All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries S18E03 What the DickensM !.e

- Effie, if you don't hurry,
we're going to miss the boat.

- Almost ready!

What do you think, Tiny Tim?
(gasps)

- Uh...

Are you sure you don't want to
get dressed when we get there?

- George, this whole Charles
Dickens weekend was your idea!

I thought you wanted to get
into the spirit of things.

- Spirit. I see you've taken
that quite literally,

Jacob Marley.

Have you done your teeth?

- Yes.
- Oh!

What do you think?
Crutch or no crutch?

I have to admit I feel
a bit foolish now.

- George, we haven't
got time to change!

- I know.
- We've got a boat to catch.

- Right.
- Hop on!

(indistinct chatter)

- Remarkable!

Absolutely remarkable.

- A new invention, Detective?

- Ooh, ah, well, it's
an improved invention.

You may recall a device of mine

some like to refer to
as the Trackizer?

- Of course.
An extremely useful invention,

if somewhat conspicuous
for the wearer.

- Yes.

Correct, um,

this tracking prototype

allows me to determine
the precise location

of this sensor represented
by a steel ball bearing

and powered by electrical
coils and magnets.

- Does it have a name?

The, uh...
(snaps fingers)

Map-o-Matic?!

- Geographic Probability Sensor.

- Hm.

- And this G.P.S. you would
attach the tracking sensor

to an individual
you're surveilling?

- Yes.

I've installed transmitters

in all of the police call boxes.

They work together
to triangulate

the location of the sensor.

They are, in turn, all connected
to one central location,

which is, in turn,
affixed to the model.

- And this will work?

- Well, the device's range
is limited,

so it would have to be
someone we know

won't be walking too far away.

- Henry!

- Sirs?

Oh, is this some kind of maze?

I don't like mazes.

Can't see the point.

A straight line
is always faster.

- It's a model
of our area, Henry.

I need you to walk
your regular beat

and then stop somewhere

and we will use this G.P.S.
device to locate you.

(birds chirping)

- I didn't mean you should
take off all your makeup.

- It's fine.

How's your stomach?

The deckhand said he's never
seen someone

get so seasick on a river.

- Well, I have a delicate
constitution, you know?

- Mm-hmm.
- Welcome!

Welcome!

You must be Mr.
and Mrs. Crabtree.

Patrick Tavistock.

I am honoured to be your host
at this very special

centenary celebration
of Dickens's birth

here at my very own Bleak House!
Ha-ha!

- Have you been here long?

(birds cawing)

- Mr. Tavistock?

(birds cawing)

Mr. Tavistock?

- Huh?

Did you know that Dickens
himself is said to have visited

this house on his
North American tour in 1842?

Imagine!

- How wonderful!

- Wonderful! Yes!

Indeed.
Come in, come in!

- So, Mr. Tavistock,
you're the president

of the Dickens Fellowship?

- Of the Ontario Chapter.

Excellent costumes, by the way!

What do you think of mine?

- Yours?

Uh, excellent. Bravo!

- Edwin Drood himself,

presumed victim of Dickens's
unfinished mystery novel.

- Ah! Very good.

- And this, of course,

is Grip, named in honour...?

- Of Dickens's pet raven.

- That's a very striking ring.

- Thank you, my dear.
Dickens's own.

Do peruse the memorabilia case
when you have a moment.

Many Dickens items
from my personal collection

on display, as well as a few...

treasures on loan.

Come, come!

(indistinct chatter)
Fellow Dickensians!

I have a very exciting surprise.

- Oh?
- But first,

there is a small matter
I must attend to.

In the meantime,

please continue enjoying
the Smoking Bishop punch.

Ha-ha!

(moaning)

Oh!

- I suppose you shall be
haunting me presently.

- Oh, you're, uh,
dressed as Scrooge.

- I am. Bertram Gower,
biographer and historian.

- I'm Effie Crabtree,
Crown Attorney,

and this is my husband, George.

- Ooh!

- This is Clayton Selwood.

He's a... a playwright
who directs our theatricals.

Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree.

- The Artful Dodger.
- Ah, well spotted!

(chuckling)

And what do you do,
Mr. Crabtree?

- I'm a member of the Toronto
Constabulary.

- And a writer.

He's published several
wonderful novels.

- Oh! A fellow scribe!

You must meet Miss Lila Chester,

our group's most
prodigious reader

and that is saying
something. Hm?

- Ah, Miss Havisham,
Great Expectations.

- Yes!
And like Miss Havisham,

I too have been unlucky in love.

Left at the altar.

- Oh, well, that must have
been quite an ordeal.

- Pfft. Twenty years ago,
darling.

But at least this way I get
some use of my wedding dress.

(chuckling)

That wasn't directed
at you, Bertie.

Bertie and I broke things
off last year.

He's a bit sensitive.

- A unique interpretation
of events.

- Oh, the gang's all here.

- Uh-oh.
- Not again.

- Tiresome.
- Who is that?

- She claims to be Dickens's
granddaughter,

but, uh, no one really
believes her.

- This is far more
of an intimate gathering
than I expected.

- Mm. I suppose the journey
was too much for some.

- I don't know why we couldn't
meet in Toronto.

- Oh.
- Just because Tavistock

bought himself an island.

- Bertie's still sour
about losing out at auction

to Patrick for Dickens's
cameo ring.

- It didn't even
fit him properly!

- Bertie, oh!
- Bertie, at least you have

mementos that Dickens's family

gave you when you were
researching your biographies.

How can a poor playwright,
like myself,

ever outbid a man with pockets
as deep as Patrick's?

- Where is Patrick?

He was so excited
to reveal his surprise.

- No, go on! Go on!
(clanking)

- Good heavens.
What was that?

Fire!

- George!
- Oh!

(coughing)

- Where's Patrick?

- Are you all right?

- Yes.
- Oh!

A note!

- Wha...

It says, "He would make
a lovely corpse."

(theme music)

- Well, the note sounds
like a threat.

"He would make
a lovely corpse."

- Oh! That's actually
a quotation

from Martin Chuzzlewit.
- Oh!

- Martin who?
- Oh.

- I-It's a Dickens novel.

Still, it's very suspicious.

And we don't know
who wrote this note

and I swore I heard shouting.

- That's definitely Patrick's
handwriting.

- Oh!

This must be the surprise
he was talking about!

- So maybe this could be a game.

- Huh. Patrick does love
his puzzles, just like Dickens.

- Oh! And he was dressed
as Edwin Drood.

- Oh!

- Who vanishes
in the Dickens novel.

- Oh.
- So our host has contrived

his own disappearance.

Dirk Datchery, detective.

- Ah, yes. The detective from
The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

Very good. But, sir,
now is hardly the time
for costume playacting.

- There's something written
on the other side.

- It says, "So it begins"

and then "dash north."

- Ah! Ah!
This settles it.

We have a conundrum
on our hands!

- Ooh!
- I think you're right.

(laughing)
- What's this?

- It looks like
a piece of grass.

- I think it's parsley.
- Aha!

I deduce our host has garnished
the scene for our delectation.

- Ooh!
- Why set fire to his own house?

Doesn't make any sense.

- That is why we must
puzzle it out!

Come, Mr. Crabtree.

We must solve the mystery
of Edwin Drood!

(laughing)

- Did Mr. Tavistock seem

worried about anything earlier?

- No! Exhilarated,
if anything.

- Look, this case has
a six-letter pass-lock.

- Ooh, hoo, hoo, hoo.

The passcode is almost certainly
connected to the Drood mystery.

- Could it be the name
of the character Dickens

intended to be Drood's killer?

- Well, who did Dickens intend
to be the killer?

- Nobody knows.

- It's Jasper.
The wicked uncle.

- Oh? Ha! Jasper.

Yes!

No.
- Oh!

Try Helena, Helena Landless.

- Mm-mm.

- I know!

It's Puffer.
- Thank you.

- Princess Puffer
of the opium den.

- Ha!

- Are these all character names?

(scoffs)

- Uh, perhaps it's just Dickens?

I mean, he's the ultimate
killer, if you think about it.

D-I-C-K-E-N-S.

Oh, never mind.

- What about the note?

Shouldn't we be focused
on the note?

- Yes!
- Indeed.

(indistinct chatter)

- The ball hasn't moved
in some time.

- Henry seems to have stopped
at Scott's diner.

- They have a lemon pie
special today.

- Then let's go have a slice.

- No, I've never been.

- I don't think
we've met, Miss...?

- Dickens.

Tanis Stony Dickens,

Charles Dickens's granddaughter.

- Why is it that no one believes

you're Charles Dickens's
granddaughter?

- Maybe because I don't
look the part?

But apparently, it's because
I lack evidence to back it up.

My father Francis sold off
his heirlooms,

including a pocket watch
to Mr. Tavistock.

- Dickens's son,
Francis Dickens,

was a member of Canada's
Northwest Mounted Police,

but he died, childless, at 42.

It's well-documented.

- George.

I think those two must be
sweet on each other.

- Who? Him and her?
Yes, they keep lurking
around one another.

- Mr. Datchery.

He's never been to one
of these things before.

- Maybe "dash north" means
we should search the island?

- But the door was locked,
and it leads south.

- Oh, damn!
- No, no, no!

We need to be clever.

Patrick loves word play.

- What if "dash north"
is an anagram?

- Oh!
(laughing)

Uh...

- Shorthand.

"Dash north" is an anagram
for shorthand.

- Well, there's no shorthand
written here.

- Unless there is.

Invisible ink.

(laughing)

- That's Dickens's shorthand!

- Uh, hm?
What's that?

- When Dickens was
a parliamentary reporter,

he developed his own notation,
unreadable to anyone!

- This must be why Tavistock

insisted I bring
my own documents.

I have Dickens's only
extant shorthand key.

Come, everyone,
it's in the display case.

- Is this supposed
to be open like this?

(sighing)

(gasps)
- No!

Patrick promised us
he would keep it locked.

- Is anything missing?

- Dickens's pocket watch
is gone.

- It's the only item missing.

It must be another clue
from Patrick!

- In The Mystery of Edwin Drood,
Drood's watch and chain

were the only traces
of him ever found

after his mysterious
disappearance.

- Tavistock must have planted
the watch somewhere

to further hint at his location.

- Are you sure it's not
simply a robbery?

- I deduce if it were
truly a robbery,

the glass would be smashed.

- Not to mention all my valuable
memorabilia is still here,

including the shorthand key.

(indistinct chatter)

- Henry.

Where's your uniform?

- Well, uh...

It was stolen, sir.

- Are you eating pie?

- Well, couldn't
very well go out

in this state of undress,
could I?

There's a couple slices left
if you're interested.

It's good.

- So, the missing pocket watch,
that belonged to your father?

- So she claims.

- Yes.

He inherited it from Charles.

Then shortly before
my father's death,

he sold it to Mr. Tavistock.

- Yes, and at the price Patrick
says he paid,

I could almost have
afforded it myself!

What I wouldn't give.

- So you really wanted
that watch?

- Oh, oh.
Desperately!

But I didn't steal it!
(laughing)

Maybe your line of work
has given you

a suspicious nature,
Mr. Crabtree.

But I am certain
this is all simply a game.

Is that another L?

- Are you acquainted
with Mr. Datchery?

- L, L. All!

- No. No, no. I, uh,
I-I've only met him today.

- This one could be an R.

- Oh! Yes, it is!

Uh, so this could be year.

- And this is the symbol
for round, or around.

- All year round.

(gasps)

(together): All The Year Round!

(laughing)

- That's one of Dickens's
periodicals!

- Tavistock is sure to keep
bound volumes in the library.

- Oh, ho.

(bird cawing)
- Ah! Oh! Oh!

(gasps)

- Oh! Ha, ha!
A dead Drood!

Oh! Patrick has really outdone
himself this time.

(chuckling)
We must now investigate

who has done
this dastardly deed!

And congratulations, my friend,
on a superb entertainment.

(laughing)

- I'm afraid this is
no entertainment.

- Huh?

- Our host is dead.

- Mr. Tavistock was acting
irrationally.

Do you think he was ill?

- I'm afraid not.

He was bludgeoned
with a heavy object.

- No, no weapon is apparent,
Mrs. Crabtree,

this most certainly was murder,

murder most foul,
as foul as a killer's dark--

- Murder.
Yes, Mr. Datchery.

- The culprit must be one of us.

There's nobody else
in the house.

- One of us?!

- We all left the den
at least once.

You left to look for the raven,

Mr. Gower left
to fetch pipe tobacco.

- I myself left
innocently twice.

Indeed, Miss, yes.

Any one of us could have
committed this wretched crime

and I intend to find out who.

- You?
- Ah, yes.

I am a detective, after all.

Rest easy, Mrs. Crabtree.

I will solve this mystery

and ensure Mr. Tavistock's
killer is found.

- He still has his billfold
and a key.

- The key is for
the memorabilia case.

- But look,
his ring is missing.

- And the missing pocket watch
isn't on his person, either.

I wonder if the killer--
- Killer took them!

Look!

Here's a volume
of All the Year Round.

And there's another note inside.

"When it all began."

- Mr. Datchery,
the game is over.

Now, this candlestick--
- This calendar is askew.

- This candlestick seems
to be one of a pair.

I wonder if the missing one
is our--

- Murder weapon!

(indistinct chatter)

- How many thieves were there?
- Were four.

Gigantic brutes!

Mm, most of them, anyway.

When I tried
to arrest them, sir,

they laughed at me
and they stole my clothing.

- Oh, well, that's good.
- Good?

- Yes. It means
they've unwittingly stolen

the G.P.S. sensor.

- And we can track them
using your new invention.

(chuckling)
Come along, Constable.

Uh, we'll have to get you
a new uniform.

- Uh, will I have
to pay for that, sir?

(clears throat)

- Are you satisfied?

- Yes, thank you.

- So nobody has
the watch or the ring.

- Or the candlestick.
(grunting)

- Good Heavens!
What are they doing?!

- I asked them to move the body.
It was distressing the ladies.

- It's compromising
evidence, man!

- Sir, there is no need
for concern.

I have a photographic
recollection.

I've committed all the relevant
details to memory.

- Ha!

He is no master sleuth.

He is Dr. Carmichael Doughty,

the lout who jilted me
at the altar twenty years ago!

I recognized you at once, Carm.

- The name is Datchery
and do you blame me

for coming fully in costume

knowing this is
the reception I'd get?

- So you lied about
not knowing him.

- Well, clearly,
I never knew him,

or else I wouldn't have been
standing alone

at the altar on our wedding day!

(clears throat)
- Right, then.

Now that everybody
has been searched,

I will comb through the rest
of the house for the watch,

the ring, and the candlestick.

- I will assist you.

- Oh, no, you will not.

In fact, Effie will escort
everybody into the den.

And keep them there.
- Of course.

I'll see what else
I can find out.

(indistinct chatter)

- I think it's stopped.

- I know that building.

It's an abandoned
furniture warehouse.

- Should we bring them in?
- No.

If they've stolen
a police uniform,

they may have something bigger
in mind than robbing a diner.

- And if we leave now,
they might depart

while we're not watching.
- Precisely.

That's why there's another
device I think we should use.

- Most of you were acquainted
with Mr. Tavistock.

Can you think of any reason
someone would wish him harm?

- Bertie was obsessed
with Patrick's cameo ring.

- Of course she accused me.

Miss Chester is just bitter!

- Oh!

- Maybe she went after
Tavistock herself!

We all know
she has a fiery temper!

- Bertie, don't! Please.

- Mr. Gower was jealous
that Mr. Tavistock gave me

Dickens's tortoiseshell
match case just last month.

(gasps)

Maybe he did kill poor Patrick!

- Ah, that's absurd.
I'm not a killer!

- Neither am I!

- The two of you probably
did it together.

- How dare you!
- Together?

- Oh, never!
- Do stop quarrelling, please!

- I'd sooner do away with Bertie
than Patrick any day!

- And I'd sooner die alone
than be with you!

- I hope you do die alone...

- Here.
- What's this?

- A Dickens adaptation.

It's the only thing
that will calm them down.

(indistinct chatter)

- The target has started
to move again, Inspector.

It's time to go.

(indistinct chatter)

(bird squawking softly)

- Oh, for Pete's sake!

I thought I told you
to stay out of it?

- I didn't want to deprive you
of my powers of observation.

Ooh. What have you gathered?

Ah!

Wig glue, I see.

Yes.

Yes, that's mine.

- I found this
in Tanis Dickens's room.

I'm not quite sure what
it's supposed to be.

- Another Drood costume,
I believe.

Princess Puffer.

Perhaps she planned to wear it
and then thought better of it.

I found all these Dickens
portraits in Mr. Gower's room.

This one...
was under his pillow.

He loves his Dickens.

- Perhaps a little too much.
- Mm.

(moaning)

- Good grief.
- Oh.

- 'Tis a day to be
remembered

when Master Copperfield
pays us a visit.

- I trust you are well,
Mrs. Heep.

- Thank you, Master Copperfield.

We've looked forward to your
visit for a long while.

We had feared our...

'umbleness stood in the way.

- I assure you
that's not the case, ma'am.

- Boo! Boo!
- Shh!

- Why should I humour a man
who may well be the killer?

- Huh!
- This horrendous performance

reminds me: Tavistock
bad-mouthed your last two flops

to all our mutual friends.

- My plays are very
well-respected!

- Nobody likes your plays,
Mr. Selwood.

Least of all any critics.

- Nobody likes you,
you fabulist!

And yet you keep insisting
on showing up to our gatherings

in some sort of p-p-perverse
display of defiance!

(clicking)

- Do you hear that?
- Yes.

My senses are very keen.

(clicking continues)

(screaming)

(sighing)

- Give me that!

Who are you?

- I'm the cook.

- You're not cooking.

You're stealing
from Mr. Tavistock,

who was just murdered.

Where have you been all night?

- Hm.

He's dead, is he?

God forgive me, but I don't
much care for the new master.

And I haven't seen him
all night.

- Is that right?

Turn out your pockets.

(both): Parsley!

- Just like the parsley
found in the foyer

when Mr. Tavistock disappeared.

- All right.

I was in the foyer.

Mr. Tavistock let me in.

I told him I wanted more money

if I was going to cook
for you lot.

He told me to go and find
and take whatever I want.

- Oh, just take
whatever you want?

Is that why you're smashing
into his money chest

with an icepick?

- With his permission!

Just couldn't find the key.

- What's going on in here?

- I think we may have
found our murderer.

(indistinct chatter)

(sighing)

- I don't see anyone in uniform.

Are you certain your
device is working?

- The thieves should be
just ahead of you

on your... left, Inspector.

- I see him!

- All right, very carefully,
see what he gets up to.

(suspenseful music)

(indistinct chatter)

- George.

- Hm.

- I can't sleep.
- What?

- Are you sure the cook
is guilty?

- Oh, Effie.

- What about the watch
and the ring?

Why would she hide those
if she was openly stealing?

- Effie, I don't know.

I just know I'll sleep better
with that wild-eyed,

icepick woman locked safely away
for the night.

(sighing)

(sighing)

- It's no use.
I need a book or something.

Maybe I will read
some Dickens, after all.

(clock ticking)

(thudding)

(indistinct chatter)

- He stopped.

He's lingering behind a bank

and there's a special fortified
motor car with guards.

- Stay there and keep watching.

- He's watching them
bring a deposit in.

But if I move, he'll see me.

He's leaving.

- Uh...

Right. Uh, stay with him
and I'll come find you.

- That might be best.

I think they're planning
a large withdrawal.

(suspenseful music)

- Is someone there?

(thud)
(grunting)

- You make a good point.

About the coo... Effie?

- Help! Oh! Somebody help!

- Effie?

- I found her out here
on the floor.

- Effie, are you all right?

- George?
- What happened?

- I saw a light
under that doorway

and then somebody hit me.

- It's locked.

(grunting)

(gasps)

- Good Heavens!

It's Mr. Gower.

- Is he dead?

- And the missing murder weapon.

I think we've found
Mr. Tavistock's killer.

- Should we let Datchery in?

He is a doctor,
according to Lila.

- Well, a doctor's not going
to do much now, Effie.

This certainly
could have been the weapon

used to kill Mr. Tavistock.

Mr. Gower doesn't seem to have
any sort of marks on him.

Effie.

Perhaps he took the opium
and then drowned himself?

- Someone else could
have drugged him.

- That would explain
the pyjamas.

- Unless he was
extremely modest.

Could we close his eyes?

His pupils are huge and staring.

- I noticed Tavistock's pupils
were dilated

when he was greeting everybody,
right before he disappeared.

- You know...

Opium has the exact opposite
effect on pupils.

It contracts them,
almost to pinpoints.

- Well, if that's the case,

someone's placed
this opium bottle here.

This whole scene
has been staged.

(indistinct chatter)

- So, after witnessing
the bank delivery,

you and the Inspector tracked
the thief back to the warehouse.

- Yes, where our tracking
ball is now stopped.

- And why aren't we arresting
the thieves now?

When we're in the position
to prevent a crime?

- Well--
- Instead, we sit in judgment,

like all-seeing gods,

waiting for these flawed mortals
to fail yet again.

- We are only surveilling one
person, Watts, a known thief.

- I was the one that made
the decision, Detective Watts,

that it would be
far more valuable

to catch them in the act.

And if Detective Murdoch's
hunch was right,

that was a main bank that the
thief was watching last night,

so it frequently rece--
- ...receives deposits

from the smaller branches?
- Yes.

And I'm told the deposits
arriving this morning

are the biggest of the week.

- So you think both men were
drugged with the same substance?

- It stands to reason,
but I don't think it was opium.

They both had dilated pupils
and Tavistock was nearly giddy.

- The cook also described him
as acting strangely.

Maybe he really
did encourage her

to help herself to his money.

- I recently read about
Devil's Breath tea.

It leaves one in a highly
suggestible trancelike state,

easily controlled by others.

They make a drug from the plant.

It's a, an anesthetic used
in surgeries. Scopolamine.

- George, do you think somebody
could have snuck it

into Mr. Gower's tobacco?

There's his pipe.

- Which means this is
his teacup.

- Look!

Not just leaves, as in our cup,
but seeds and stems.

What do you think?

- I think Tavistock and Gower
were drugged

with Devil's Breath tea,
making them easier to kill.

(dramatic music)

- Our vantage point here is not
ideal, Detective Murdoch.

We can't see what's happening
without revealing our position.

- Yes.

Here, use this, Inspector.

- Oh. Ooh.

- It's my invention:
a circumscope.

- Oh my!
I can see everything!

- Shh, shh.

- The thief is distracting
the driver!

(suspenseful music)

(indistinct chatter)

His accomplices
are taking the money.

Should we move in?
- Not yet.

(suspenseful music)

(grunting)

- They're going to drive away!

- Now, Henry!

(tires popping)

- Toronto Constabulary!

(grunting)

- The thief is getting away!

(panting)

(grunting)

(panting)

- Brains and brawn.

I'm impressed.

- Thank you, sir.

- I'll be wanting
that uniform back.

I just got those
pants broken in.

- Mr. Gower did not
take his own life.

He was killed by the same
person who killed Mr. Tavistock.

We believe both men were
drugged before they were killed.

Now--
- I have deduced

what truly happened!

Mr. Tavistock planned
this entire weekend

around Dickens's Edwin Drood,

and Drood is exactly
what it all comes back to.

Now, the "all the year round"
clue actually

points to this calendar,
which is set to the wrong date.

Did nobody notice?

The next clue,

"when it all began," is a hint

to the date we should turn to:

Dickens's birthdate, of course.

That's February the 7th.

Ah!

(gasping)
"EDROOD."

Why? Because Tavistock
imagined that Edwin Drood

faked his own murder to expose
his uncle's deadly designs.

And perhaps Tavistock knew
exactly what Dickens intended

because hidden inside
the briefcase

is the real ending
of Edwin Drood!

(all gasping)

Dickens finished it, after all.

Tavistock acquired it,

and someone here
was willing to kill for it.

But who?

Why, the failed dramatist,
of course, Selwood.

Selwood had flop after flop.

His only success is in staging
Dickens adaptations.

And what a coup to mount
the first complete Drood

with Dickens's original ending!

- Well, tha... that-that's
not the real ending!

Why, why, it's, it's typed on
a typewriter, for pity's sake!

No, it's probably the one

Tavistock was writing
six months ago!

Wh-Why would I kill for it?

Personally, I prefer my own!

(chuckling)
You, you have to believe me.

- Well done, Mr. Datchery.

You may not have unmasked
the killer,

but you've solved
Mr. Tavistock's parlour game

with the greatest of ease.

But perhaps too much ease?

The murderer must've been privy
to the game

that Mr. Tavistock
was playing with us,

for the killer needed inside
knowledge of his plan.

Specifically, how Tavistock
was able to disappear.

And these murders
weren't about Drood.

They were about love.

Several times since arriving
at Bleak House

I've felt cold drafts.

First, in the foyer,

shortly after Tavistock's
disappearance,

and again, here,
when I was examining

a very strange row of books.

Have any of you ever heard
of Lard Times?

The Old Curiosity Slop?

- Huh.
- No?

David Lobsterfield?

(chuckling)

I may not know much
about Dickens,

but I do know
that these are not real books,

and this is not a real bookcase.

It's a secret passage.

(suspenseful music)

(gasping)

The killer knew that Tavistock

used the secret passage
to disappear.

So, he slipped in afterward

and caught him by surprise.

Being a doctor in real life,

Mr. Datchery knew of a drug
called scopolamine.

Is that right?

He used it to make
his victims compliant.

These murders were really about
Datchery's love for Lila.

He came to win her back,

but first he needed to clear
the field of his rivals:

Tavistock, who was wooing her
with Dickens's memorabilia,

and Gower, whom he feared
was hoping to reconcile.

- 'Tis true. I, I did attend
this weekend

because I love Miss Chester

and I've always regretted
leaving her,

but I did not kill those men.

For two decades,
I have suffered for my mistake

in leaving the most enchanting
woman I have ever known.

Miss Chester, I hope I can
persuade you to forgive me.

- There's nothing
to forgive, Carm.

- Really?

- You don't believe this,
George.

Surely you don't!

- Well, you and Mr. Datchery
tell interesting tales, Effie,

but what about the missing ring,
the missing pocket watch?

The stories are good,
but there are plot holes.

(birds squawking softly)

I think I have it.

Mr. Datchery, you were right.

The evening was intended
to be about Drood.

Tavistock was excited
to unveil the new ending

he'd written for Dickens's
unfinished mystery,

and he'd laid out an elaborate
puzzle to entice his guests.

I imagine he planned to plant
the pocket watch

as a later clue,
probably before revealing

the secret passage.
Effie, you were right.

Tavistock used that passage
to disappear.

- Oi!

- But he was startled when
he was confronted by the cook.

- You have to pay more!

Gimme more money!

- More money. Fine! Fine!
Help yourself.

- Being in a highly suggestible
state from his drugged punch,

he agreed with her
that she should help herself

to more money, but, uh,
being in this muddled state,

he also dropped his lantern,
starting a fire.

The killer later
followed Tavistock

through the secret passage and
killed him here in the library.

The Devil's Breath tea
would have made that easy.

Just as Gower's drugged tea
would have made it easier

for the killer to suggest
to him a bath

and then drown him
with little resistance.

The killer then left two items
at the scene of Gower's death.

One, a candlestick suggesting
it was Gower

who murdered Tavistock
and, two,

a vial of opium suggesting
he had then taken his own life.

But how did the killer know
about the secret passage?

For that, it either had to be
someone who'd been here before,

or someone who'd known someone
who'd been here before.

Dickens had been here
before in 1842.

He knew about
the secret passage.

From Dickens, that information

was passed on
to his son, Francis,

and from Francis,
it was passed on...

to his daughter.

You hated Gower.

He'd always denied
your birthright,

always said that you weren't
truly a Dickens.

And you were infuriated
with Tavistock

for buying the pocket watch

which you believed
was properly yours.

In fact, that's why among all
sorts of valuable memorabilia,

the only item stolen
was that pocket watch.

As for the ring, the culprit
is someone else entirely.

Gower told us the ring
didn't properly fit Tavistock,

and when he was killed,
it fell from his finger

onto the floor,
and being a bright,

shiny object,
it was collected by...

...Grip.

(gasping)

- I did know about the passage.

My father mentioned it
to my mother,

who told me about it.

And you're right.

I was angry.

Gower sneered at my claim.

And Tavistock bought my legacy
for a song

when my father was down
on his luck.

(gasping)

You people all idolize
my grandfather.

He wasn't always
that nice of a man.

He only gave his pocket watch
to my father

because he considered him
a wastrel who was always late.

I brought a costume,

but I didn't need to dress up.

None of you could ever see me
for all that I really am:

A proud daughter
of my ancestors.

And a true descendant
of Charles Dickens.

- Did that breakfast gruel taste
a little off to you?

- Well, I don't think the cook
was thrilled

about being locked up.

- Huh. I, I think perhaps
next year, we'll go back

to our usual Dickens birthday
brunch in the city, hm?

Perhaps an occasion for my new
production of Edwin Drood.

- Hm.

- Best of luck.

- And? What of you two?

- Well, we are to be wed
as soon as possible

before he runs away again!
(laughing)

- I deduce I've waited
much too long as it is.

Come along, dear.

- Farewell.

George.

How is it you knew so much
about Devil's Breath tea?

- Actually, I've been doing
a little bit of research

into poisons and the like.

- I hope I can trust
your intentions.

- Of course you can.

But I've been thinking--

- You want to write
another book.

- I do.

Ah, seeing these people
so profoundly influenced

by the work of a writer.

It's been... strange,
but inspiring.

- You need to get back
to writing.

Even if that means
going away somewhere

for a while to get your head
back into it.

- If I did, I'd miss you.

Terribly.

- I'd miss you, too.

But telling stories
is a part of who you are.

What will it be about?

- It will be a fictionalized
account of some of the cases

the Detective and I have
worked on together.

- Ah. Like Holmes and Watson?

- Uh, somewhat,
but in my telling,

the assistant
will be the clever one.

I mean, all the best fiction
is based somewhat in reality.

- Detective Murdoch.

A moment of your time, please.

(sighing)

- Yes?

- There's something
I need you to see.

Follow me.

Constable, hit the switch.

(epic music)

I thought your devices deserved
a room of their own.

- Thank you, Inspector.

This is... wonderful.

- A place for your amazing
inventions.

And for all the new ones
yet to come.

(theme music)

Subtitling: difuze