All language subtitles for s02e12 - Werewolves.eng

Subtitling made
possible by Acorn Media

Who's there?!

Answer me, or I'm
setting the dogs on you!

God help you! Go!

Look at the moon. It's so big.

Yes, it's beautiful.

Do you think there's
moon men living up there?

Oh, I don't think so, Alwyn.

The moon has no atmosphere.

And life needs free
oxygen to survive.

William?

How surprising to see you here.

And Mrs. Jones.

Dr. Ogden.

Out gazing at the
moon, were you?

Mr. Murdoch says
life can't exist up there

'cause there's no oxygen.

Well, actually, they've
just discovered a bacterium

that thrives in the complete
absence of oxygen.

Why, then, I would bet
that there are moon men

up there right now eating
all that green cheese.

I'm sorry. My manners.

I'd like you to meet
Reginald Poundsett.

- This is William...
- Detective William Murdoch.

A pleasure.

- And Mrs. Enid Jones.
- Enid Jones.

Mrs. Jones.

And I'm Alwyn.

Young man.

Well, we should be going.
We don't want to be late.

Yes. Have a wonderful evening.

So there could be moon men?

Well...

Yes, Alwyn. Of
course there could.

Of course there could be.

He's asleep.

Dreaming of moon men, no doubt.

It was strange bumping into
Dr. Ogden like that, wasn't it?

Yes.

Mr. Poundsett seems
like a pleasant fellow.

So, is it a romance
between them, then?

I wouldn't know.

We don't discuss such things.

Would it bother you if it was?

I-I don't know.

Why would you
ask me such a thing?

It's obvious when
you see her, William.

Obvious to me, if not to you.

Enid, I can assure you
that Dr. Ogden and I

are professional
colleagues, and that is all.

Are you sure you're
not just saying that

to spare my feelings?

Sorry to interrupt,
sir. Uh, ma'am.

You're needed, sir.

- Evening, sir.
- What have we?

The victim was
found just after 9:30.

Have you determined identity?

We found this on his
person. Merrill Hardy.

He was vice president
at Dominion Bank.

What are those?

Those, sir, we
believe, are his dogs.

And they... Well,
they've been mauled.

Strange place for a banker
to be walking his dogs.

I thought so, too.

Hello again, Doctor.
What have we?

Quite a mess.

The entire throat
area is torn open.

Torn?

It appears to be
the result of a bite,

but I have no idea what could
cause such a savage wound.

Perhaps his dogs turned on him?

Except they're both dead.

And this is much larger
than anything a dog could do.

It could be a bear, I suppose.

Bears use their claws.

A wolf, perhaps?

Possibly.

But a wolf running
loose in a modern city?

It's like some
terrible fairy tale.

Yes.

Fairy tales are make-believe.

And what we have
here is very, very real.

Yes. Shocking is the word.

No. No. Of course.
You're right, sir.

There are no words.

I'll see to it personally. Bye.

- The chief constable?
- The bleeding mayor.

Seems him and Merrill
Hardy were tennis partners.

Naturally, he wants this
beast captured and killed.

- Of course.
- So I've called in a tracker.

We've got one, you
know. Works at the stables.

Oh. That's prudent, I suppose.

But I'm not entirely convinced
we're looking for a wolf.

Why not?

Well, there are a number
of troubling questions.

Such as?

When was the last time
you heard of a wolf attack?

I don't know, but I
know they happen.

They're what make the
Brothers Grimm so bloody grim.

Yes, but wouldn't the wolf
have fed on the carcass?

Perhaps it was scared off.

There's also this.

Mr. Hardy's gun.

He had it out and ready
when he was killed.

Still loaded.

As if he never had a
chance to get a shot off.

I admit, that is curious.

Excuse me, Inspector.
Uh, you asked for a tracker?

Ah. James, isn't it? Come in.

Crabtree!

Jimmy, actually. Jimmy McLeod.

Detective William Murdoch.
Nice to meet you, Jimmy.

- The same.
- Sir?

Take Jimmy here back
to the murder scene.

See if he can pick
up the trail of this wolf.

Yes, sir.

So now the investigation
is officially under way,

how are we gonna answer
these lingering questions?

By finding out what a banker
was doing in a burned-out foundry

with a loaded gun
and two guard dogs.

I don't know what
Merrill was doing there.

He just said, "I'm...

I'm taking the dogs, and
I'll be back in an hour."

And then he kissed me.

If I had known it was
going to be the last time...

Mrs. Hardy, this must
be terribly difficult for you.

Your husband was
carrying a pistol.

A pistol?

What on earth for? What...

Perhaps he was having
trouble with someone?

Oh, no, no, no.

Merrill got along
with everybody.

Yet he felt the need to keep
two large guard dogs as well.

We only got those last month.

Merrill said there had been
some lurkers in the neighborhood.

But now I'm wondering
if it was something else.

What do you mean?

One night I woke, and
he was standing there,

staring out the window, as if
he was looking for someone...

or something.

Mrs. Hardy, did your
husband keep a diary

or some place he
collected his thoughts?

He had a daybook in his desk.

Concrete.

Not many tracks to
be found in concrete.

No.

So, how does one track
when there are no tracks?

Do you look for overturned
stones, broken twigs, and such?

Well, there's always tracks.

You don't have to find
every one. Just the next one.

Where did you learn to track?

My grandfather.

I lived with him until I was 10.

Where did you go then?

I got taken away. Sent
to residential school.

What is it?

See for yourself.

These are a man's footprints.
We're looking for a wolf.

But look how he was
standing. Facing the wall.

Or...

peering around the wall.

He may have watched the attack.

In fact, this man
could be involved.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

What makes you say that?

Because now the
tracks go the other way.

And he was running.

Well, yes. He was fleeing
the scene of the crime.

Or racing for his life.

Mrs. Hardy, do
you know a Jake S.?

Only one. Jacob Summers.

He's an architect, an
associate of Merrill's.

Pull!

Damn!

Jacob Summers.

Yes?

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

Well, we'll talk tomorrow.

Detective.

How may I help you?

I understand you
knew Merrill Hardy?

Yes, I did.

Terrible what happened.

Did you send him this telegram?

Jamison Foundry. That's
where Merrill was killed.

Are you suggesting I had
something to do with it?

I repeat, sir... Did you
send him this telegram?

No, I didn't.

Curious. He apparently
only knew one Jake S... you.

I sign all my correspondence
"J. Summers."

Everyone knows that.

- Including Merrill Hardy?
- Well, I should think so.

We did business on
several occasions.

I'll need to know
your whereabouts

for yesterday
afternoon and evening.

Detective, I am not this Jake S.

Again, sir. Your whereabouts.

I was at the office until 6:00,

and then I went to the
Waverly Men's Club,

where I spent the
remainder of the evening.

Pull!

Where the devil is he headed?

Shh.

Stay behind me. This
could be dangerous.

Doesn't seem all
that dangerous to me.

- Oh!
- Rise and shine.

This telegram
Merrill Hardy received

was sent while
Mr. Summers was at his club.

And we're sure of that?

Several people have
placed him there.

He could have got
someone to send it for him.

Perhaps. But there is
the issue of his signature.

Perhaps he slipped up
and signed it differently.

Or perhaps he's
telling the truth,

and it's the killer
who has slipped up.

So Hardy gets the telegram

and realizes he's being
lured to this location.

So why not go to the police?

I think we should
assume that Mr. Hardy

was involved in
something criminal.

So, thinking he
has the advantage,

he prepares for a confrontation.

Only two dogs and a gun
aren't enough to stop the killer.

Excuse me, sir. We've
had a spot of success.

You've tracked down a wolf?

Not a wolf.

I was a mite dry,
and was a fella I know

keeps a stash 'round
back of the boiler,

on account of his missus
gets into it if it's in the house.

So you thought
you'd help yourself?

I was just borrowing.

I'm not a thief.

Of course not.

So, what happened?

I heard 'em.

Dogs growling as if they
were fighting for their lives.

So you went to see
what was happening.

Aye.

Saw the dogs lying there.

Torn to pieces!

And then I saw it.

Saw what?

- A flash of fur.
- A wolf, perhaps?

Aye. That's what
it was, all right.

A wolf.

Mm. And did you see what
happened to the victim?

No.

But I heard him scream.

And then I ran. And I hid.

Like a coward.

And then I saw it walk past.

The wolf?

It weren't no wolf.

It was a man.

You said you saw a
wolf. Now, which was it?

You ain't listening.

It was a wolf I
saw in that building,

but it was a man that came out!

I think we can all agree

that the witness was
describing a werewolf.

Bloody hell, Crabtree.
It wasn't a werewolf.

It was a full moon
last night, sir.

There was a man,
and there was a wolf.

And the man was using
his wolf as a weapon.

But, sir, the witness
only saw the one leave.

He was three sheets
to the wind in a gale.

Who knows what he saw?

Sir, it's probably not
my place to say this.

Speak your mind, Jimmy.

Well, sir, uh, it's
my understanding

that the witness didn't
say he saw a wolf exactly.

Just a flash.

It was the sounds
that he heard...

The snarling and the growling...

That made him
think it was a wolf.

So what do you think it was?

A windigo, sir.

A windigo?

It's the name that
we give to an evil spirit

that lives up in the
northern woods.

It takes possession
of the people

and makes them
hunger for human flesh.

Cannibals. Now,
that's a chilling thought.

You know, I've heard that
in the islands near Borneo...

- Crabtree!
- Actually, sir,

there may be something
to both of these arguments.

Oh, not you too, Murdoch.

I'm not suggesting
anything supernatural,

but there are people who
believe themselves to be animals.

So you're saying this
is some kind of lunatic

with a taste for human blood?

It would explain the
feral nature of the attacks.

How does a man tear out
another man's throat, then?

And what kind of lunatic
has the presence of mind

to send his victim a
telegram in advance?

That's what I
intend to find out.

Oh, fine. You go
looking for your wolfman.

And you two get
back to the alley.

We're looking for
a man and a wolf.

See if you can find
out where they went.

Well, move it!

So, have you an
opinion, Dr. Roberts?

The condition you're
describing is lycanthropy.

The term is applied
to individuals

who, for psychological reasons,

believe themselves to be
an animal, most often a wolf.

Hence, lycanthropy's
traditional association

with the werewolf myth.

The victim was discovered
with his throat ripped out.

A witness claims to have
heard snarling and growling

during the attacks.

And you'd like to know
if this could be the work

- of a lycanthrope.
- Yes.

There are several
documented instances

of lycanthropes attacking sheep

because they're the
natural prey of the wolf.

Well, this would seem to suggest

the sufferer was
extremely delusional.

It's a very rare and a
very strange condition.

In this case, the killer seems
to have been lucid enough

to have lured his
victim to his death.

There is precedent
for such behavior.

For example, a suspected
lycanthrope named Antonio Léger

led a woman into a cave,

where he subsequently
killed and devoured her.

So, could your killer
be a lycanthrope?

Absolutely.

Is he one?

I couldn't say without
examining him.

But what I can tell
you with authority is

that you're dealing with a
deeply disturbed individual.

I've never ridden
in a carriage before.

- Really?
- Yeah.

I've cleaned them, I've
harnessed horses to them,

but I've never rode in one.

How did you come
to work at the stable?

I wanted to be a copper,
but it didn't work out.

I think you'd make
a fine copper.

Your instincts are sound.

Well, we both know there
aren't any Indian coppers.

Doesn't mean there couldn't be.

They tried to beat the
Indian out of me at the school.

They should have beat
the color off of me, too.

It'll be a long time before
they let someone like me

wear that uniform.

Detective, your
timing is impeccable.

I was just about to leave for an
engagement with Mr. Poundsett.

I see. Well, then I'll be brief.

Have you Mr. Hardy's
postmortem results?

I do. Nothing
beyond the obvious.

Death due to massive blood loss.

Jugular and carotid
arteries both severed.

Do you think it's possible the
wound could have been caused

by sharpened fingernails?

Fingernails?

Part of a theory I'm developing,

that the killer is suffering
from lycanthropy.

And they're somehow
emulating the attack of a wolf?

Exactly.

Well, I suppose it...

it might account for
the width of the gash.

- But...
- But?

The wound is symmetrical.

A hand is not.

There's only one opposing thumb.

I'm also not sure that
fingernails could withstand

the force required
to tear the flesh out.

I see.

Well, thank you.

There is one other thing.

Animal attacks are rare, so
I contacted some colleagues

to see if they'd had any
experience with them.

- And had they?
- Yes.

Three, actually. All
in the last few months.

I don't know if there's
any connection.

Most interesting. I'll
be sure to look into it.

Thank you very much, Doctor.

Yes.

Well, as I said, I have...
Have an appointment.

I have one of my own.

I'm no expert, by any means,

but I believe the werewolf
curse is caused by a Gypsy spell.

The evil eye.

Why the full moon?

I don't know.

I suppose it exerts some
sort of supernatural force.

And after he kills, does
he turn back to human?

I believe so.

And with no recollection
of anything that's happened.

What happens to his
clothes after he transforms?

- Does he wake up naked?
- Does he wake up naked?

I've often asked myself
that very question.

Hmm.

What is it?

More shoe prints.

The witness's.

No. These are different.

The man the witness saw.

Any wolf tracks?

None.

Well, we'd best see
where these lead.

Enid, I must apologize to you.

This case has been
monopolizing my time.

It's what you do.

It is.

However, I wanted to discuss

what you brought up
last night about Dr. Ogden.

And?

And...

I must confess it
has been difficult

to put her out of my mind.

I see.

But I shall endeavor to do so.

William, that's not enough.

I don't know what more I can do.

If it were just me,
I might be inclined

to participate in some
battle for your affection.

But there is no one else.

William, of course there is.

Alwyn.

And as you know, he is the
most important thing in my life.

I can't allow him to
grow attached to you...

only to have you go back to her.

I can't take that chance.

Nor would I want you to.

Then I need you to
decide, once and for all,

what it is that you want.

Where was he
headed? For the river?

He wasn't going to the river.

He went in there.

Are you sure he came this way?

Yes.

No.

There's been too much water.

Well, if we've lost the
trail, he could be anywhere.

Or he could be up
around the next bend.

I think it prudent we
pay a visit to the station,

report our findings,

maybe enlist some
help while we're there.

A search party would be good.

Or maybe a trip to the armory.

That'd be good too.

Used the sewers, did he?

Good way to move a
wolf unseen through a city.

Well, actually, sir, we
didn't find any wolf tracks.

- None at all?
- No.

We looked very carefully.
Your man would've found them.

That's very strange.

And the man you were tracking?

We lost his trail in the sewer.

Too much water. Sorry, sir.

Is there anything else?

No. That's good work, Jimmy.

If we need you,
we'll send for you.

Uh, sir, can I have a moment?

What is it?

- Uh, it's about Jimmy.
- What about him?

He's proving very
useful, sir, and...

Well, sir, he's confessed
to me an interest

in becoming a police
officer, so I thought that I...

I'll stop you right
there, Crabtree.

Sir, he's got genuine ability.

I don't doubt he's a smart lad.

He's probably got a better
head on his shoulders

than most of this
lot around here.

Well, then why not g...
Why not give him a chance?

Because I can't
change the world.

I wish I could.

Yes, sir.

A doctor from Port Credit
was found three months ago

with his throat ripped out.

It was assumed to
have been a bear attack.

Though it could just as
easily have been a wolf.

Then in August, a local alderman
was found outside of Galt.

His throat had also
been ripped out.

Wild dogs were thought
to have been responsible.

And then, finally, a Newcastle
man was found in his backyard.

- And his throat was torn out.
- Precisely.

- What profession?
- Lawyer.

These three and Merrill Hardy.

All killed in the same manner.

All toffs.

There's one more
connection, sir.

All of these murders took
place under the full moon.

It's still a full moon tonight.

Bloody hell.

Then we'd better find out
where he's going to strike next,

hadn't we?

Sir, I made a few inquiries,

and I found several
connections between the victims.

These two men went
to university together

but didn't get on very well.

Um, these three all invested
in the same oil-drilling project

in Pennsylvania,
which didn't pan out.

And this man was a
member of the same gun club

as Merrill Hardy at one point.

Gun club? Which gun club?

The Radcliffe Sportsman's Club.

Jacob Summers is a
member of that club.

His wife said he
would be working late.

Mr. Summers?

That's odd. It's
completely dark.

Mr. Summers?

There's something
wrong with the lights.

Sir, what's this?

Shotgun blast, I'd say.

Hello?

I think we can safely eliminate
Mr. Summers as a suspect.

Three shells spent.

One through the door panel.

The other two through the glass.

He must have been
sitting here in the dark

with his finger on the trigger.

As though he was
anticipating an attack.

- Mm.
- Just like Merrill Hardy.

Sir.

You may want to
take a look at this.

The victim is in the picture.

So, too, is Merrill Hardy.

Not just Mr. Hardy, George.

All five victims are
in this photograph.

A hunting party.

But who's the sixth fella?

There's something
familiar about his face.

Well, we'll talk tomorrow.

Detective.

He was with Mr. Summers
at the gun club.

George, see if anyone at
the gun club can identify him.

Sir.

Seems we need
to find out a bit more

about this little hunting
party, me old mucker.

Indeed, sir.

I'm sorry. I don't...
recognize him.

I don't recognize any of them.

Except Jake and...

Merrill, of course.

Mrs. Hardy, do you have
any idea where or when

this photograph might
have been taken?

Merrill's scarf.

I knit it for his birthday.

Last year.

Where did he hunt last fall?

I believe it was out
of Muskoka Lodge.

I remember he came back
and he was very... subdued.

Ill-tempered, really.

We quarreled about it.

Ah. Sir.

We're still trying to determine
this gentleman's identity,

but it's beginning
to prove difficult.

We know he's not a
member of the club,

so most likely he was
Mr. Summers' guest.

But then, as far as
pinpointing a name...

I think I can help narrow
things down, George.

- How's that?
- Telephone the Muskoka Lodge

and get a list of every guest
that stayed there last fall.

Compare that to the
guest list at the gun club.

Right away, sir.

Oh, also, Dr. Ogden
is here to see you.

Dr. Ogden.

What brings you here?

I was conducting my postmortem
on Mr. Summers when I discovered

something I felt you
should be made aware of.

- What is it?
- I discovered this

embedded in Mr. Summers'
fourth vertebra.

The lower-right
cuspid of a canine.

I suspect, given the
size, it belongs to a wolf.

Which would seem to
confirm the inspector's theory

of a wolf under a man's control.

Actually, I don't think so.

Teeth, especially healthy
teeth, don't just break off

when ripping through flesh,
which made me curious.

So I inspected the
tooth more closely,

and I discovered
a straight groove

running right through the
center of the breakage point.

As though the tooth
has been drilled through.

Exactly.

Well, I thought you'd want
to know about it straightaway.

William, we can't do this.

We're both involved.

William?

William?

I'm sorry.

My mind was elsewhere.

Thank you, Doctor.

You're welcome, Detective.

Enid, I'm afraid you're right.

I don't think my
feelings for Dr. Ogden

will be dispelled anytime soon.

I see.

But you and Alwyn have
come to mean so much to me.

And you to us.

I confess that I was hoping

you would come to
a different decision.

I never meant to cause
either of you any pain.

I know.

But I think it's
best that you go.

So, this is it, then?

What more could there be?

Goodbye, William.

Goodbye, Enid.

Mother, are you all right?

Come.

Come sit with me awhile.

There's something
we need to talk about.

The tooth was machined, you say?

But why?

So it could be bolted
to some form of device.

I believe that's how the
killer is ripping the throats out.

To create the
impression of a wolf.

Bloody devilish.

Sir, the man in the photo,

we have a name for
him... Frank Jenson.

Very good, George.

Murdoch, keep
your wits about you.

This Jenson may
be another victim,

but he could just as
easily be the killer.

Yes, sir.

Be prepared for
anything, George.

Sir.

Police!

Mr. Jenson?

Frank Jenson?

Mr. Jenson.

Put down the gun, Mr. Jenson.

Are you all right?

It's impossible.

Where did he go?

We'll never catch him now.

He's got too much
of a head start.

We'll need Jimmy again.

He went in there.

The sewers again.

Can you track him?

I'll try.

- What is it?
- Shh.

Something's moving.

- I don't hear anything.
- No.

Something's in here with us.

Sir! Sir!

Sir. Are you all right?

He had me by the throat.

It didn't bite?

I don't know.

He had me and...
just released me.

Jimmy, are you all right?

Fine.

He went this way.

Sir, we came down here
looking for a man, but what I saw...

That was a wolf.

Not a wolf, George.

A wolf would have killed me.

He went out.

Sir, this is the sewer outlet
near the Jamison Foundry.

This would seem to confirm
that he's using the sewers

to access different
parts of the city.

So what should we do
now? Keep tracking him?

No.

I think I know of a quicker
route to finding our killer.

What happened on that
hunting trip, Mr. Jenson?

Don't feel like talking?

Well, sunshine, let me remind
you... Whatever did happen

brought the wrath of hell down
on every man that was with you.

Perhaps you should tell us.

Unless you want to take your
chances the next full moon.

It was an accident.

What was?

It was Jake who
pulled the trigger,

but it wasn't his fault.

It was no one's fault.

We thought it was some animal.

But it wasn't.

Who was shot, Mr. Jenson?

Our guide.

An Indian. I don't... I
don't know his name.

He hit him square in the chest.
There was nothing to be done.

So he died. Then what happened?

He didn't exactly die.

What do you mean,
"didn't exactly die"?

No, but he was
going to. It was clear.

He had a chest
wound, for God's sake.

- What did you do?
- What... What could we do?

- The... The sun was setting.
- You didn't carry him out?

You left him to die... alone?

We buried him in
branches and leaves.

But he couldn't have lived.

He couldn't have.

Clearly, the man
they shot survived.

And now he's seeking the
bloodiest revenge imaginable.

But, sir, whatever
attacked us was not a man.

It was a wolf.

- Or at least some sort of...
- George.

It was a man dressed as a wolf.

Why would he do that?

Perhaps he was a
form of lycanthrope

and the wolf held some
psychological meaning for him.

Actually, sir, I think
he may be a shaman.

A shaman?

We had one in our village.

And sometimes when he danced,

he wore the head
and the skin of a wolf.

Sounds like what
you're describing.

It does.

But what would a shaman be
doing working as a hunting guide?

The missionaries put
an end to the shaman.

Now we have doctors
and the good Lord Jesus.

So this shaman goes
from being a high priest

to a lackey for a bunch
of country-club fat cats.

Who care so little for him,

they leave him to die
in the cold and dark.

And can't even
remember his name.

Can't say I blame him
for tearing their throats out.

But he's killed five men.
And the law is the law.

George, contact
the Muskoka Lodge.

See if anyone there
remembers this man.

Sir.

Now, how do you
propose we find him?

This is a map of the sewer
lines that run beneath the city.

This is where he
entered the system,

near Frank Jenson's house.

This is where the old
Jamison Foundry is,

- where Mr. Hardy was found.
- Bloody hell, Murdoch.

There must be a hundred
miles of sewer lines.

- He could be anywhere.
- Not anywhere, sir.

You see, he can only
travel these main lines.

So if we post men at these
main entrances and intersections,

he'll be trapped down there.

- Sir.
- What is it?

There's a light, sir.

Turn off the lamp.

This must be his lair.

So where is he?

His bedding is still warm.

Probably heard us coming.

Sir.

This must be what he used.

Similar to a bear trap.

That would go
through a man's throat

like a knife through butter.

We know who you are.

We know what's happened to you.

It's all over.

He's got a knife, sir.

Frank Jenson is in jail.

Let justice take its course.
Surrender yourself peacefully.

You're up against
armed officers.

Stand down!

Stand down!

George! George, get help now!

Shh. Don't speak.
Save your strength.

Jimmy, he wants you.

Maheengun.

What did he say?

Maheengun.

What does that mean?

It's an Ojibwa word for "wolf."

I think that was
his real name, sir.

The perfect tool for a
murderous lycanthrope.

Would that be your
diagnosis, then?

No. He was most likely suffering
from some kind of psychosis.

He adopted the wolf
motif to reclaim his identity

and terrify his victims.

I imagine, uh, it worked.

What did the full
moon have to do with it?

Poetic justice.

They left him to
die on a full moon.

The man clearly had
a flair for the dramatic.

Yes, he did. Right
to the bloody end.

What I don't understand is
why he came at us like that.

He must have known
we would shoot him down.

Perhaps that's why he did it.

After all, what did he
really have to live for?

He knew he was facing the noose.

Furthermore, with
Jenson arrested,

he'd done what he set out to do.

His desire for revenge
gave him the strength to live.

- Now, with that gone...
- Yes, I suppose.

Still, hell of a thing.

I've never killed a
man like that before.

- But, sir, the regiment.
- Oh, that's different.

You very rarely
come face-to-face.

Last night, I looked this man
in the eye as I pulled the trigger.

Well, if it's any consolation,
you most likely saved my life.

Oh, it's all water
under the bridge now.

Dr. Roberts, thank
you very much.

Your insights are
most appreciated.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I
have someplace I need to be.

As do I.

What's this, then?

My card.

Should you feel the need to
discuss matters, give me a call.

I don't think there's
anything wrong with me

that a couple of whiskeys
won't sort out, Doctor.

As you wish.

Jimmy.

You off, then?

Back to the stables.

Well, it was a pleasure
working with you.

But, you know, in my opinion,

the constabulary are
wasting your talents.

Well, there's no changing
the world, George.

Well, maybe not.

But this might help you.

What's this?

This is a friend of mine
who works at the Pinkertons.

I told him about
you. He's very keen.

You should go to the
local office and ask for him.

I'll think about it.

You do that.

Master Alwyn.

Hello, Mr. Murdoch.

I don't know where my mother is.

Oh, that's all right.

Actually, I'm here to see you.

Really? Mother said you
wouldn't be coming by anymore.

She's right.

I won't be.

So I brought this for you.

"From the Earth to the Moon."

Mm.

It's about a group
of adventurers

who build a cannon that
shoots them to the moon.

Is that even possible?

Well, it's a story.

I suppose anything
is possible in stories.

But if you could build something
that could push you faster

than the earth's
gravity pulls you down...

you could go
faster, faster, faster,

until you reach escape velocity,

and then the moon, that's just
the beginning of your journey.

That could work?

Theoretically.

Maybe not in my lifetime,
but quite possibly in yours.

"William Henry Murdoch."

It was my favorite
book when I was a boy.

Thank you, Mr. Murdoch.

You're very welcome.

Mr. Murdoch?

Can I still come and see you?

Anytime, Alwyn.

Anytime.

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