Original subtitles

##

Male announcer: Formulated in his very own fragrance laboratory,

celebrated Head Nose Sterling Thistleton blends

time-honoured perfumes that are long-lasting

and true to fresh flower.

Discover new Fawning Flora,

the latest scent sensation from Thistleton's

Fine Fragrances.

- Top class. - Hear hear.

- To Thistleton's. - How can you say

that when Willoughby's keep trouncing our sales?

Which graceless commoners are buying all

these modern perfumes?

Whatever happened to good, classic taste?

Ignore our competitors, brother dear.

Thistleton's has survived for over a century, thanks to us.

- I've decided to retire. - What? You can't.

I've worked myself to the olfactory bone, Venetia.

Now's my time to stop --

and not smell the roses.

But who'll take over as Head Nose?

One of these two.

- Good luck. - Fight you for it.

But they're apprentices...

Well, who else is there? I've made my decision.

And tomorrow I shall name my successor.

##

##

##

##

Chop-chop.

My niece will be arriving at any moment

to help me choose an outfit.

I'm fragrance testing at the Manor today.

Yes, you may've mentioned that...

You'll never guess what happened last night.

Sarah-Mary Clam.

You remember Sergeant Livingstone and

Inspector Gillespie.

Sarah-Mary: Of course, sorry.

Mr. Thistleton announced his retirement.

He'll be picking a new Head Nose.

Picking.

Big perfume dynasty.

Not an easy family to work for, I'd wager.

Sarah-Mary was hand-picked by Mr. Thistleton himself.

She's their number one apprentice.

Well, Brammers is there, too, Aunty.

And he is amazing --

I reckon he can identify one hundred different roses.

Nicknames before noon.

You do mention this Bramwell rather often...

Hmm.

Thistleton's used to make my Cyril's cologne back in the day.

I didn't know that. Which one?

The name has long since left me,

but I shall never forget the scent.

Sadly I've never come across another bottle.

Does anyone smell burning?

Oh, the kippers.

Check each glass for smudges.

Of course. Thistleton's standards.

Sorry I'm late. Bumped into the postie.

Why can I smell burnt fish?

Today must go well.

Sterling's been so erratic lately,

we can't risk another of his meltdowns.

That's enough yapping, testers will be here at any moment.

Ah, yes. Oh. Good heavens, is that a nun?

Hm.

Aunty, I thought you'd like to meet my friend Brammers.

Bramwell Baisley.

Ah, it's a pleasure, Mrs. Clam.

Sarah-Mary's told me so much about you.

Yet I know barely anything about you.

But I'm sure we can soon remedy that.

You're not one of the Shropshire Baisleys, are you?

Aunty.

Brammers, maybe you can help us solve a mystery.

We're trying to source an old Thistleton cologne,

on sale before the war.

It smelt of leather, honey...

and a dash of rum.

Well, there's a high chance it's been discontinued, I'm afraid.

Mr. Thistleton got rid of most of his father's formulations

when he took over.

His signature scent, Sterling Silver, was a runaway hit...

But no-one buys it anymore.

Veritable paint stripper.

My Great Uncle Cornelius wore it.

Always had a faint whiff of alley-cat about him...

Sterling:

Sterling Silver fans?

I insist.

For the men in your life.

Mrs. Clam:

And now...I'm proud to announce the world-first and exclusive

testing of my final fragrance --

Beauty's Beast.

Fresh mouillettes.

I'm not going to spray it up their nostrils.

Between you and me, Peggy,

I believe my olfactory capacity is probably above average.

Yes, I have the gift of a nose as it were, a refined skill...

Oof, yes.

As I remember. Distinct feline gust.

##

##

Sterling: In its final stages of creation,

this formula is classic Thistleton's -- cedarwood,

balsam and my signature whisky base note.

- Hey, that's heavenly. - Indeed, very nice. Very fresh.

Sorry to be a Bothersome Bertha,

but I'm not picking up any of the notes you listed.

I'm getting more of a sort of

peachy smell.

Yeah, me, too. And mint.

But green garden mint, not Sunday lamb sauce.

Mint? Peach? What is the meaning of this?

Look how much everyone's enjoying your new creation.

Another Sterling Thistleton masterpiece.

What was all that about?

Oh, Look, Peggy. Look at this. Civet.

An extremely precious raw material

I've always been most curious about.

The harvesting process is fascinating,

fascinating -- you see the musk is collected

- by squeezing the anal glands -- - I beg your pardon?

Civet.

That's all the feedback we need.

Thank you so much for coming.

I'm so sorry about my -- my butter fingers.

Not at all, you've been a wonderful help.

Do enjoy the Sterling Silver.

Jupiter, what are you doing here?

Ask him.

Sterling: You thought the company would bankroll you forever?

Time to get a job, boy.

Enough. We'll discuss this tonight.

- What's happening tonight? - What's happening tonight?

- Surprise. - Surprise.

It's a retirement party, dear brother.

Sterling: Yes, I can see that.

All keen as mustard to see the back of me, are you?

- Well, I am. - Of course not.

Tonight is for celebrating.

Another final nail in the coffin.

I thought this was what you wanted.

And if anyone deserves to put their feet up, Sir, it's you.

Is that so?

And you know we'll take stellar care of the place.

- Oh, yes, I bet you will. - A toast to Uncle Sterling.

May all our lives become richer through his departure.

Sterling: You think my retirement means you're going to get

your allowance back?

You won't see a penny more till I'm six foot under.

I'm sure that won't be necessary.

But there is the matter of your successor...

My successor. Yes, I've spent a very interesting afternoon

mulling that over.

Doing my homework. Who could possibly take over?

Me.

What? It was his idea. "Time to get a job", you said.

Well, I want this one.

And as the only male heir of the Thistleton bloodline,

it's not just my want -- it's my birthright.

Allow me to bring this carousel of nonsense

to a shuddering halt.

Jupiter, you are many things to me -- nephew, dependent,

fork-tongued sparring partner.

But first and foremost you are a disappointment.

My decision is made. The next Head Nose will be...

...me.

I've changed my mind.

You're not retiring?

But that's wonderful news. Isn't it, everyone?

Whisky. You were right Venetia.

It is a night for celebrating after all.

A highly unusual method of demise...

Do they have pets?

Well, that'll be the Sterling Silver.

His signature scent.

I have a bottle of it, if you'd like?

##

Rigor mortis?

Positively statuesque.

Deduction?

Death occurred between the twilight hours of midnight

and 2:00 A.M.

Mm. Nice vintage.

No. This was no drunken accident.

See how the pointy bit thrust up into his chest?

Someone had to have been holding the other end of it.

And look at this.

There's an imprint on his left cheek,

suggesting an altercation.

- Solid right hook. - So we're talking murder.

Sister Boniface: Highly probable.

And since this poker's from Sterling's own set,

I'd say unplanned.

A burglary gone wrong?

Felix: It doesn't seem like a break-in.

The windows, they're all intact, and the door was locked --

so the killer must have came from inside the building.

Sam: One of the household.

Peggy and I overheard the victim and his nephew

exchanging some choice unpleasantries yesterday...

I spy, what's this?

##

##

Polyvinyl acetate and alcohol. As every papier-mâché

fan will attest -- an excellent stabiliser.

A uniquely fragrant case.

The lingering aroma of murder most foul...

With a whiff of an inside job...

I've never seen a dead body before...

I wish I'd found him first.

Who could do such a horrible thing?

My brother -- skewered.

Like a piece of venison.

We can't let this destroy Thistleton's, what he built.

We must have a plan...

A press conference.

To announce a new Head Nose.

If I may -- we'd always advise waiting

until an investigation's concluded before making

any statements to the press.

Quite.

Wouldn't want to promote...

the wrong sort.

I know.

A competition -- that'll give us a few days.

You shall each compose an original fragrance,

the winner decided when this sordid affair is behind us.

- What about me? - What about you?

You can't possibly have meant it

when you said you wanted the top job.

Well, in that case, can I have my money?

Jupiter Thistleton-Thorne?

Why would I murder my uncle?

Revenge?

To regain access to your allowance?

Mr. Thistleton recently cut you off, is that correct?

In Vegas. On my birthday.

I had to pawn my own watch to pay for the poker party, look.

He wanted me to get a job. Like a poor person.

It's not my fault I was born at the end of a rainbow.

And now Mummy's being all tightfisted.

She's in charge of choosing the next Head Nose,

and by rights that job's mine.

It's just perfume, how hard can it be?

So you do want employment?

Jupiter: Don't be ridiculous.

But it might just persuade her to do the right thing...

So is your mother in charge of all

of the financial decisions now?

With him gone, yes. Moneybags Mummy.

The money's gone.

Or it's going. Fast. Think mountain to molehill.

The company was in financial trouble.

Why's that?

My brother was a genius, in case you've any doubt.

He built up Thistleton's from our grandfather's

fledgling little shop to the haute parfumerie it is today.

So what happened?

Fragrance markets are volatile beasts.

We are down but we could've risen up.

We still can.

With Jupiter at the helm?

That would be an absolute disaster.

But what can I do? Give him the job and we sink.

Give him the money...

It must be frustrating.

All these men in the top jobs taking the glory,

while you struggle to keep things afloat...

Never. Being a Thistleton is my duty and my pride.

Can you think of anybody

who might have wanted your brother dead?

No. Well... there's Willoughby's.

Our mortal enemies.

- Mortal? - Sterling's words.

They're our biggest competitor.

He was convinced they were stealing his formulae.

Perfume larceny?

It's a million pound industry, Inspector.

I dare say the value of his final formula

would've matched your salary, several times over.

Right. Well, where is this priceless formula now?

What do you mean? You have it. Don't you?

Felix: "Beauty's Beast.

An Original fragrance by Sterling Thistleton."

Found in a suitcase under your bed.

Planning a trip?

In your statement you said you didn't see him after the party.

- So how did you get this? - It's not what you think.

I'm no thief.

Dreams of promotion, recently dashed.

All that hard work...

Sterling's death put you back in the running.

No, I would never hurt anyone.

I just wanted to see if I could change his mind...

Felix: So you did go and see him.

Is that when you took the formula?

He gave it to me, I swear.

Anyway I couldn't have stolen it, because it was already mine.

You promised it would be me.

I said nothing of the sort.

I gave you an opportunity and you overstepped the mark.

Changing my formula, how dare you.

But the testers loved it.

Do you think anyone will buy this fragrance

because it was yours?

Nobody would.

Because you're a nobody.

Mine is the name that consumers want.

Your only claim to fame is your connection

to Thistleton's, and now you've blown it.

Are you sacking me?

I'll tell everyone.

I'll tell everyone that the great

Sterling Thistleton got some nobody

to create his final perfume.

Be my guest.

And watch how quickly something priceless

becomes utterly worthless.

I was planning to leave at sunrise.

But the next morning... his study door was wide open.

And I screamed.

And then Venetia ran in, and Brammers ran in.

And Jupiter was sleeping off a hangover.

So I ran up to my room and I hid the formula.

But why would a master perfumer like Mr. Thistleton

ask you to do his work for him?

He never, he never explained why, and I never asked.

Girls like me don't get many chances in life.

Can you prove that this is your work?

Pen and paper?

He told me what to compose, but I put a modern spin on it.

And I thought he liked it.

I may be a fool, but I'm no liar.

This is the basics for Beauty's Beast.

##

Verbatim.

##

The mark on the cheek. Could it perhaps be a number?

I wondered that. 21 maybe?

Sister Boniface: Right. Who wants to find out

what went poof in Sterling's fireplace?

Sam, would you do the honours?

Yeah.

##

Infrared detection. Neat, isn't it?

Felix: Look at that paper.

- It looks official. - Sister Boniface: Indeed.

One could almost whittle down the make of typewriter.

To my eye... Imperial Model 50.

Steel. Leicester made.

Used in hospitals, registries, that sort of thing.

Right, a photo for posterity?

"W-I-L-L-O-U-G-H--"

Willoughby's.

The rivals to Thistleton's.

Oh, yes, they are "Mortal enemies."

Is that a number 8?

Hmm. Most likely -- the letter B.

"B. Willoughby."

It seems like these numbers are indicating a date.

The 12th of March... twenty-two years ago.

Right. Goggles off, thinking caps on.

What certified event of note happened two decades ago,

connected to one B. Willoughby,

that ended up in the Thistleton fireplace last night?

It's not exactly an "event of note,"

but it's not far off when I was born.

Hm.

Peggy Button, you genius. A birth certificate.

But whose?

Okay, it's too young to be Venetia's.

Sarah-Mary's was around Christmas.

Do you remember Mrs. Clam's yule log?

I'd rather forget. Jupiter just had his in Vegas.

So that leaves Bramwell.

But his surname is...

I know. It's -- It's Bramwell Baisley.

Very much not Willoughby.

Unless...

Baisley is my mother's name.

I've never even met my father.

After the party, Sterling accused me of being a mole.

A spy for Willoughby's.

- Sam: And are you? - Of course not.

They don't even know I'm working there.

Is that why you burnt it -- to stop the truth coming out?

No. I did it to prove my loyalty.

Not to Willoughby's

but to Thistleton's.

Did you think I'd never find out?

A well-spoken, educated young man

like yourself -- perfect as my successor.

Or so I thought, until I did a little background check.

It's not what you think.

Sterling: Put you up to it, did he?

What was the plan -- infiltrate Thistleton's, filch my secrets?

Become Head Nose then slowly,

like an apple rotting from the core,

turn my family empire into yours?

Never. Willoughby is no father of mine.

- The family rejected me. - So this was your way back in?

My own protégé, the son of mine enemy...

- My loyalty is to you. - Get out of here.

##

- I beg of you, Sir... - I want you gone by the morning.

But he was the one gone by the morning --

keeping your secret intact. Rather convenient.

I'm telling the truth -- I'm not a spy.

I was born out of wedlock.

My father paid my mother off,

and she used the money to send me to school.

I have the accent and education,

but not a penny to my name.

Willoughby's abandoned me, but Thistleton's gave me a home.

A family.

The one you've been lying to.

I-I couldn't bear to be rejected again.

Especially not by...

Are you and Sarah-Mary...?

No.

No. Just...good friends.

In which case, can you clear something up for me?

Why would Mr. Thistleton ask her to create his final formula?

He did?

Is anyone in that house playing with a straight bat?

I'm so glad you're back.

As if you'd hurt a fly.

I need to tell you something...

I've not been entirely honest with you, about who I am.

My name is Bramwell Baisley but I -- By birth --

my father -- he's not...

I'm a Willoughby.

- You've been lying to me? - I'm so sorry.

I trusted you. You were my best friend.

I'd hope I still am.

Best friends don't keep secrets from each other.

You know everything about me.

Except that Sterling asked you to create his formula...

How did you -- that's different, I --

I guess we don't know each other as well as we both thought.

Sarah-Mary, please --

Oh, dear. Trouble in the smell cell?

Not now, Jupiter.

Alright, I'll leave you alone, if you help me with my entry.

Mummy's withholding the big bucks because I

"haven't got the gift."

But it must be in me somewhere.

I'm a Thistleton.

Is this yours?

Caviar.

That's incredible.

- Keep it. - What?

I'm working on something else...

I'm so stupid.

Don't ever say that.

We Clams have an average IQ of 130.

I trusted him.

Probably for the best.

How could he lie to me?

Well, did you ask him?

What difference does it make?

You know, I'm starting to think

maybe this dream isn't for me, Aunty...

Now look here.

It is most unbecoming for a young lady

to throw away everything she's worked so hard for,

especially because of a man.

Cyril always used to say,

"Actions speak louder than words."

So stop snivelling, pull your socks up, and go

and get that promotion.

There we go.

One Snowball, one syrup monstrosity

and two well earned pints.

Oh, no.

Evening all.

Any update on our Malodorous Manor Murder?

No comment. And you can do better than that.

You were there that day, weren't you, Peggy?

Quote for the paper?

I'll do you one better.

Here. From the lab itself.

A gift? For me?

It's not exactly a --

Oh, Peggy.

I'll wear it every day.

Erm, actually, as it happens, I'm,

I'm covering the U.F. Oboes concert later...

and erm, well I've got a spare ticket

and I was thinking --

Peggy.

Sister. It's the symbol.

The imprint on Sterling's cheek.

Of course...

A planetary symbol. But which one?

Venus?

Mercury?

Uranu--

I'll stop you right there.

Earth to Boniface?

Astro bingo.

Sam: Your tan line...

I told you I pawned my watch.

Sam: The one on your finger -- where your signet ring used to be.

The one embossed with your astrological namesake.

Where is that ring?

In the ornamental koi carp pond.

- I threw it in there, after I... - Attacked your uncle?

I knew this would happen.

You've got it all wrong. You think you know

what happened that night but you don't understand how.

Okay, let's say I did stab my uncle with the poker --

but it wasn't my fault.

So are you saying it was his fault?

Yes. Kind of.

So Mr. Thistleton ran into the poker

you just so happened to be holding?

You really had to be there...

What on Earth do you think you are doing?

I didn't touch anything.

You pathetic, useless degenerate.

Aah!

- I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. - You hit me.

You hit me.

Please don't hurt me...

Please don't hurt me.

How dare...

See?

An accident.

After which you came away believing

that all your money woes were over.

And you destroyed incriminating evidence -- throwing the ring

into the pond, and wiping your fingerprints off the poker.

Because I knew I'd look guilty.

Honestly, I don't know what you people want from me.

You say tell the truth but nobody listens.

I've been in pieces since this happened.

I've lost all the joie de vivre.

Your uncle, he lost his life, Mr. Thistleton-Thorne.

Yes, the guilt is killing me.

Jupiter Thistleton-Thorne.

I'm arresting you for the murder of Sterling Thistleton.

What? What?

- Morning, all. - Sam: Morning.

- Felix: Good morning. - The post-mortem's here.

And something is frightfully amiss.

Sam: Oh, don't say that.

I've got enough on my plate with Jupiter demanding his own chef.

And a goose-down pillow.

Well, he won't need any of that if we're forced to release him.

Release him? Why? We have our man at the scene,

our murder weapon, our confession --

And a poker that didn't hit a single vital organ --

meaning it didn't kill him. Well, not instantly anyway.

It would've been a horrendously protracted --

and noisy -- death.

Jupiter didn't mention any screaming.

Nor did anyone else...

No. Which begs the question --

did Sterling Thistleton meet his maker

before he met that poker?

You mean died before he was stabbed?

How's that even possible?

A heart attack, maybe.

Perhaps. But that's not all. Look at this --

His blood alcohol levels -- through the roof.

This man was as pickled as an onion.

Which tallies with Jupiter's version of the story --

you know, his slurred speech, he was unsteady on his feet...

Did he die of alcohol poisoning before he fell on to the poker?

Peggy, the evidence photos...

I don't believe this.

We've had this down as a murder from the off.

##

As I remembered -- barely a drop imbibed.

Well, if he wasn't walloped on whisky, what was he drinking?

##

- Ugh. - Oh.

That morning at the crime scene.

Bingo, Peggy.

To the Manor.

- Does this mean? - Cancel the pillow.

They know about Jupiter,

won't leave until they have a statement.

Hasn't Venetia been through enough?

Well, I could turn the hose on them?

- On who? - The press.

No need. I've just had a call from the station --

and Jupiter's coming home.

It's not a murder enquiry anymore?

We can turn this to our advantage.

For Sterling. Let them in.

I'll shortly be announcing our new Head Nose.

##

Sterling Thistleton died before he hit that poker.

And I have a horrible feeling I know how.

As I feared...

empty.

##

##

Sterling was poisoned...

with Sterling.

You don't mean he...

he drank it? Could that kill someone?

Sister Boniface: Besides essential oils,

the main compositional compounds of a fragrance

can include benzyl alcohol, acetone, ethanol,

ethyl acetate, benzaldehyde,

formaldehyde, and methylene chloride.

So pick your poison, Peggy.

How did he not realise?

Well, I have a theory, but it's not a pretty one.

Are you familiar with the term anosmia?

Ooh.

How long before Jupiter starts re-orbiting?

We have touch-down.

Venetia: As we close this frightful chapter in Thistleton's history,

I'm inviting you all to become a part of our future,

by sampling our two competition entries for Head Nose.

We'll begin with Sarah-Mary Clam's.

Happy with your scent?

You should be.

- Thanks. - Mm.

Means a lot. And you?

Well, I hope so.

There's an awful lot riding on it.

Top notes of peach and orange blossom.

Drying down to a base of...

Is that coconut? Delightful.

An exceptionally strong start, well done.

Next, Bramwell Baisley...

Don't I get a shot?

An innocent man. Incarcerated no more.

A hair's breadth away

from a devastating miscarriage of justice.

Correction. You're on police bail.

And ready to claim my rightful crown

as the next Head Nose of Thistleton's Fine Fragrances.

Very well, but we're doing this by the book.

I'll fetch your entry.

Don't worry. Thistleton's is safe with me.

##

##

The bottle's been washed out thoroughly,

but the former contents remain searingly detectable.

What are you talking about? What's going on?

Sister Boniface: His signature scent,

hidden in his favourite drink -- a rather romantic detail.

And the perfect way to disguise a fatal dose of ethanol.

Are you suggesting? That's absurd.

Who in their right mind would drink perfume?

When did you first realise that your brother had lost

his sense of smell?

- And taste. Lost his "gift"? - This is preposterous.

My brother was in perfect health.

Sister Boniface: Was it the day of the testing,

when he didn't notice that Sarah-Mary

had changed his formula?

Or when he didn't react to

the stench of the civet being dropped?

I have a competition to judge.

With sales down the pan,

a dud Head Nose would present quite the threat

to your business...

You so deserve a peaceful and well-earned retirement.

Make Bramwell do some of the heavy lifting.

- Or Sarah-Mary. - Snakes, the pair of them.

I'm ten times the Noses they'll ever be.

Even without your gift?

I know, Sterling.

How could you possibly think you can carry on as Head Nose?

Sterling: How can you survive without me, more like?

Look what I've achieved -- from nothing.

- I am Thistleton's. - We did it together.

Sterling: Oh, I dragged you along behind me.

I'm the gifted one.

Yes, but you can't smell anymore.

You know the state of our sales,

one more flop and we're finished...

Dear brother.

If you can't retire for me then do it for the company -- the one

you say you love so much.

Thistleton's was never just perfume.

You're the only other person who truly understands that.

Thistleton's first, always.

My decision is final. Now where's my whisky?

Very well...

If that's the way you want it to be.

You haven't a drop of proof that I touched that bottle,

or tampered with it's contents.

A drop, no.

But a smudge...

Ethyl acetate.

A fragrance compound capable of dissolving

nitrocellulose in nail varnish.

Sterling: Venetia! Where's my damn whisky?!

##

In other words... veritable paint stripper.

##

Do you think I wanted this?

Thistleton's meant everything to both of us.

But his refusal to bow out made it clear he'd lost his mind,

along with his gift.

He was going to take the company down with him.

I had no choice.

But you did. You chose murder.

The truth is --

if I'd been the one threatening to destroy

our family's legacy and future...

...my brother would've done the same to me.

And I would have applauded him for it.

Venetia Thistleton,

I'm arresting you for the murder of Sterling Thistleton.

You are not obliged to say anything

unless you wish to do so,

but what you do say may be put into writing

and given in evidence.

What are you doing? Get your hands off my mother.

- Stand back. - She didn't kill Uncle Sterling.

It's all on you now, darling.

Promise you'll do what's right for Thistleton's.

Promise me.

##

How do I know what's right for Thistleton's?

I don't know how to run an empire.

I'd say forget about what's right for the company,

do what you usually do -- what's best for Jupiter.

##

Thank you all for coming.

As the new owner of Thistleton's Fine Fragrances,

I will be appointing myself the very first Global Ambassador,

spreading the word across an international market of dinners,

black-tie receptions, and parties.

Oh, and I'll be choosing a new Head Nose --

to do all the boring stuff back here.

So, our second entry, without further ado -- Bramwell Baisley.

Now, don't be shy, sniffers for everyone.

There you are. One for you, Sir.

Oh.

Cyril...

I hope I got it right.

Oh, you have. You truly have. Thank you.

How did you?

I didn't have the words to say how sorry I was,

so I hoped that this might prove how I really feel about --

And right now on with the winner,

because I've a plane to catch --

Wait. Brammers needs another go.

You can't win with an old formula.

I know.

And I don't want to.

I have everything I need right here.

Sarah-Mary Clam, we're in public.

Jupiter: The next Head Nose

of Thistleton's Fine Fragrances is...

Female announcer: For a refreshing modern spritz,

look no further than Jupiter Rising.

The inaugural fragrance from new Head Nose Sarah-Mary Clam.

Thistleton's Fine Fragrances -- the classic choice

for a new generation.

And there are wedding bells. What do we think?

Does this say "Thistleton Manor Wedding"?

You'd be in danger of upstaging Victoria, Mrs. Clam.

- Oh. - Sam:

Oh, erm, I almost forgot.

They kindly let me loose in the fragrance lab...

And after much analysis of neurological pathways

and nasal receptors, I believe...

...I was indeed born with "the gift of a Nose."

Let me know what do you think?

No name yet, but suggestion box open.

Mm. I-It's very, er, unique.

Sam?

I -- erm -- it's not really my area...

Felix?

I can honestly say that my nostrils haven't quite

encountered a smell like this before.

Is it really that bad?

Oh...fish bums.

Let's just say...

I think you may've just come up with the perfect name for it.

Oh.

Very good.

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