All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries s17e17 The Fantastic Mr Fawkes.eng

(theme music)

(soft music)

(radio whirring)

- All right, Constable,
say something.

Anything.

- There once was a young man
from Hog's Hollow...

the ladies were eager
to follow.

- A simple hello will do.

- You'll let me go at once!
- You can't go in there. No!

- This is egregious!
- You can't- No!

- Louise Cherry.
- That's all for now.

- Constable, I'll handle this.
- It's outrageous!

- Miss Cherry, he's just
doing his job.

- Like some autocratic stooge!
(scoffs)

- George, Miss Cherry.

- I am being wrongly
taken into custody.

- Under whose orders?

- Mine.

- Terrence Meyers.

- Murdoch, this woman
is publishing leaks

from Robert Borden's campaign on
the eve of a federal election.

- As is my right!

- Rights?
(scoffs)

As a journalist? Huh.
Can you imagine?

A hole blown
in the fabric of society.

- It's called freedom
of the press!

- This woman needs to be
thrown behind bars

until she names
the source of these leaks.

It's a matter of national-
- National security. Yes.

But unless you can point
to a specific law

that Miss Cherry
is in violation of,

I'm afraid I can't simply
hold her in our cells.

Miss Cherry, you are free to go.
- Thank you, Detective.

But what's to protect me
next time

some mandarin of the state
oversteps his authority?

- As far as you're concerned?

I can't guarantee
that won't happen.

- Then lock me up, Detective.

Let's see how much stomach
this government has

once this issue
is before the courts.

- What's all this, then?
A mother's meeting?

- Sir, I'm attempting
to release Miss Cherry,

but both she and Agent Meyers
seem intent that I lock her up.

- Agent Meyers?

Thought you were a politician.

Who are you?

- It's classified information.

- Meyers,
it's always a pleasure,

but we don't have time for this.

- Headed somewhere, sir?
- We both are.

The Honourable Robert Borden
has just arrived in Toronto

and we're looking after him.

The man might be this
country's next prime minister,

so, Miss Cherry,
please, run along.

We've got bigger fish to fry.

Murdoch, grab your hat.
You're with me.

(soft music)

(indistinct chatter)

- Detective Murdoch-
- Detectives! Over here.

Thank you for responding
to my call so quickly.

- I beg your pardon?

- To which call
are you referring?

- Kitchen boy found him.
- Wallet's empty.

- This camera's been smashed
and there's no film inside.

- Perhaps there was
a struggle for it.

- Do you know this man?
- I did.

Arthur Wilson.

He worked for Robert Borden.

- Well, he's no longer
on the payroll.

- Based on algor mortis,
I'd estimate the victim

died sometime between 9 p.m.
and midnight.

The cause appears to be
a penetrating gunshot wound

to the chest.
Death would have been quick.

- Right.
Thank you, Miss Hart.

- I also noticed
one other thing.

Uh, there's a key
around his neck.

- Hmm.

He was keeping it hidden.

- Tiny key for a tiny lock
in a tiny door...

Bird cage.

- Or luggage.

- Uh, pardon me.

Where might we find
your Borden people here?

Thank you.

- Excuse me, sir.

Toronto constabulary.

Is Mr. Borden about?

- I'm sorry.
Mr. Borden cannot be disturbed,

but I assure you
I-I speak on his behalf.

- And you are?
- William Price.

Mr. Borden's
political secretary.

- Oh. Very good.

What position did Mr. Wilson,
uh, fill on the campaign?

- Ah, he was, uh, in charge
of logistics and security.

He travelled
ahead of the campaign.

- Oh. Is that why
he carried a camera?

- Oh, yes. Yes. He photographed
venues and accommodations.

- What sort of a man was he?
- Hard to say.

He, uh, kept to himself.
- Did he have any enemies?

- Not that I'm aware of.

In truth, I knew
very little about the man.

- When did you see him last?

- Two days ago when he quit.

- He quit? For what reason?

- He wasn't committed
to Mr. Borden,

which I could not understand.

He is the best man,
the only man, for the job.

I do hope Mr. Borden
has your votes.

- Uh, where were you last night
between nine and midnight?

- In my room,
preparing the minister's speech.

- Alone?
- Yes.

Will that be all?

Mr. Borden's rally is tonight

and there's a great deal
left to accomplish.

- Of course.
Thank you for your time.

- Remember, Borden is your man.

- The man's as oily
as tinned fish.

But I don't see
any motive for murder.

- Nor do I.
- Ah, sirs.

- What have you, George?

- Well, I couldn't find anybody

who heard a gunshot,

but the hotel manager
gave me this.

- Our victim's
last known address.

- Anything interesting
at the desk?

- Yes, sir, there's
this handbill

from an agricultural rally
just two days ago.

Suitcase with some spare shirts.

And this briefcase.

- Well, let's get it open.

- It's locked.

The key.

Doesn't fit.

- Maybe there's another case?

- Right.

Huh. What's this?

Oh. A hidden compartment.

These are internal documents

from the Robert Borden
campaign, sir.

- Private letters and telegrams.

Not the sort of stuff
that an advance man

would normally carry around.

- Sir, these are similar
in content to the documents

that Miss Cherry has been
printing in her paper.

Mr. Wilson was
the source of the leaks.

- Bloody hell.

- She looks to be about 32.

If you could write
down that she... Oh!

Ah, Julia! Please.
Come quickly.

- What's happened?
- A woman was brought in

unconscious by her landlady.

- Hello, I'm Doctor Julia Ogden.

What's your tenant's name?
- Oh. She never said.

I don't think
she speaks English.

- Has she been ill long?

- Well, not that I know of.

- Laboured breathing
and her eyes are cloudy.

Is she sensitive to pollen?

- Well, how should I know?

- What's this?

There's signs
of erythema on her forearm.

- That's not my doing.

I found her like that.

- Oh, dear God.
Her fingers have been amputated.

- Mr. Price,
could we have a word?

- Sorry, Inspector,
you've caught me at a bad time.

- We thought you might like
to see what we've found.

Private campaign documents

that were hidden by your
former logistics man.

- Yes, I see.

- You knew he was
tipping off the press?

- He confessed to me personally.

- He confessed?
- Yes.

He said he'd experienced
a change of heart.

He'd been put up to it
by a political rival,

but the more time
he spent with Mr. Borden,

the more he came to regard him

as a kind
and thoughtful patriot.

- And yet he quit
his post anyway?

- No. If you want
the truth, I fired him.

- Bloody hell.

- Well, in my experience,
trust between men

is like a fine wine:

Years to develop,
no time at all to spoil.

- And what about
our trust in you, Mr. Price?

- I'm a political secretary,
Inspector.

My job requires skillful
management of facts

in the service
of the greater good.

- That's just a fancy
way of saying...

you're a liar.

- Excuse me a moment.

Excuse me, Miss.

May I ask you a question?

- Well, that depends.
(chuckling)

- I'm Detective William Murdoch
of the Toronto Constabulary.

Um, I assume you are the
telephone switchboard operator?

- You're a clever detective.
How'd you know?

- Oh. Uh, the size
of the room that you exited,

its proximity to the front desk,
coupled with the fact

that you are only
wearing one earring.

(laughing)

- It-it gets in the way
of the earpiece.

- Yes.

Um, did you happen to receive

any strange phone calls
last night?

- I assure you, Inspector,
after Mr. Wilson was fired,

I never saw or heard
from him again.

Now, if there's nothing else,
I must get back to work.

(indistinct chatter)

- You're welcome.
- Detective Murdoch,

chatting up young ladies
in hotel lobbies.

- That young lady is the
hotel switchboard operator.

It would appear our victim
telephoned the hotel here

last night at eight p.m.
desperate to speak

to one of the guests.

- Let me guess...
It's our political secretary.

I wouldn't trust that man as
far as I could throw a feather.

- No, the call was
to someone else.

Our victim asked to speak
with his former boss,

the Honourable
Robert Laird Borden.

(dramatic music)

- Please, sir, have a seat.

- A nasty business.

I didn't know Mr. Wilson well,
but he seemed a decent fellow.

- Even though he was leaking
your business to the newspapers?

- Even though.

He'd confessed to that
and I'd forgiven him.

Besides, what have I to hide?

An affinity for keeping
Canada Canadian!

Guilty as charged.

- Sir, if I may.

Uh, Mr. Wilson telephoned you
the night he was killed.

What did he say?

- Only that he had discovered
a pressing matter

of vital importance
and would I be able to meet

with him straight away.

- Meaning last night?
- Yes.

He said he was
making his way directly

and would call on me
at the hotel when he arrived.

- And then what happened?
- Then nothing.

He never appeared.

And we awoke to learn
the reason why.

- How would you describe
Mr. Wilson's state of mind

during the call?
- I'm not sure.

He... he seemed troubled.

- Did he sound scared?
- Yes, somewhat.

- Can you imagine
why that could be?

- Or what he wanted to tell you?

- I'm sorry, I confess I cannot.

Mr. Wilson and I had barely
spoken prior to that evening.

I never saw him
that night and...

I suppose I never will again.

- Excuse me, sir. Mr. Borden
must prepare his speech.

- Ah.
- Well, sir, it was an honour

to make your acquaintance.

- Thank you for your time.

- Truly, the honour was mine.

A welcome respite
from the campaign trail.

Good day, gentlemen.

- There you are, Murdoch.
A man of character.

- We can hardly say
we know the man.

But he does not strike me
as a vengeful sort.

- We'll have to find another
rabbit for this particular hunt.

- Excuse me, sirs. Miss Cherry
has published a new edition.

- Thank you.
(scoffs)

How can she continue
to publish leaked documents

if her source is dead?

- Well, let's ask her.

(sighing)
- Why am I here?

- Miss Cherry, we need to know

how you obtained
your latest exclusive.

- And we've already
been through this.

I will not divulge my sources.

- We know who the source is.

And we've recently
found him dead.

- Good Lord.

What was his name?
(scoffs)

- Don't think you can play us
for fools, young lady.

- No, truly, I never met him.

- And yet, you were willing
to go to jail to protect

the identity
of someone whose identity

you were never
actually privy to?

- Of course.
It's the principle of it.

Information is power,
gentlemen.

Just look at what happened
to poor mister...

- Miss Cherry,
I ask you again...

When did you obtain
this latest leak?

- Just this morning.
- How can that be?

If your source is dead?
- Don't ask me.

I've received a leak
almost every day.

Today was no different.

- Someone else must be involved.

- Maybe that someone
is our killer.

- Miss Cherry,
we need your help.

We need to find out who else
may be connected to these leaks.

- And what's in it for me?

- You'll get to report
on the truth.

That is, if the truth
still matters to you.

- It all started with
an anonymous letter.

The source told me
he would sell me information

on the Borden campaign.

I was skeptical at first,

but I followed his instructions
and was soon rewarded.

Every morning, I'd check
to see if a mark was set

on a lamppost
outside Scott's Diner.

If the mark was there,

I'd go inside
and find documents

on the Borden campaign
under my usual seat.

I'd swap the documents
for money.

And then leave.

Wiping the mark off
the lamppost as I went.

- How long did it take
for the money to disappear?

- I'm not sure, but it was
always gone by evening.

I checked myself.

- Right.

Let's see if today's
payment's been collected.

(knocking on door)

- And what do you want?

Well, it's no Buckingham Palace,

but then... none of us are
princesses, are we?

- Smells a little bit
like mould.

- Which is why I was
airing the place out.

- I don't mean to offend.
I'm just trying to establish

the cause
of your tenant's illness.

- Like I said,
it's nothing to do with me.

I keep things proper.

- Do you know where
she might have worked?

- I can't imagine she did work.

The woman,
she rarely left the room.

- This trunk came from Trieste.

- Same as the woman, I suppose.

No, she hardly spoke
a word of English.

I haven't had time
to tidy up yet!

- Oh, dear God.

- What is it?

- The woman's missing fingers.

- Terrence Meyers.

What is the meaning of this?

- All will be revealed, but not
just yet and never to you.

- What? Why?

- Because you are a firebrand
and a rabble-rouser.

I'll speak
to Detective Murdoch alone.

- Come along, Miss Cherry.
- What?!

- We're leaving.

- Would have thought
better of you, George.

The public have the right
to know what deeds

are being perpetrated
in their name!

- There's only so much the
public can be trusted to know.

Am I right?
Have a seat, Murdoch.

You must try this new dish
from Calgary.

Ginger beef.
It's outstanding.

So, what I'm about to tell you
can never leave this restaurant.

I knew who the source
of the leak was, of course.

He worked for me until he...

Well, he went soft.

- Went soft?
- Uh.

He abandoned Laurier
in order to side with Borden.

What a joke that was.

Borden has the charisma
of a butter knife.

- So, if he was doing
all this at your behest,

then why go through
all the song and dance

to have Miss Cherry
reveal her source?

- A standard cutout test.

Stress the loyalty of someone

in a double-blind setup
and see how they perform.

Miss Cherry just passed
with flying colours.

Mm.

She's a fiery pistol, that one.

Admire her greatly.

My heart belongs to another.

- Right.

So you're responsible for
all of the Borden leaks.

Why?

- The leaks were designed to
knock Borden down in the polls.

That man is a monarchist
who will work

towards dismantling everything
that Laurier has tried

to accomplish in making Canada

an independent voice
on the world stage.

- And Laurier is aware
of what you're doing?

- The Prime Minister is involved
with a federal election

as well as trying
to launch a Canadian Navy.

He doesn't get down
in the dirt with men like us.

- I see.

- So, sorry my man is dead.

But I didn't kill him.

Even though the last time
we met ended in a disagreement.

- On account of Mr. Wilson
"going soft"?

- The man lost his way.

He was talking nonsense
about some threat

he had heard
against Borden at a...

at an agricultural rally.

Last time I saw him he was
getting on a streetcar

with that ridiculous
camera of his...

Terrible spycraft.

- Any idea where he was going?

- Headed towards the Ward.

That's all I know.

- Or all you're prepared to say.

- Any change?

- Well, she's resting
more peacefully,

but she hasn't awoken yet.

Oh. What did you find?

- The woman's missing fingers.
(gasps)

- Mercy!
What happened to them?!

- It appears to be
extreme frostbite.

- Oh!
- It would have caused her

enormous discomfort,

perhaps to the point
of self-amputation.

- Oh.

Well, I have heard tales

of Arctic explorers
doing the exact same thing.

- Well, uh...
Toronto may be chilly,

but this is not the high Arctic.

- Thank you, Mrs. Winner.

- Sir.
- What have you, George?

- Ah, a place to look,
I believe.

- Lead the way.

- Sir, as far as keeping
secrets from the public,

do you side with Miss Cherry
or Agent Meyers?

- I suppose there are things

the government would
prefer to keep secret.

- But the government works
for the people,

not the other way around.

Should Miss Cherry not
have the right to publish

the information she's found?

- Not if it was
illegally obtained.

- Yeah, but then it's the
government that decides

what is legal, or illegal.

Seems to me they're
making up all the rules.

- Yes, but "they" are all of us.

- Doesn't seem that way
sometimes.

- No, it doesn't.
- Ah, in any case, sir,

this is the spot a washerwoman

saw our man take a photograph
down this alley

about 8 p.m. last night.

What is it, sir?

- George, where is the
nearest telephone call box?

- Ah, this way.

- Mr. Wilson telephoned
the hotel

the night he was killed
and he sounded afraid.

Perhaps the subject
of his photograph

spotted him and gave chase?

And Mr. Wilson's camera
was without film.

- What is it, sir?

- Our victim's missing film.

Sometimes you get lucky, George.

- Do you have it?

Bloody hell.
It's not Halloween.

They're Guy Fawkes masks.

Are they holding...

- If I'm not mistaken,
that is a bomb.

And it's intended
for Robert Borden.

- Right this way, ma'am.

It shouldn't take too long.

- Mr. Borden is waiting
in the hallway.

- Good man.
Take him straight out.

Crabtree here will provide
escort for you both.

- Is this disruption
really necessary?

- If you think this is bad,

imagine what it'll be like
if a bomb goes off.

- We need access
to the hotel's ballroom.

- Uh, it's already been secured.

- Not by us.

- How long will this take?
- As long as it takes

to guarantee the safety
of this nation.

Good?

(dramatic music)

- Julia! She's awake!
(gasps)

- Hello.

I'm Dr. Julia Ogden.

You're at the
Toronto Women's Clinic.

How are you feeling?

Has she spoken?

- Not yet.

- You were found
unconscious in your room.

Do you remember what happened?

(sighing)
Yes.

Two of your fingers
have been amputated.

Did you do that to yourself?

(groans)

(speaking foreign language)

- Huh. Can't believe
they need this many chairs.

You sure it's Borden
we're talking about here?

- Sounds as though you're
worried he might win.

- Hardly. Serve my country,
not the man leading it.

Should we check under the stage?

- I don't think so.

Take another look
at the photograph.

- Ah, the clamp. Huh.

I've never seen one of these
attached to a bomb before.

What do you think it's for?

- For attaching to a pipe.

(timer ticking)

(creaking)

- We've found it.

So, yank out the detonator
and we'll be done.

- It looks somewhat
sophisticated.

It could be too risky.

We should disconnect
the timing device first.

- Well, you're as timid

as a sparrow in a snowstorm,
aren't you?

I've done this before, you know.

- What? Accidentally
detonate a bomb?

- Fine. Have it your way.
Play it safe.

But you get no points for style.

- Power from the left
to the right.

They're both back. Yes.

(suspenseful music)

(metallic piece clattering)
Oh!

(timer stopping)

- Nicely done.

- Right.

And now to arrest
the man that put it here.

- You found the bomb. Bravo.

- Yes, we did.
Mercifully.

- You told us that
the ballroom had been secured.

- Meaning in the moment.

Of course,
people had been in and out.

- Yes. I noticed you wear
your watch chain quite high.

Higher than most.
- It's the uniform.

- It also happens to match
the location of the watch

on the man in this photograph.

I also notice that you have
chalk on your sleeve.

Did you happen to come
in contact

with a particular lighting
pipe inside the ballroom?

- Oh!

Believe this is also yours.

You on your way to
a costume party, or...?

- You're coming with us,
sunshine.

- Kill him? Come now,
you've seen the bomb,

you found where I put it.

The most that thing
would have done

is spoil his speech
and rain down some plaster.

- For what reason?

- Have you heard
what Borden plans to do to Canadian agronomy?

American tariffs
will kill family farms

and force us
all to move to Toronto

to work as ruddy hotel clerks.

- Did you attend this
agricultural rally?

- Yes, sir, I did.
Along with many fine people.

- And did you encounter
Mr. Wilson there?

- No, I only knew him
from the hotel.

- But he saw you.

And he followed you
and took this photograph.

- Why the masks?

- It's just a bit of fun,
isn't it?

"Remember, remember the 5th
of November" and all that.

- Mr. Wilson learned
of your plan

and was going to spoil your fun.

So you killed him.

- I had nothing to do
with the murder.

- Where were you last night
between the hours of 9 p.m. and midnight?

- I was having a few beers down
at The Bull with some friends.

- So, who is this friend?

- She never told me her name.

I met her at the rally.

She said she could assist me
with the bomb.

- Well, gentlemen,
this job has ridden me roughshod

across a broad swale
of human experience.

I've rocketed to the edge of
space and been plunged down

to the depths of human betrayal,

each moment soaking themselves
into the very canvas of my soul,

and because of that,
I can honestly say,

I've never been on a mission
as small potatoes as this one.

(chuckling)
- To small potatoes.

- To small potatoes.
(glasses clinking)

- Gentlemen,
this is far from over.

A man is dead and his
killer's still at large.

- Ah.

Would you like me to question

Mr. Blake further?

There are ways
of making people talk.

(knocking on door)
- Good evening, gentlemen.

- Julia.

- Ah, William, I'm heading home.

- Yes. I'll join you.

- Terrence Meyers.

- Doctor.

- Are those Guy Fawkes costumes?

I know this building.

- You do? That's the Ward.
- Yes.

I have a new patient
that lives there.

Unusual case, actually.

She may have severed
her own fingers.

- Why would she do that?
- I don't know.

She doesn't speak English.
I believe she's from Trieste.

- Trieste?

- What is it?

- We've heard rumours of a bomb
expert travelling from Trieste,

but we all thought they
were headed to America.

- Who is this woman?
- I don't know.

The only thing
that she said is...

"Oh-geer-kosh"
or "or-gee-kosh"?

- We must question
this woman at once.

"Orgyilkos" is Hungarian
and it means "assassin".

- I'll see if I can wake her.

Oh, dear God!

- Damn. We're too late.

- The assassins found her
and finished the job.

- It is what I feared.

- What are you talking about?

- Doctor, your patient
is from Trieste,

a vital deep-water port for
the Austro-Hungarian Empire,

an empire that's intent
on growing its naval power

at the expense of the British.

- You're telling us this
is about the bloody navy?!

- The world is engaged in
a titanic struggle, Inspector.

The battle
to control the high seas

and the rise of the dreadnought.

- What does this have
to do with Canada?

- Laurier wants to create
a homegrown navy

while Borden would send money

directly to England
for the purpose.

- And the Austro-Hungarians
don't want that.

While they have no fear
of a Canadian navy-

- A strong British fleet
is a threat.

- Precisely.

And now that their
munitions expert is dead,

the Huns are going to pivot.

- Pivot to what?
- Something much more direct.

There's clearly a highly
trained foreign assassin

loose in this city,
and I predict

that unless we act quickly,

Robert Borden
will be killed tonight.

- Your honour,
ladies and gentlemen,

I appreciate the opportunity
to speak with you this evening.

The people of Toronto share
the concerns

of all Canadians in this...
- Excuse me.

- ...upcoming federal election.

- Excuse me, sir.

I'm afraid we have
to terminate the event.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I'm afraid the event
has to be terminated.

Please make your way
to the exits.

(indistinct chatter)

(suspenseful music)

- What's happening?

- Nothing that should
appear in the papers.

- How about a little
quid pro quo?

- If you know something,
Miss Cherry?

- I saw someone hurry through
that door a moment ago.

It looked suspicious.

You owe me!

(suspenseful music)

(door closing)

(door closing)

(suspenseful music)

- Turn around.
Show yourself.

- Peekaboo.

- Laura?

- I knew it would be you,
Terrence.

It has always been you.

And I'm sorry this also
has to be you.

(gun cocking)
(gunshot)

- The international
assassin is your wife?!

- Incredible, isn't it?

You little minx.

- The last time we met,
you were named Deborah Anderson.

- And you were nosy
and in the way.

Some things change,
some things stay the same.

- I thought you were in prison.

What, did they swap you
for McCutchen?

- He didn't survive the torture.

They traded me for Hopkins.

- Hopkins?

You're worth ten of Hopkins.

- Thank you.

It is true.

(clears throat)

- You wanted to kill Borden,

so you recruited
the hotel manager

to do it under false pretenses.

- Find a gullible
local patsy,

then kill them when it's done
to cover your tracks.

- It's brilliant.

- You also killed
Borden's logistics man.

- He saw me with the hotel
manager and had to die.

- And you killed
your bomb maker from Trieste.

- Hmm... Another frayed end
that had to be tidied.

- And what was tonight's plan?

- Tonight's mission
was straightforward.

- Best ones always are.

- I planned to shoot Borden
when he left the stage.

But killing him in a crowd
would make my escape unlikely.

This time, I would surely hang.

So, I went out on the roof

to take in my last
breath of freedom,

to look out over the city.

- It's charming.

- But it wasn't meant to be.

I was thwarted once again by
Canada's most brilliant spy...

and his wide-eyed
provincial sidekick.

- Excuse me?

- Bravo, Terrence.

Bravo.

I am prepared to meet my fate.

- Not like my wife
to be caught out so easily.

- And why not?

We acted with swift precision
and were rewarded.

I mean, how many of us

have not lost a step
or two over the years?

- Mind your words, sir.

That woman could run
circles around any of us.

(phone ringing)

- Detective Murdoch.

It's Miss Hart.

Just a moment, Miss Hart.

I am placing our call

on my interoffice
communication device.

Uh, please go ahead.

- While the wound on her neck

was indeed the cause of death...

(feedback ringing)

- You've found something else?

- The internal examination
revealed her lungs were damaged

by delayed onset edema.

- An accumulation of fluids.
- Yes.

Spectroscopic analysis
shows the victim inhaled

a near-fatal dose
of phosgene gas.

- Good lord.

- Although she was murdered,

she likely wouldn't have
survived another day.

- Well, what happened to her?

- Gentlemen, we have been
hearing chatter

about the Austrians
experimenting with gas warfare.

We had no idea
they'd progressed so far.

- Our victim must have been
working with liquid phosgene,

it must have released
in her room,

frozen her fingers
and destroyed her lungs.

(sighing)
Gentleman, if I'm not mistaken,

this bomb wasn't merely
meant to explode.

It would have also
released phosgene gas.

- But we foiled Laura's plan.

- Yes, but we arrested her
on the roof

right next to all of the
ventilation equipment.

Laura S�llne wasn't up there

taking in the view
before her arrest.

She was planting a bomb.

- It'll gas the whole hotel.

- We need to find it quickly.

- Murdoch!

I'll let you handle that one.

- Thank you.

(timer ticking)

(suspenseful music)

(metallic clinking)

(ticking stops)

(sighing)

- Gentlemen. And lady.

Before we toast our success,
please indulge me:

Remember, remember,
the 5th of November,

this bomb scare
shall all be forgot.

But I see no reason,
why elections and treason,

should come down
to bloody dreadnoughts!

(laughing)
(all): Cheers!

- Seeing as my Borden leaks
have dried up,

there is still the issue of the
outstanding story I'm owed.

- Well, don't keep us
in suspense.

- I can see it now:

"Deadly Gas Leak Threatens
Prime Minister Candidate!"

- Uh, I'm sorry.
You cannot say that.

- "Austrian Spy Stopped
in Toronto Sky!"

- I must insist not.
It's a matter of-

- National security, yes!

So, what am I allowed to say?!

- You've been celebrating.

- A little bit. Yeah.

- Schade!

How did you figure it out?

- It's my usual combination of
insight, instinct, broad luck.

(laughing)

- Incredible!

You know, I used to wonder
if all Canadians were like you,

but now I know.

- Your charm was
always so... rakish.

- Oh. You find me rakish, huh?

Hmm...

Next month is not just
the federal election.

- Oh. Liebling!

Our anniversary!

You remembered!

- Those 20 glorious years.

How could I forget?

Oh, marmalade.

- Surprise!

Knock-out lipstick.

- Damn, you're good.

(sighing)

- I've built up quite
a tolerance over the years.

Goodbye, my love.

Auf wiedersehen.

- Gentlemen, I feel a fool.

- For still chasing after
a woman who only married you

so she could spy on
the Canadian government?

- Thus allowing an international
assassin to escape.

(laughing)

- Laugh all you want.

I will catch her.

(knocking on door)

- Ah, gentlemen,

please don't stop
the fun on my account.

I would not be my mother's
son if I did not make

a special stop to thank you
personally for saving myself

and everyone
at the hotel last night.

- Well, that was thanks
to Agent Meyers over there

and our very own
Detective William Murdoch.

- No commendations, no parades.

- It was our pleasure
to be of service.

- I appreciate your
expertise and fearlessness

in the face of danger
and I look forward

to serving you
as your next prime minister.

- Well, sir, you have my vote.

- He does seem a truly
decent fellow.

- Ah, maybe so.

- But Laurier's been top dog
for fifteen years,

and as long as I'm at the wheel,

it'll be Laurier
for fifteen more.

(knocking on door)
- Morning, sirs.

Have you seen
Miss Cherry's newspaper?

- "Sentinel Editor Saves
Borden's Life."

(chuckling)

- "A gas leak at the Queen's
Hotel threatened to end

Robert Borden's campaign
but disaster was averted

by the quick thinking and
decisive action of your editor,

Miss Louise Cherry."
(scoffs)

- Well, that's one way
of putting it.

- The press is an excellent
servant, but a terrible master.

- Oh, please, come now,
Agent Meyers.

Even you must admit
that democracy

can only truly shine under the
bright light of a free press.

- Prefer to stay in the shadows,
thank you very much.

Well, gentlemen,
if you'll excuse me,

it would appear that
I have a wife to find.

(orchestral music)

(??)

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