All language subtitles for tytytyt

♪ ♪

ELIZA:
There's been a terrible mistake.

I must speak to Inspector
Wellington immediately.

Misunderstandings seem
to follow you wherever you go.

WOMAN: Help!
MISS LING: One minute
he was in there,

and the next minute he was gone.

ELIZA:
So close to cracking the case...

Leave it to me, please.

Could anyone be more
infuriating?
(scoffs)

What do you think?

I think he's dead.

So, what's your next move?

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(thunder claps)

(whimpers)

(click)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

(flash pops)

(flash popping)

That damned woman!

(flash pops)

Hold your board higher, please.

There's been a terrible mistake.

I must insist on speaking

to Inspector Wellington
immediately.

(sighs)

(flash pops)

(keys jangling)

(sighs)

I can explain.

(sighs)

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

It's just a misunderstanding.

Misunderstandings seem to
follow you wherever you go.

Fine.

I never should have requested
the assistance of my friends,

but it was a particularly
complex case.

Mr. Potts is your friend
now, is he?

(quietly):
Not exactly.

He was calling on Ivy when the
police showed up

accusing me of
all manner of wrong doing.

Public disorder.

Solomon pretended
to be intoxicated.

Identity fraud.

I gave Ivy that cover
in good faith.

How was I to know that my old
head mistress was still alive?

Theft!

(groans)
Clementine is a law unto
herself.

I never told her to pickpocket
a government minister.

Please do not tell me
any more.

William...
thank you for ensuring

no charges will be brought,
I will give you no more trouble.

Oh, how I would love
to believe that.

Sign your release form.

(sighs)

Barnabus is in
a terrible state.

He was signing his release forms
with shaking hands, Lizzie!

Never has he been
so humiliated.

I said I was sorry.

I wouldn't be surprised

if he never sets foot
in our house again!

If only.

This is all Moses' fault.

If he'd been on hand,

I wouldn't have had to look
elsewhere for help.

Where is Moses anyway?

(grunts, crowd yelling)

Hit him!

(crowd roaring)

(grunting, thudding)

Uppercut, uppercut!

(grunts)

Go on!
(cheers and applause)

(body thuds, crowd roars)

(cheers and applause)

(claps hand)

Pay up, pay up!

I believe I have some winnings?

(doors open, whistles)

Police, nobody move!

♪ ♪

Do I need remind you

that gambling without
a license is illegal?

(panting)

Get 'em in the wagon,
lads.

MAN:
I didn't do nothing, guvnor.

I'm a fair man,
so I'll give you two choices.

Arrest or you give
me some information.

I need to track down a certain
suspect who's gone to ground.

I'll tell you who, but it's
a highly confidential case,

so you must keep
it to yourself.

Is it Logan Cooper?

How do you know that?

He's wanted in connection with
an armed robbery

at the Winchester Bank.

You have two witnesses,
a Mr. Hall and a Mr. Myman.

You've launched a man hunt
for Cooper,

but the only information you
have is that he was last seen

in the Charing Cross area on
Tuesday night.

That's classified information--
who's your snitch?

It was no snitch.

(slams newspaper)

WILLIAM:
Thanks to your rag of a paper,
my prime suspect

now knows that
we are looking for him.

And my two key witnesses,
both of which you've named,

have now got a sudden case
of amnesia.

Hm.
This isn't the first time

that you have interfered with
one of my investigations.

(drops newspaper)

Who gave you the tip off?

What kind of a world would we
live in, Inspector,

if a chief correspondent

revealed his source?
(sighs)

The kind where you find yourself
beaten to a pulp if you don't.

(groans)

Which police officer gave
you this information?

It wasn't just one.

WILLIAM:
Tipping off the press
stops-- now.

I don't care how much
they're paying.

Nor do I care how many
free pints,

free dinners or free women
they dangle in front of you.

You do not speak to anyone
outside of this department

about ongoing investigations.

But it's always been the way,
skipper, how else do we

supplement the old wages?

I've turned a blind
eye till now.

No more speaking to journalists!

Sir?
My friend

Mr. Lawrence is an opera critic
for "The Sunday Times,"

and we are due to see Gilbert
and Sullivan's "Iolanthe"

this very eve.

Am I to understand that
I should not attend?

(mocking voice):
Oh my dear Mr. Lawrence, however
will you cope without me?

I wasn't talking
to you, Charlie.

Oh, well, maybe you shouldn't
talk at all, you bloody idiot.

Pack it in, the pair of you!

Get back to work.

MAN: Hya!
(hooves clomping)

Goodness knows what
Barnabus must think.

Such a fine, upstanding man
spending the night in a cell.

It is not right.

I've learned a valuable lesson,
Ivy.

(sighs)

Tackling such an extensive
case was naive of me.

Well, I will sleep better

knowing you've curbed
your ambitions.

I'm not going to curb anything.

I'm going to expand.

If I am to employ skilled
personnel,

I need to be properly resourced.

In short, I need more money.

Where you going?

The bank to ask
for a loan.

And I will not take no
for an answer.

No.

Absolutely not.

Out of the question, I'm afraid.

(sighs)

(footsteps approaching)

I just wanted to check if we
are still to dine this evening?

This evening?

The last Wednesday of each month
we dine,

and the last Wednesday
of each month,

I have to remind you.
(sighs)

Would you mind
if we rearranged?

Yes, fine, we can rearrange.

Again.

Again?

Yeah, you did this last month.

Oh, yes, I'm sorry.

I'm just having
a particularly vexing day.

My prime suspect in an armed
robbery has done a runner.

So your day cannot be
any worse than mine.

Not that it's a competition.

Then why are you making it so?

I apologize,
it's not your fault.

It's his,
that damn journalist

Sinclaire has leaked
confidential information.

Hence my missing man.

Can't you get him to remove
the story for the later edition?

Damage is already done.

Two hundred thousand souls
will have read it by now.

Amongst them
my prime suspect.

Two hundred thousand?
Sadly, yes.

There seems to be an insatiable
appetite for the gutter press.

Perhaps Mr. Potts is right,

the country is going
to hell in a handcart.

Two hundred thousand...

(horse trotting)

(laughter,
glasses clinking inside)

(door shuts)

Mr. Sinclaire!

(exhales)
Your office said I
would find you here.

I would like to place
an advert in your newspaper.

As usual, I am run off my feet,

but you can never have too many
clients.

I have a better idea,
Miss Scarlet.

Something far superior

to a mere... advert.

Shall we?

(door opens)

You want to hire me and run an
article on the investigation?

You may wish to call it an
article,

I would much rather a five-part
serialized adventure

featuring the Lady Detective.

I can think of no better advert
for your services.

See, my readership are bored
of stories of the police,

so dull,
so predictable-- but you?

That is an altogether more

alluring prospect.

So, what is this case?

Last night one of my
illustrators attended a show

at the Flanders Theatre,
just off Lulworth Lane.

The proprietor had commissioned
an advert

and said illustrator was there
sketching

the various acts.

When it was the turn

of the in-house magician...

Alfonso the Great Italian
Illusionist.

It began as a rather
generic magic act,

but then...

something extraordinary
happened.

ELIZA:
So last night,

the Great Alfonso did his
vanishing act,

but actually did vanish?

Disappeared into thin air.

From that very box.

Miss...?

Ling.

Talk me through exactly
what happened, Miss Ling.

Every detail.

Well, I've been Alfonso's
assistant for many years

and we do the same act
every night.

And last night was no
different.

As usual,
we walked onto the stage

and performed our act
to music.

Then it came
to the vanishing trick

and Alfonso climbed into
the box.

But this time he didn't
reappear.

The box was empty.

Tell me about the trick.

(cheers and applause)

MISS LING (voiceover):
We do all
the usual setup business.

The girl...

the box...

the sense of expectation.

Then Alfonso gets inside.

I push in the plunger,

he waved the handkerchief
to show he's still in there.

I keep pushing

until he disappears.

(cheers and applause)

I show that he's gone.

And the box is empty.

Then I pull the plunger
back out,

and Alfonso reappears.

(cheers and applause)

But like I said,

last night he didn't reappear.

There must be a rational
explanation.

Show me how he initially
disappears.

It's a side compartment.

It's cushioned, with enough
depth to allow Alfonso

to lean back
and escape the plunger.

There's also a secret
compartment

for his legs.

Hm, that's very clever.

But it doesn't explain why he
didn't reappear.

And you're absolutely certain
he didn't sneak out of the box?

I'm sure.

I mean, one minute he was in
there,

and the next minute he was gone.

Where was the last place
Alfonso would have been

before coming
on stage last night?

Budalo!

Watch where you are going!

Excuse me?
Yeah?

I think I took a wrong turn.

I'm looking for Alfonso's
dressing room?

Oh typical,
it's all about Alfonso today.

I have no time for this--
odlazi!
Pardon?

Bugger off!

♪ ♪

Excuse me.

I was looking for the dressing
room of the magician?

Which one?

My father
or the other magician?

Alfonso, the missing one.

Missing?

Alfonso would love that.

He's full of fun,
loves playing tricks

on people.

Ah, you think this
a publicity stunt?

I fear you may be right.

I've been hired to find him,
I'm a private investigator.

(chuckles)
You're what?

Sorry, do people say that a lot?

(laughs)
Let's just say it's a source
of consternation for some.

(chuckles)

My father has convinced himself

that everyone wishes to know
the tricks of his trade.

I built him this chest to keep
him happy.

Magicians are as paranoid as
they are competitive.

Hmm.

Your father's the other
magician?

Slaven the Sorcerer.

Milena, you are late
for rehearsal!

Papa, this is Miss Scarlet.

She's a private investigator.

She's a what?

Alfonso's dressing room?
Third door down.

♪ ♪

(indistinct chatter)

♪ ♪

(taps knife)

(quietly):
This whole thing is ridiculous.

Miss Scarlet?

Apologies I was not here to
greet you.

I am the theatre
owner, Mr. Flanders.

I come from a meeting with
your client, Mr. Sinclaire.

He informs me you are the
best in the business.

A lady detective...
how extraordinary.

Mm.

So, how goes
your investigation?

Well, ah,

I'm afraid I can find no
rational explanation

for your
magician's disappearance.

Well, that's because the cause
of Alfonso's vanishing

is one of a supernatural nature.

Supernatural?

It is the work
of the Flanders Phantom.

A malevolent force that many
have seen

over the years in the theatre.

As I told Mr. Sinclaire
not half an hour ago,

there is a ghostly apparition

behind the missing magician.

That is quite a headline,
Mr. Flanders.

It even rhymes.

Does it?

I hadn't really
given it much thought.

I believe I am done here.

♪ ♪

(indistinct chatter)

Who was that?

What's it gotta do with you?

I was only asking.

Well, don't.
(puts down tankard)

If you must know, it's Detective
Lenahan from Bow Street.

He's assisting
in the Cooper case.

(burps)
Come on, cough up.

I'm dying of thirst here.

It's your round.

But I've not finished
my drink yet.

Tough-- I ain't got money to buy
myself another,

thanks to the skipper

and this ban
on the press.

Inspector Wellington clearly
thinks

it's the right thing to do.

Well, it's hitting me
and the lads in our pockets.

We're not all born with
a silver spoon

in our gob.

Now get yourself to the bar.

And as your senior officer,
that's a direct order.

(door opens)

A body's been pulled from
the river.

Right by Charing Cross Bridge.

Looks like our manhunt for
Cooper might be over, lads.

That ain't Logan Cooper.

FITZROY:
Who is he then?

(knock at door)

Mr. Sinclaire?

SINCLAIRE:
I do apologize for the
interruption Miss Scarlet,

but I am most eager to parley
with you.

And I you, Mr. Sinclaire.

I'm sure you're aware this
missing magician

is nothing more than
a publicity stunt.

Oh.

He is no longer missing--
he is dead.

Plucked from the bowels
of the Thames

this very darkest of nights.

It seems your serialized case

has become a murder
investigation.

And with it,
promotion to the front page.

♪ ♪

No one in or out without
my say so, is that clear?

Yes, sir.

FITZROY:
Good morning, Miss Scarlet!

Detective Fitzroy.
Um,

access to the theatre

is by Inspector Wellington's
authority only.

I cannot let you in, I'm afraid.

Oh, but I'm running an
investigation here,

and Inspector Wellington
is fully supportive of that.

WILLIAM:
Am I indeed?

Inspector Wellington.

It would be most helpful
if you would grant me

with access to the theatre.
No.

I am in the middle of a case.

So I've heard.

Hired by that weasel Sinclaire.

William,
we can help each other.

I have prior knowledge
of this case.

Do not "William" me.

This is a murder investigation,
and that rag of a paper

will not hamper me again.

Mr. Sinclaire has assured me
that not one word

will be printed until the case
is closed.

And I don't believe one word

that comes out
of that toad's mouth.

You know,
Henry wouldn't have worked

with a crook like Sinclaire.

Well, perhaps my father had
more options open to him.

And furthermore he'd be
most upset to know

that you'd belittle me by saying
such a thing.

(inhales)

What?

I was just trying to work out
if you're genuinely offended,

or if this is just one
of your ploys

to make me feel guilty.
(scoffs)

What a low opinion
you have of me.

Good, that clears that up,
you always say that

when you're trying to manipulate
me-- you're not coming in.

Then I have no choice

but to run my own investigation.

As you wish.

But as long as that newspaper is
your client, stay out of mine.

Come along.

♪ ♪

(tears poster)

This is the poster
from the theatre.

And this is the sketch
from the illustrator,

done the night Alfonso
disappeared.

And?

(sighs)
Well, in the sketch,

the magician holds a
plain black wand.

But in the poster he has
an ornate silver one.

Oh, that's because the magician
didn't use a wand

the night the illustrator
did the sketch.

But people do love to see a
magician with a wand,

so I asked him to add one in.

(hooves clomping)

♪ ♪

(indistinct chatter)

(chuckles)

ELIZA:
I hope I'm not disturbing you?

(coughs)

I... I was just checking

on Miss Ling.

Dreadful news about Alfonso.

Poor girl's distraught.

What are you doing here?

Did you follow me?

I just need a moment
of your time.

Alfonso's death is now
a murder investigation.

It is not a matter
for tabloid consumption.

It is a matter for the police.

I can assure you, Mr. Flanders,

that Mr. Sinclaire is still very
much invested in your case.

As am I.

His newspaper
should be reporting

only one thing
about my theatre,

that we are still open
for business.

Seven days a week,
two matinees at the weekend.

I understand you don't
want publicity,

relating to the death,
but I still have questions.

And I am afraid that neither
Miss Ling

nor any of my staff
will be answering them.

I see.

Well, in that case
I'm sure the readership

of the "Illustrated Police News"

would love a personal story
instead.

Perhaps something about you,
Mr. Flanders?

You're married with children,
are you not?

Very well.

Do not be late back.

Yes, Mr. Flanders.

I merely have one question,
Miss Ling.

Alfonso didn't use his wand
during the last performance.

Was that unusual?

Very.

But the day before he
told me he was selling it.

I was surprised since

it had such great sentimental
value to him.

But it was worth
a lot of money,

and I assumed he needed it
for his retirement.

His retirement?

Next month was his 50th
anniversary in the business.

That's when he planned to give
the act up.

Do you know who Alfonso
sold his wand to?

The entertainment shop in
Carnaby Street.

I've already told
the inspector this.

The inspector?

(door shuts, bell chimes)

(distant voice)

Good afternoon, sir.

Mr. Baggott at your service.

Good afternoon.

I was hoping to speak
to the owner, Mr. Faversham.

Of course, sir.

But I must warn you...

he does like to chat.

(laughs)
It's just my little joke.

It is not, of course,
a real skull

or, indeed, Mr. Faversham.

Although the dear old fellow
did pass away ten years back.

I've been the owner ever since,
and I decided

to keep the name.

How can I help you
this fine day?

You can stop doing
that for a start.

Of course, sir.

I'm Inspector Wellington
from Scotland Yard.

I'm here to ask you
some questions

about a magician-- Alfonso?

The Great
Italian Illusionist?

Oh, what has he done now?

He's always up to mischief
that one,

playing tricks.

(giggles)
You know, I remember

this one time...
(laughs)

it is rather funny,

he said that he could get me

a rabbit for my act.

But when I opened the bag...
He's dead,

Mr. Baggott.

(door opens, bell chimes)

Excuse me one moment.

Thank you.

I told you to stay out
of my investigation.

It's not just your
investigation.

I'm not having this
conversation again.

Fine, go back in
and question him then.

I will merely wait my
turn and do the same.

What sense is that?

If one word of this is printed
before the case is closed...

It will not be, I swear it.

WILLIAM (voiceover):
So, Alfonso was a
regular customer?

How I did enjoy his visits.

And he sold you his wand,
is that correct?

He was supposed to.

I sell new
as well as used props.

Although I would hardly
call his wand a prop.

The magic act has been in his
family for five generations,

father to son, and each one is
given an exquisite silver wand.

He was the fifth Alfonso the
Great Italian Illusionist.

Though nothing Italian about
them, of course.

They were from Kilburn.

So he took over from his father?

(softly):
Yes.

When his father retired,

Alfonso,
being on the small side,

actually had his shoes built up
so that he was the same height,

so that nobody could tell

when one Alfonso took over
from the next.

You say that he was planning
to sell you the wand?

He was due to come into
the shop at 7:00

before going
on stage yesterday.

Alfonso really was the most
punctual of gentlemen, so...

it really was
out of the ordinary

when he never turned up.

So Alfonso didn't use
his wand in his act,

even though
he was yet to sell it.

Nor did he turn up for
his appointment

two hours before
he was due on stage.

When you examined the body,
were there any additional clues?

Nothing of note.

Perhaps I could
see the autopsy report?

Eliza, I allowed you
to sit in on the questioning,

but that's
as far as it goes.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

You're in rather a hurry.

I have other cases to attend to.
(sniffs)

You just sniffed, and we both
know what that means.

That I have a cold?

That you're lying.

Is there something
you're not telling me?

Good day, Eliza.

(scoffs)

♪ ♪

(people chattering)

Apology would've been nice.

(muttering):
There's no manners these days.

(clinking)

(door creaking, slamming)

♪ ♪

MOSES:
A hairline fracture

at the side of the skull.

But cause of death, drowning.

Time of death
says it could be

anything between
6:00 and midnight.

His act finished at 10:00,

which gives a two-hour window
for when he died.

Anything else?

Signs of liver damage.

Could be a drinker.

These are his possessions.

Just the clothes
he was found in.

Could be the police have taken
anything of importance.

MOSES:
What's with the heels?

He was on the short side.

According to the owner of
the entertainment shop,

he had them built up

so he was the same height
as his father.

What's that?

The Thames.

♪ ♪

(objects clattering)

ELIZA:
Are you are sure about this?

MOSES:
I'm always sure.

That key has one purpose

and one purpose only.

To open a safe.

Where is it, then?

(collides with object)
(pained exclaiming)

(inhales sharply)
I can't see a damn thing.

Need more light.

Genie's lamp.

How apt for a magician.

(thudding)

This lamp is
stuck to the table.

(winding, popping)

(Eliza gasps)

♪ ♪

Looks like
we found our safe.

(key jangling)

Alfonso's wand.

Why would a magician
do his act without his wand

when it was here
at the theatre all the time?

The same reason he didn't
turn up to his appointment

at Faversham's shop.

Whoever was on stage
that night wasn't Alfonso.

It was an imposter.

Because Alfonso
was already dead.

(hooves clopping)

SINCLAIRE (voiceover):
Missing wands,

hidden safes,
a murderous imposter.

Delicious,

simply delicious.

Although my thoughts
and prayers are obviously

with the family of
the dead man.

Mm.

So, what's your next move?

Um, well, since this
is a murder investigation

and I have discovered
crucial evidence,

my only option is
to inform the police.

Specifically
Inspector Wellington.

Never was there
a finer detective.

Quite.

Yes, you must
speak to him right away.

Although...

Although?

Well, a murder mystery
solved by

a woman working alone,

now that is
a compelling narrative.

But should Inspector Wellington
become involved--

not that I wish to speak ill

of such an
upstanding officer, but...

Well, there is a chance
he may overshadow

your part in the story.

Not intentionally,
of course,

but my fear is that

he becomes
the lead character,

and you become...

a mere supporting role.

But if you were to delay
speaking to him,

just for a few days,

it might give you time
to gather some more evidence.

Perhaps something that
might prove crucial in court.

Then your part in
all of this would be...

(exhales)

impossible to ignore.

♪ ♪

(indistinct chatter)

Sinclaire is right.

What harm is
another day or two

before I share my findings?

Well, you could be
charged with

perverting
the course of justice.

That carries a sentence
of seven years in prison.

Although, for first offense
with mitigating circumstances,

the Home Office advises
a tariff of three years.

I've been practicing
my reading

in your father's
old law books.

Right, I see.

Anyway, I've given William
every opportunity

to work with me on
this investigation,

but to no avail.

So if I do decide to
work this case a little longer,

this is technically
his own doing, isn't it?

I suspect he's made
his own developments anyway.

He was very eager to leave

after questioning the owner
of the entertainment shop.

Well, two can play
at that game.

For God's sake, don't
give him false information,

you could be
charged with perjury.

Although that is only
triable on indictment.

Can you read Dickens or Austen
like a normal person?

I need this publicity, Ivy,

and I know I'm so close
to cracking the case.

For the last time,
I can get my own luncheon.

I know you, my girl.

You never eat proper
when you're working.

And if you want my advice

on Inspector Wellington...
Which I don't.

You watch
what you say to him.

I don't intend

to say anything to him.

I intend to
make it my business

to avoid him at all costs.

(approaching footsteps)
William!

Morning, ladies.

What a lovely surprise.
Mm.

I was just passing.

Ivy.

Inspector Wellington.

How's your cold?

Oh, it's better, thank you.

That was quick.

Mm.

(inhales sharply)
So...

Any developments on the case?

Oh, nothing of note.

You?

Nothing of note.

(inhales sharply)
Well, I shall leave you ladies

to go on with your day.

That was swift visit.

As I said,
I was just passing.

Goodbye,
Inspector Wellington.

Mm.

(retreating footsteps)

♪ ♪

Now I'm certain of it.

He is hiding
something from me.

She's hiding
something from me.

Did you tell her
what you had found out?

No.

Nor will I with
Sinclaire as her client.

Sir, would you like me to focus

my full attention on this?

With Bow Street assisting
in the Cooper case,

I'm sure
I could be spared.

Bow Street?

What have they
got to do with Cooper?

Well, Phelps said they were
part of the investigation.

I saw him meet
with Detective Lenahan.

There is no Detective Lenahan
at Bow Street.

(sighs)

It's, it's a true story, lads.

As God as my witness.

(laughter)

Get back to work.

MAN:
Sir.

Not you,
Detective Phelps.

What's up, skipper?

When I said "Do not
talk to the press,"

was I unclear

in some way?

If so, I can be clearer.

Come on, Duke,
it's just a bit on the side.

If it's not me, it'll be
one of the other lads.

No one's happy about this.

This happens again,
and you are gone.

Is that understood?

Yes, Duke.

Good.

♪ ♪

ELIZA:
Milena!

I'm looking for Miss Ling,
do you know where she is?

(knocking)

Milena,
is everything all right?

I don't know
where Miss Ling is.

I haven't seen her.

(muffled chatter in background)

Are you moving in here?

Not my idea, my father's.

He always wanted
Alfonso's dressing room.

He couldn't even wait
till after the funeral.

I'm sorry, I know
how fond you were of him.

And yet you said
those awful things.

What things?

I told you
Alfonso was full of fun.

I never said that he was

a heavy drinker
with gambling debts.

(bewildered chuckling):
I have no idea what
you're talking about.

(paper crinkling)

(pages turning)

SINCLAIRE (voiceover):
Did you like the part about

the lady detective and her
inner bloodhound?

Clearly I have no such thing,

or I would've sniffed you out
as an untrustworthy crook.

I beg your pardon?

You have broken our agreement

and published details
that will interfere

with the investigation.

You've twisted my words,
Mr. Sinclaire.

As chief correspondent,

there are
certain responsibilities

on my shoulders.

It's been
a dreadfully slow week.

This is a catalogue of lies.

I never said

the magician was a gambler,
nor a heavy drinker.

My dear Miss Scarlet,
no one wants to read about

a dead man who was
kind and loved by all.

My readers devour scandal
and salacious gossip.

It makes them feel better
about their own lives.

Retract the article
and print an apology

or I will sever
our agreement.

And yet you have
a man's name above your door

to lure in customers.

What?

That's not
the same thing at all.

Forgive me.

Is your name Henry Scarlet?

I can assure you,
one day it will be

my name above the door.

Well, until that day,

you might be wise
to make useful friends

rather than powerful enemies.

Are you threatening me?

I'm merely advising you.

At present, you are unique
and intriguing.

There are stories to be told
and money to be made.

But who knows what
novelties tomorrow will bring?

People will only pay once to see
the bearded lady.

I do not need advice
from a washed-up hack

who cannot get a job
on a real newspaper.

We are done, sir.

Very well.

Although, rest assured...

this washed-up hack

has ruined many a reputation.

I have brought down
judges, politicians,

and even an archbishop.

A female detective...

will not be a problem.

(door slams)

(groaning):
I'm sorry.

I should have
shared my findings

rather than you having
to read them in the newspaper.

It would have been
preferable.

And you were right
about Sinclaire.

I should have listened to you.

That would have
been preferable, too.

How much longer are
you going to be angry for?

Why, are you in a hurry?

(chuckles)

Did you really call Sinclaire
a washed-up hack?

(both chuckle)

Fine, you better tell me
what else you know.

Suspects?

Well, the other magician
couldn't wait

to move into
Alfonso's dressing room.

There's definitely some

professional jealousy there.

And Alfonso's assistant,
Miss Ling,

seems to be having an affair
with the theater owner.

Perhaps he had some conflict
with the dead magician.

But you have no proof?

However, one thing
I am fairly certain about...

Given Alfonso's wand
was in his safe,

yet he didn't use it
during his last performance,

nor did he turn up

at the entertainment shop
to sell his wand,

I believe an imposter was
on stage that night.

Hm.

Which is clearly
isn't news to you.

You suspected it too,
didn't you?

I knew you were hiding
something from me.

Which, of course,
you would never do.

Now, I need your word
that you are definitely not

working with Sinclaire
anymore.

You have my word.

As we speak,
he'll be writing an article

designed to
make me unemployable.

Well,

I did suspect an imposter,

but I didn't know about
the other wand.

The other wand?

I found it on the magician

when I examined his body.

They're identical.

On the face of it, yes.

I noticed that the handle

wasn't quite aligned.

And inside...

Was this.

The magician's father,
no doubt.

The previous Alfonso.

Let's find out
if they are identical.

♪ ♪

(wand thuds)

(soft gasp)

Two wands, two boxes.

Nothing suggests
where this photo was taken.

Hand me that.

♪ ♪

I know exactly where
it was taken.

WILLIAM (inhaling):
Did Alfonso use

a duplicate box to disappear?

I would love to help you,
but I simply cannot

tell you how
the trick is done.

Or any trick,
for that matter.

Us magicians,
we take a solemn oath.

ELIZA:
That is a shame, Mr. Baggott,

since perverting
the course of justice

carries a
seven-year sentence,

although for a first offense
with mitigating circumstances,

the Home Office advises
a minimum of three.

Do I have that right,
Inspector Wellington?

Indeed you do,
Miss Scarlet.

Alfonso commissioned
a replica box.

Designed by my good self.

It's a bespoke service
that I offer to certain clients.

The original box had a
hidden compartment in the side,

but the replica went
even further in its trickery.

With the help of some
well-hidden latches,

it actually had a false bottom
in which Alfonso could

not only hide in,
but lock without a soul knowing.

It's a work of art,
if I may say so myself.

Alfonso planned to use
the replica box

for his final performance?

He wanted to go out in
a blaze of glory.

50 years in the business,
I mean, that's...

quite something.

I may have
designed the box,

but I cannot take
the credit for making it.

His assistant must
take the credit for that.

Alfonso was so delighted
with what she'd done,

that he asked me to,
to take a photograph

of the two boxes together.

He had a wand made for her,
and he planned to

put the photograph inside
and give it to her

after his final performance.

It was his parting gift.

His assistant made the box?

So Miss Ling
must have been aware

of what he was doing.

I'm not talking about
Miss Ling.

(applause)

(applause, whistling)

Ladies and gentlemen,
the Baker Street Girls!

Now please

put your hands together
as we welcome

our headline act.

The incredible...

The mysterious...

Slaven the Sorcerer.

(applause)

Thank you,

thank you.

For my first illusion,

prepare to be astounded.

(audience gasps)

Astonished...

Milena.

Amazed.

(audience "ooh"s)
I'm going to need you

to come with me.

What?

I'm about to go on stage.

I'm afraid you're not.

You will not believe your eyes.

What's going on?

Anything?

♪ ♪

MILENA (voiceover):
I grew up with Alfonso.

He and my father were
on the same bill for years.

He had no children
of his own,

so he taught me everything
he knew about magic.

He was so kind
and patient with me.

Unlike my own father.

He doesn't believe
a woman could

or should be anything
other than an assistant.

But Alfonso,

he said one day I could be
a wonderful magician.

So he let you help him
create a replica box

for his retirement show?

Not even his assistant

would know how he disappeared.

It would be his lasting legacy.

But he was
dreading retirement.

He started to drink more,

became increasingly melancholic.

Not that
anyone but me knew.

He was very good at
putting on an act.

But knowing his time
in the theater

was coming to an end
was destroying him.

Magic was his life.

What happened
the day he died?

The night before...

he was feeling very down.

He told me

there was no point
to his life anymore.

He always
arrived an hour early

before he was due on stage.

Always, without fail.

So...

the next day,
when he didn't,

I just knew
he was never coming back.

I feared the worst,

but I didn't know for sure

until his body was
pulled from the Thames.

You believe it was suicide?

He'd talk about it sometimes,

when he was drunk.

I never knew if he meant it.

And that's why
you impersonated him.

I couldn't bear him not having
the sendoff he deserved.

I wanted him to go out
how he intended,

performing
the trick of his life.

And no one else knew?

Alfonso's act was
midway through the show

when I did
the disappearing trick.

Miss Ling couldn't
check the box thoroughly,

as she was assisting
the next act, too.

And as the stage hands
took the box

and the rest of the props
back to the storeroom,

I stayed hidden.

And then later
you swapped the replica box

with the original.

I gutted it.

Turned it into
a chest for my father.

Alfonso was the only person
who believed in me.

And now he's gone.

(clock ticking)

Sir.

I spoke to the coroner.

He thinks that
the head injuries

are consistent
with a post-mortem blow.

Perhaps a boat
or the side of a bridge

when the dead man was
in the water, so...

it does look like suicide.

So what happens now?

Will Milena be charged?

Well, I can't deny that

we would have got to suicide
much quicker

had she not posed as
the dead man.

So she could be
charged with

perverting
the course of justice.

But that is
at your discretion.

It is.

I can't see
who it would benefit.

(indistinct chatter)

She seems
a determined young woman.

I have no doubt that she will
get where she wants to be,

I just...

I hope it doesn't
consume her.

(short chuckle)

There's more to life
than work.

Just look at
our magician friend.

There's a
valuable lesson there.

Don't be too hard
on yourself, William.

Life isn't
all about work.

(chuckling):
I wasn't talking about me.

(scoffs)

It was you, weren't it?

You grassed me up to Duke.

(panicked):
It wasn't my intention,

it just slipped out,
it was a mistake.

(whimpering)

(horses trotting,
indistinct chatter)

FITZROY:
The files you requested, sir.

(pen clinking)
Right.

I'm off for the night,
I'll see you in the morning.

Stop right there,
detective.

(wavering):
I will not discuss
who did this, sir.

(sighs)

Well, in that case,
I have one question for you.

How do we stop this
from happening again?

MAN:
There you go, son.

MOSES:
Good man.

See you next time.

(horse sighing)

What you want now?

I'm no snitch.

I don't want you
to snitch.

I want you to teach.

Show him how to box.

Detective Fitzroy.

But please, feel free to
call me Oliver, Mr. Moses.

It's just Moses.

(horses trotting)

(sipping)

Mr. Potts.

(exhales)
Miss Scarlet.

It's nice to
see you again.

Yes.

The last time we met,

I was sitting in a police cell,
if memory serves.

(scoffs)
I did apologize.

Numerous times.

There are occasions when
a simple apology will suffice.

This was not one of them.

(door closes)

IVY:
Today's edition.

Sinclaire?

How bad is it?

What does he
say about me?

Absolutely nothing.

It's all about
Inspector Wellington.

It says all kinds of
nice things about him.

How determined,

tenacious,
and talented he is.

But nothing at all about you.

Ha!

Morning, James,
how's the little one?

Good, sir.

Sir.

Ah, good morning.

I take it you have seen today's
"Illustrated Police News"?

Not yet, no.

Well, to say Mr. Sinclaire
sings your praises

would be an understatement.

I, on the other hand,
am not mentioned at all.

Huh.

Thank you, William.

I assume this was
your doing?

You warned him off?

I lifted the ban between
my men and the press,

and that was enough to
satisfy Sinclaire.

To be honest, I would've
had to do it sooner or later,

or I'd have a revolt
on my hands.

Excuse me.

Well...

I'm still sorry for
any trouble

I may have caused
by working for him.

In my determination
to succeed,

I may have not
thought things through.

I...

I know I can be a tad...

Impatient?

You may call it impatience,
I call it eagerness.

Well,
whatever its name,

it is the cause of
many of my headaches.

You're a good friend
indeed.

Which is why
dinner is on me tonight.

I wasn't aware
that we were going out.

Well, now you are.

Life can't all be
about work, you know.

Ha!

♪ ♪

(click)

♪ ♪

WOMAN: Eliza Scarlet,
is that you?

This is my restaurant.

ELIZA:
She had a way of saying

the cruelest of things whilst
keeping the sweetest of smiles.

Shall I have her arrested?

No! Help!

(grunts)

You English are
supposed to be fair.

I'm from Glasgow.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

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♪ ♪