does not.

Seventeen past eight.

I'm scheduled diversion Eastwood.

What the hell's that?

We're divertin'.

Railways.

If you weren't so agony, I'd kiss ya.

That is some precise signaling.

Thieving the Bishopsgate run are you?

And you have allowed
for the Necropolis, yes?

You mean the London
Necropolis & National Mausoleum Company?

That runs under London and Blackwall.
Stay off off here.

But there is engineering on the line
of as it occurs, since monday.

They travel the same tracks.

Gregory Enright.

Look.
Where did that come from?

We're gonna crash.

Tell me which one.

What number?

There's no time.

What is it?
- Number 25.

Damn good job did you, Railways.
Damn good job.

Whoever made such a plan,
they made it well.

Next stop.
Farringdon, ladies and gentlemen.

Farringdon, and all stations
to Whitechapel terminus.

Wait. Please.
Come on.

I'll take one of those.

Thank you, mister.
- You go on that train.

Come on, soldier, I'll take that.
Here we go.

Blimey, what've you got in there?

Here we go.
- Thank you, mister.

Mister?
- Drake.

-

-

-

Mister Drake.

Where is it you travel today?
- Arthur.

I do appologize, Mister Drake.

No, please ma'am, no apologies.

I travel through to Whitechapel, Arthur.

Oh, as we ourselves do.

Do you know it well, Sir?
- Arthur.

Well, soldier.

I've not walked it's streets
for gone four years now.

But once.

Yes.

I knew it well.

Whitechapel.

See?
That's Leman Street.

Then we're on the passenger line.

Oh, no, no, no.

The people.

Help them.

Wire for more men.

Mother?

There will be many dead, Gregory Enright.

You question how it is I know your name?

I do not.

No, please. Please, you're not this man.
You're not. Gregory. No.

No, please don't.
No, I beg you. No.

No.

Get the people off the street
and into te Station House, Grace.

Captain Jackson.

Sergeant.

Reid.

I imagine the men in my calling
might find some purpose here.

See he get's what he needs.

Three groupings, sergeant, you follow me?

First. Those who most likely live,
regardless of what we do for them.

Second.
Those who might care of me saving them.

Third...
- Those passed saving.

Mister Reid.

Are you just gonna stand there?

Here.

Here.

I have you.

Mister Reid?

To me, Mr Reid.

Here you go.
I got you.

You're alright.

Drake.
Lay her here.

She's gonna be alright.
- Long time no see, Drake.

What is this? Are we all in fact dead,
and you're here to greet us?

Excuse my hand, darling.

You hear me?
You hear me?

Okay. You're gonna be okay.
You.

What?
- Give me work. Tell me what to do.

You have coin on you?
- Ofcourse.

You get to the dispensary. To the London
if need being, you bring me morphine.

There's needs in meds, Captain.
Courtesy of Obsidian estates.

Miss Susan Hart, this is...
- I know who she is.

Hello.
Miss Erskine.

Hello, Mister Best.
- This is compassionate. Really is.

The star you now are,
come here to dispense comfort

and a few fond words to these poor wretches.

They will be all the more grateful
you are now returned in such glory

to Whitechapel.
A picture perhaps?

A rose amid the rubble?

Will you excuse me, Mr Best?

George.
Here, take him off of me.

You will come home?

And I am come home.

And this...

I came to see you, Rose.

With the Alexandra, last year.

You were a marvel.

But you did not say hello?

No, I thought it best not.

Youe were...
You were with a gent, after.

But you looked happy.

And that made me happy.

Bennet.
It's a long way.

Manchester Piccadilly through Whitechapel.

What is it brings you here?

It's best I do not say.

Tom.

Know him?

Tom?

Tom?

Freddie.

You comfort him?

Wait, I'm here, Tom.
I'm here.

Inspector.
- Madam.

Such ruin...
It is

senseless.
- These streets,

each day, I hope I might have seen
the last of their cruelty in office.

That pure awful chance.
Nothing in this world to be done for it.

It is hard medicine.

But there will be cause for it somewhere.

A root of one sort or other creeping away.

Silence.
Now.

You hear that?

Over here.
- What is that uniform?

The Necropolis line.

Lay him down here.

Easy, easy.

What has happened here, Mr Reid?

We are under resourced, Mr Drake, and no
longer enjoy the benefit of our surgeon.

Drake, there is Laudanum in my bag.

Wait, wait.
We cannot drug him.

Drake, you tell him that,
this man is in pain.

Mr Drake, his engine, the Necropolis.

Its line, the line for Manor Park,
it is a mile east of here.

He was off-course and perhaps the root
of this carnage. He must talk to us.

Intrathoracic and intra-abdominal bleeding,

the man's organs are ruptured.
They come apart.

He must speak.
- Drake,

you're gonna tell him that there is nothing
that this man must do, not ever again.

He's dying.
Now give him the Laudanum.

Sir.

You were off-course, where you not?

Docks.
Trying...

find...

Ma...
Mars men.

The wires need to be worked, Sir.
Who is your operator?

Constable Grace.
- Listen, son, Bishop's got you all in Goodman's.

See what report he's made
discover what thieved.

Do it.

He's giving orders.
- He's Inspector now.

Inspector Drake.
No shit.

Arthur.

Did someone come for you, boy?
No father or grandparents?

You see that man?

Now, he may dress odd,
and talk odder still...

but you can trust him.
He can trust you.

Stay with him, alright. Only a whiles.
- Now wait a minute.

One hour, Jackson.
- Drake.

I have never been inside
a police station before.

Yeah well, their charm soon fades.

You got any idea
what to do with one of those?

Not even the first.

Four years you are gone, Bennet,

four years since I put Captain Jackson
out on the street also.

And now here, on this day, on that train,

you are returned.

I heard of your rise through the ranks
of the Manchester City Police.

enrolled as an uniform Counstable no less.

Did you hide your true rank from them?

I did.

And so, you are made a new.

What put you on that train, Bennet?

Did they not have need of you up there?

I'm on leave, Sir.

Holidaying in Whitechapel?

Mr Reid, I meant to say...

I wanted to say, Inspector.

Word reached me,

of Mrs Reid's passing.

I wrote, Sir.
- Yes, I know.

Ik know.
I was glad for it, Bennet.

The signalbox.

Whatever measure of control sat behind
this chaos, that is where it did so.

Goods train.
An accomplish drives it in.

Born for Bishopsgate and Goodman's.

The villains who done this robbed the London
and India dock company therefore.

And one man up here.
More sent a foot and the tracks deboarded.

But for then to be thrown at
the path of an accomplice.

Whoever stood here must only have been,

what, fetching it here.
Fetching it, to do their robbing unlodged.

in an abandoned shed hereabout.
- And this...

The man's wrists were bound first.

And any further details of his execution,
need reading with an expert eye.

Mr Reid.

Whatever it is, that may have passed
between you and the American,

these last years,
my work has been greatly varied,

but I have met no man with gifts...
- Gifts?

The drowning in gin,

sleeping in gutters.

Inspector.
So much death...

Whatever his current habits,

needs must the best man
go searching for the root of it.

Then you must ask him, Bennet.
Because he will not hear it from me.

I go to hunt that goods train.

Are you here?

We did as you instructed.

Every part as you instructed.

Do you know at what price this was come by?

Do you?
Answer me.

We have deaths on our hands.

Kiddies among them.
Kiddies.

And I do not merit such guilt.
I do not.

I want you to take it.

Those deaths, the wrong.
All yours.

Tomorrow,

you will have our share as promised.
Otherwise...

May God damn you.

I wonder,

if I just simply through it all
into the fire,

would the last day
vanish up te chimney stack also?

And leave you and I here to sit
in agree to turn our backs on such villainy.

Did not have you marked as whimsical, Madam.

Fiftyfive, we're now told.

Fiftyfive lives, given up for $350.000

in unregistered and anonymous bearer bonds.

Because you saw an opportunity.

Does this buy back life?

Does this?
- You are beside yourself.

You must calm.
- Must I?

You are my employee, Mr Capshaw,
best you remember that.

And if I wish to burn the evidence
of our certain damnation, then I shall.

Well, then burn it.

But I currently lack for better ideas
of how we might fill the gaping chasm

in this institutions finances.

When the stirling exchange of these bonds

will keep our books balanced for ten years.

I've been happy in my work, Miss Hart.

I've served you assiduously in the seaming
transformation of this houses practices.

Yes, we are yet money lender
to our neighbours,

indeed we are yet so in the certain
knowledge of they're the fault in thereon.

But where is the not much lamented Mr Dugham was
content to then aquire their rotten practices

to rot further in his own enrichment?

You would have us demolish the old

and develop a fresh.

It's an admirable enterprise indeed.
But as you know...

This houses covers can not continue
to provide for them.

Brickwork, sewerage,

open public spaces,
your cherished Obsidian clinic,

the new Jerusalem that you had built here,
we agreed in.

This is bad money.

Bad American money, destined for bad ends,
here in London.

We may take it and ennoble its purpose.

People have died, God damn you.

But in Whitechapell,

they die every day.

A fact that you, with this,

would seek to correct.
So this...

This in your hands,

becomes alive.

Alive, Miss.

Nobody wants dead
and they wander the way to Leman Street.

Off your fragile wrists up
to your friend Mr Reid.

On what all that you have made,

or you would make,

fall to ruin.

There's a man in a signalbox out there,
with his brains removed from it.

Hey, kid, I paid for that,
I expect to see that eaten.

First glance, I'd say, a shotgun.

Eat it, God damn it.

Will you not come?
- No, Drake, I will not.

Rebels me so,

the poor assumption of yours that four years
after you up and disappear,

I still can have my lunch
in a tingle Leman Street.

He is something.
Take a dead man

he'll tell you, what he ate for breakfast
three days ago.

And whether it's that which poisoned him,
or the strychnine in his tea.

Indeed, Captain Jackson?
- Drake, you listen to me.

I do not police no more.

Jackson.
Look around you.

This, what must be discovered,
here in Whitechapel,

what all here now need,

it is not policing.
It is only answers.

When did you get devious?

Well?

I'm rusty, Reid.

You seek the fault of death,
look to yourself.

There is buckshot. A shotgun is assumed.
- Our genius has returned to us, then?

It's the first shot, one one assumes.
- Assumed how?

It missed, Reid.

Miss intirely. The parabal is six feet here,
as it passes to the wall.

The shot came from near enough here.
The target is...

well, there.
That's some piss-poor marksmanship.

How what we got here?

Drake.
There's a hand lens over there.

You've gotten eager.

It's heavy damaged above the
epidermis and dermis.

Over the trauma is in the shape of an oval.

The butt of a shotgun.
- Oh, the mind of this man.

But there's patterning here, also.

The blow is like a stamp on the man's face.

The steel plate of the butt of the gun
would have had an ingravings and lettering.

It's an 'A' and a 'W', I can see.

And an 'R'.

No?
Well...

Wouldn't expect you to know.
They are American guns afterall.

It's 'W' for Winchester, 'R' for Repeating,

'Winchester Repeating Arms Company'.
You got the shells?

That's a fine weapon.
It's a pump action.

An exotic beast in these parts, you might say.
- It might if I were talking to you.

It is a straight forward fire arm, however.
Simple and direct.

Indeed.
- Yet he misses with it.

From a good five yards.
- It's a heavy gun, however.

It's hard to manage.
- And a child?

A child?
Who has the skills to operate these?

Someone impaired, therefore.
- Therefore,

he cannot lift the barrel up for
the first shot, so he spoons it to the left.

And he uses the top rail of the chair
and helps stabilize his aim.

And as you say, Bennet, he is

educated in the workings of this system.

And in the details of both the time tabling
and the tracking hereabout.

But not the engineering work there on.
- No. Nonetheless,

he would not have been able to aquire this
certain pertise mainly by being an enthousiast.

He has worked this system at some point.

That bares another question.

Why shoot him at all?
- The other men.

His accomplices, they wore masks.
Did they not?

And it been some struggle to get that gun up.
He must have felt some reason to kill this man.

But he recognized them.

Despite the masks, and all.
- And thus the silencing.

But he is impaired.
We are saying.

An arm or a shoulder or some such.

And he knows this system.

So this crippling was what?
A well known much disgust,

misfortune in the workyard, perhaps?

An uncompensated accident even.

Gives him the motive, knowledge and skill.

He was a railway man once.

I shall have the London and Tilbury Company
widen their employment records run to Leman Street.

As for these shotguns, I have an idea
as to where their providence may be found.

What is this place?

His new plaything.

Mister Cree, did I not tell you, that in due
course you would be of use to me once more.

FT Baker, gunmakers of Fleet Street
and Cockspur Street

and robbed a five pump action shotguns
three weeks past.

An undertaking with which you yourself
were approached. Were you not?

They was after Winchesters.
- But what of it?

I shan't be asking you again.
- Yes, alright.

That was Winchesters.

But I didn't take the job.
It smelled rotten.

Tell Mr Drake for why, Mr Cree.

Didn't like the look of him.

Of who?
- Allow me, Inspector Drake.

I did not know his name, Inspector,

I swear that he would not say, but round
these streets you do get to know most felons.

Particularly those with the ware with of all such
actions and I had not seen him this way before.

Witness was asked to describe
the gentleman in question.

And so?
- He looked wrong.

Skinny. Like a village parson
got off the wrong station.

Polished his shoes too bright.
All shiny they was.

Which a man notices.

When there's this much shit on the street.

The London and Tilbury's sent their runners, Sir.
Their employment records.

Put Mr Cree back in his cell.
I'll have use of him yet, I hope.

Crushed leg.

Broken foot.

I have you.
Here. Enright, Gregory.

Shunter, 1892.

Left shoulder crushed while coupling an engine
to goods stock at Commercial Roads Station.

Never compensated.
- There is an address?

There is.

Works perfect.

No, Sir, it was flawed.

Everything.
I thought I played for all.

But there were details I did not forsee.

And you would add more death
to a tellee that now reaches 55, would you?

Fiftyfive?
What matters one more?

What work it must have been for you, Sir.

The railways.

But to what reward you put your life
into your work.

and your work decides to keep that life?

And not return it to you.

It gave you committment,

with body and soul, every waking hour,

to a world that takes that loyalty,

and cares not one spot for you in return.

Catch.

You will hang me now, will you not?

That decision will follow
from what now you tell me, Mr Enright.

You, Sir, are skilled.
You are an ordinary man.

Such a scheme the other men gathered,

I do not for a minute believe,
you're the origin of this atrocity.

I am only railways,
I have only ever been railways.

So you were recruted.
By who?

I never met him.
- I do not believe you, Mr Enright.

Please, Sir, I swear it.

He found me, I do not know how.

But it was a letter through my door
that I was to earn money.

You find me a person hereabout,
cripple or not,

it's just not in that question.

So you must have been met, seen him?

No, we... Myself... The other men,
we were chosen for one skill or another.

You trusted in its anomalous bidding,
did you?

So I put my faith in anything
that promises me fivehundred pound.

And where is your
fivehundred pounds now, Mr Enright?

We were to get it.
- When, Sir.

Right here this morning we are to meet him.

Do you know, Mr Enright? I think
might permit you to fetch your gaines.

We shall see his face this morning.

He who would set men to steal guns.

He who exhumes crippled railway men
for their learning.

He who would leave the dead of Whitechapel
behind him. He will be known to me.

Still nothing, no report is made?
- My apologies, Mr Reid.

Whatever was took from that sea-can
it's owner is still yet to make complain.

Il only need to know its contents.

You have his provenance?
- Yes, Mr Drake.

The stevedores reported loaded from a domestic
cargo transport from Hoboken, New Jersey.

Such a scheme.

Whatever it was, we must assume it valuable.

I hope therefore that Enright and his cohort
provide us with an answer.

Or at least their employer.

Mr Reid.

The men await your instructions
as to how their warehouse is to be vigilated.

No, no, Captain.

Captain Jackson, this is a police assignment
and as such I'm sure you understand,

these details must be considered sensitive.
So,

my thanks for your service.
But I think you might get to your bed. Or...

whatever other activity you choose
to persue at this hour.

Constable Grace.
You're a smart one.

He always did like them smart.
Quick to learn.

Well, here's a lesson for you, son.

The faster you can quit this man in his work,
the better it's gonna go for you.

If you don't take my word for it,
you just ask the good Inspector Drake here.

-

Coffee?

How old are the grains?

Couple off days.

To which you assume a week.
- Look, do you want some, or not?

I can't imagine it's that doing you here for.

You'r a good deal too grand for me these days.
- Not an issue which troubles Miss Morton.

Yeah well, she comes here for something else.

I'm told you once more provide service
to the police.

That is an old habit in which to fall.

And old friend, it is not something
I intend of practice off.

Nonetheless a woman could be forgiven
for thinking time had turned backwards.

Look Susan, I'm tired.

I'm gonna kick-off my boots and go to sleep.
You gonna tell me what it is brings you here?

I'm petitioned.

Who by? One of the many greateful citizens
of your new republic?

I swear, one morning I'm gonna wake-up
and find you anointed Lord Mayor of London.

I don't know which of your constituencies,
it petitions you.

The bereaved.

Those who wait to see if their mothers,
or fathers, or children might yet live.

There is one question
they ask which unites them.

They wish to know why
their lives were turned to ruins in a trice.

You want to know why those trains collided
and against whom the world might lay blame.

The people wish to know.

Mister Drake?
- Chief Inspector.

Where is he?
- At the floor above us, Sir.

And so..
Have you missed us?

There is now way quite like Whitechapel, Sir.

He has asked after the for why

behind you're return to us?
- He has.

You've told him?

This last day,
it is not gone by how I imagined.

No.
But you see why it is I've asked you here.

He appears undiminished to me, Sir.
His commitment, his skills.

It is not the loss of such attribute
that concern me, Mr Drake.

It is the loss of he.
Himself.

Yes, Sir.
- Inspector.

Chief Inspector, you're sent for.

He comes.

He has not arrived?
- No.

Little while yet, Railways.

Then we shall have our spend it.

My canary has sung.
Do you assure me, Ronald,

that these men, who now wait their earnings,
they've not seen you, you are sure?

Certain.

Then those earnings
shall remain in the rears.

And the police shall have them.

They wil hang alone,
and not with you and I beside them.

We can not think they will
wait further, Inspector.

There is another.
Their paymaster, the architect of this all.

And there is no other means
by which this man might be found?

There is a man in my cells,

he's called Cree. I believe he has met him,
but his description is vague.

Can not be pursued alone.

And so we must wait.

Enough.

Where are you?

I shall sit here no further.

You want my advice, you do likewise.

They leave, Mr Reid.

Those men held up an engine
on the Bishopsgate, aint it?

They did. If we take footsoldiers now,
a General walks free.

We do not. Whitechapel must live without now
in its dormant as a game, Edmund.

A game. This is an order, Inspector.
You take them.

Well now.

This moment might be considered apposite,
Mr Drake.

Come now, Inspector, you are no longer
to look at your shoes in this man's ambit.

Thinking of now...
Not now,

you've rejoined H-Division at equal rank.

What?
Without one word of consultation?

Consultation?
With you?

That would be a fine circumstance.

I been clear with you, Mr Reid.
Could not be clearer.

Mister Drake is the aid

with the purpose
of Leman Street's transition.

Transition from your control into his.

I been unhonest about this, my friend.

You are for promotion.

Promotion away from here.

By the time Mrs Abberline drags me south,

you will be gone from these streets.

Take them away.

You men will be taken next to the prison
in which you will last confine.

And from there to a place of execution.

Where you will be hanged by the neck
until you are dead.

Thou carriest them away as with a flood.

They are like grass which groweth up.

In the morning it flourisheth

and in the evening it is cut down.

For we are consumed by Thine anger.

Thou hast set our iniquities before thee.

Our secret sins in the light
of Your countenance.

For all our days are passed away in Thy wrath

and we spend our years
as a tale that is told.

Amen.

Amen.

Mister Reid.
- Counselor Cobden.

You are to be congratulated.

Swift punishment has afforded us
some comfort at least.

If you will excuse me.

Now, we are brazen.

Inspector.
- Madam.

A black Day.
- Indeed.

This is my solicitor.
Mr Capshaw.

Your name again, Sir?

Capshaw.

Cree.
Herbert Cree.

Transcription by Vera
Sync and corrections: minouhse