All language subtitles for The Collector - S02E11 - The Ripper

Once the season be cold, eh, governor?

Spare a halfpenny for a
pint to warm a fella up.

No, not for drink. Oh, then how about two
pennies to take you across the rustics?

I thought you might find it a
comfort to see an unfamiliar face.

Body of Christ.

The face of a good man can't disguise the
evil behind it. Just the point that Mr.

Stevenson was trying to make.

It's a wicked play. Have you seen it?

Do you have a name for me?

Personally, I like how it explores a
dichotomy between man's two natures,

the angel and the devil, as it were.

Or someone gets throttled in it like one.

Do you have a name for me?

Oh yes, I have a name.

But I think you'll
like this one very much.

Jack the Ripper.

Yes, you've taken an
interest in this one, haven't you?

You even went to the morgue
to see Annie Chapman's body.

I suspected he was one of yours.

Jack's already killed once tonight.

Later tonight, the end
of the stride lost her

head about three quarters of an hour ago.

But poor Jack got
interrupted and was left unsatisfied.

So another unfortunate will be
chosen to save Jack's appetite.

He's going to kill again tonight.

She goes by the name of Catherine Meadows.

If you hurry, she might catch her.

But she will have to hurry. She
only has ten minutes left to live.

How will I find him?

I don't know his real name.

Check your watch.

Your client just walked
right by you. Happy hunting.

Look, all I want to know
is if you've seen her.

This is a fine suit.
Better than their Budapest,

but I'm sure it would look better off.

I was told you're a friend of
Catherine Addo's. I must find her right away.

What do you want
Catherine for? I can do better.

I don't want sex.

Everybody wants sex.

And pretty, no?

I even had a paint
dress to paint my picture.

Liar.

It's true. Your friend is in danger.

Grave danger. Now you
must tell me where she is.

She went that way.

Have you seen Catherine Eddowes?

What's going on here?

Here, this is the one who was asking
about Catherine. It's he. Oh, wait.

Oh, my God.

How did you know?

Don't you walk away from
me. You tell me, how did you

know? Constance let him
go. I'm not afraid of him.

I'm not the one who did this.

I'm looking for him, too.

Oh, we are, are you?

Well, you're not a policeman,
because I know all of them.

And not one of them's
ever been this close on

the Ripper's trail, so you know something.

I don't want to hear any coppers
talking to anybody about last night.

And as long as I'm in charge of this case,

I don't want anyone talking to the
papers about those bloody letters.

Do you understand? Yes,
sir. I'll be about an hour.

Come back for me. Yes, Inspector Avalon.

Yes, you've taken interest in this
one, haven't you? But poor Jack.

Got interrupted. It was left unsatisfied.

So another unfortunate would be
chosen to save Jack's appetite.

He's gonna kill again tonight.

You really ought to take
better care of them letters.

That'd be worth good money someday.

If the police had paid
any attention to these,

they might have caught the Ripper by now.

Or was that the Ripper's deal?

To kill and never be caught?

Oh, and what do you
suppose you can derive from

these letters that the police have not?

He's educated.

The misspellings in these
letters are intentional.

He misspells the same word in
different ways in the same letter.

Why would an educated man want to do such
terrible things to them poor unfortunates?

Yes.

We're prostitutes.

I think it's sexual rage.

Frustration.

Really?

I've collected from
killers like this before.

They rape their victim either
while they're killing or after,

but this one's different.

I think there's a reason
he's not having sex with them.

You might be onto something there.

And he's an artist.

This isn't blood, it's paint.

Well, best of luck persuading
your client to go to hell early.

Because dear Jack's
already got plans for tonight.

Well, if I ain't the angel of death.

What are you doing back here?

I'm looking for your friend Nellie.

Yeah?

And why is that?

He was too good for her last night.

She mentioned that a painter wanted to do
her portrait. Was she telling the truth?

What business is it of yours?

Perhaps I'll buy her portrait for my wall.

His name's Sickett.

Walter Sickett.

Bit of an odd duck. Likes to
use us ladies of the night.

As his models.

And no funny business
neither, from what I've heard.

Lord knows Nellie could use the
money, what with raising a daughter, no?

He's sicker.

Where can I find him?

He's got a studio in Camden
Town, 6 Mornington Crescent.

Entrez, ma chérie.

Can I get you something to drink?

Gin, alright? Yes.

Good.

Why don't you get ready?

Ready?

To model.

You don't have a problem
taking off your clothes, do you?

I keep them on when I'm working.

I assure you, my dear, my
interest in you is purely artistic.

Alright, let's get started,
shall we? Is that better?

Am I going to pose like this?

I have another tableau in mind.

Lay back.

You're getting paid for this.

Good.

Now, face to the left.

Arms by your sides.

Come now, this is
nothing I haven't seen before.

Let me see.

Left leg straight, the other one bent.

Good.

What the hell are you doing in my studio?
Preventing a murder from the looks of it.

Don't be an idiot. It's for a painting.

I was trying to get a view
of myself in the mirror.

A view of Jack the Ripper?

You put her in the same
position as Catherine Eto'o's body.

You were there last night.

I saw you leaving.

So you just happened to be walking by.

I'm an insomniac.

I wander the streets at night. I heard
the police whistles as I assume you did.

So you decided to paint the murder?

I have a special interest in Jack.

I was thinking of painting a
whole series on the murders.

Get your things.

Excuse me?

She's my model.

Well, then I guess you'll just
have to use your imagination.

He held up a knife? He
was posing for the picture.

Oh, the bloody bastard.
Who does he think he is?

He didn't hurt me. Oh,
don't be daft, Nellie.

If this fella hadn't
saved you, you could be dead

now. He was going to pay
me. I need that money.

Emma, have you been a good girl?

Yes, Mama. Look what I got for you.

Take your daughter to the
rooming house off Miller Square.

Get a room and stay in it until I
come for you. Do you understand?

Do it, love. Look, Emma's a lovely
one. Too good for these streets.

No, you've done enough.

But if you care to come by
and let me earn it sometime.

It's not enough to take their souls.
You have to take their jewelry, too?

Oh, this fine gentleman's not one of mine.

That's neither his soul nor
his jewelry I'm interested in.

Don't you suit me, don't you think?

What are you after, then?

The organs, dear boy.

They'll fetch a pretty penny.

And selling them is an
excellent way to meet a class

of people very open to other transactions.

You sent for me. What do you want?

Oh, just a check on your progress.

I was a bit surprised you did not state
your true business to that Sickert fella.

You know as well as I
that if that woman had

heard me speak of the devil and his deals,

she would have gone to hell on the spot.

You're remarkably squeamish.

For a collector.

What's one whore more or less as the
price of stopping Jack the Ripper?

If he is Jack the Ripper. Well, so you're
doubting your own detective work, are you?

I just want confirmation before
I consign his soul to the pit.

You need not draw such fine lines.

And if you don't start doing
your job, two more will die.

Why would you care about that?

Because, dear boy, the longer you
wait, the more the finger points at you.

Paying your respects?

You're a difficult man to
track down, Mr. Dickens.

Fortunately, you have a rather
memorable name. Any relation, Charles?

No.

Inspector Frederick Abberline.

You're the one
investigating the Ripper murders.

That I am, sir.

That I am. And I'm
having rather a rum go of it,

I don't mind saying,
which is why I'm here.

I'm told you were at the scene of
the Ripper's murder last night.

As were several other people.

Several other people weren't
observed breaking into premises that

didn't belong to them and
acting in a threatening manner.

Are you going to charge me with something?

These are strange days, Mr. Dickens.

Strange days.

First, I'm told that
somebody is asking around

about Catherine Eddowes before she died.

And then this morning, my entire
file of Ripper letters goes missing,

only to turn up four hours later.

You wouldn't know anything
about that, would you, sir?

The papers mock me every day.

Well, I intend to put an end to it.

If you are the Ripper, I'll kill you.

If you're not the
Ripper, and you get in my way

of finding the man who is, I'll kill you.

All in all, I'd watch
my step, Mr. Dickens.

Good day to you, sir.

Emma, I'm just going to get
us something to eat. No, Mama.

Stay here. Hey, it
won't be all right. I don't

want to be alone. I
promise you, all right?

But you will have to hurry. Your
client just walked right by here.

I even had a paint dress to paint
my picture. He's named Sickett.

Walter Sickett.

Oh, is that a present for
meself, and so nicely wrapped, too.

Oh, now, you're not going to waste
that fine body now, are you, Mr. Dickens?

I mean, have a heart,
and a liver, and a kidney.

May the Lord be with you and your spirit.

Now what the devil drew that for?

The Ripper wants attention.

That's why he writes all those letters.
That's why he gives clues to the police.

But he won't get attention from this one.

He may be brighter
than you look, dear boy.

I think Jack may be
very annoyed about this.

He knows who I am. He'll find me now.

Then I'll be sure.

Well, I hope you're right.

For the sake of the one
that's still on Jack's list.

You awake?

Your mum's not here then.

She went out for a drink, did she?

Maybe that's her now.

And I'll give her a piece of my mind.

Sweet Jesus, Nellie!

What am I going to tell Emma?

Nothing yet. I'm going to take her.

Take her? Where?

To my flat.

I want to keep an eye
on her and on you too.

What?

You want me to come with you?

Just till tomorrow night.
Just till this is over.

Over? What are you talking about?

I can't explain, but I have it on good
authority that after tomorrow night,

the Ripper will be out of business.

You was asking about
Catherine before she were killed.

And now you tell me you
was the one to find Nellie

and hid her body. Why should I trust you?

If I were the Ripper,
you'd already be dead.

We all takes the measure
of a man in our own way.

Oh, yes, sir.

I think so.

Is it the one you was
asking about, Sickett?

You said he just paints
pictures of your friends.

He doesn't have sex with them?

Lemus might know, says
there's something wrong with him.

Down there.

The equipment don't work.

You think that's why there
ain't been no connection?

He twixt the Ripper and them, he's killed.

He's the one I'll know soon enough. In
the meantime, I mean to keep you safe.

I'll be back in a little while.

You're not understanding me. It's
not safe. He means to kill again.

Yeah, but what of all the other
unfortunates? How are they on the street?

You mean to just let
them fend for themselves?

I can't save everyone.

Judging how you did with
Nellie, you can't save anyone.

Sorry. That weren't fair.

You've done more than most.

Stay.

I have friends out there.

I can find out more about sicking.

Like when me dad's... All
the money he had when he died.

And putting the family
fortune in your hands.

I'll trust you to take
care of it till I come back.

Dickens.

Sleep well, I trust?

What do you want?

Moment of your time,
sir. Moment of your time.

I've been doing a spot
of checking up on you,

and I find that there's very little
to check up on. You have no friends,

you're not engaged in any
business that I can discern,

and the people in the local public houses
don't seem to know your face or your name.

Do you not eat or drink, Mr. Dickens?

I dine at home.

I see. And the accent. American?

No, but I just returned from
spending several years there.

Ah, and what did you
think of our Yankee cousins?

I find people much the same everywhere.

Married? Widowed.

Still a proud father, I see.

She's not mine. I'm just
watching her for someone.

A girl of such tender years,
alone, in a gentleman's room.

Not quite proper, huh?

Are you accusing me of something?

Mr. Dickens, I am a
student of anthropometry.

Do you know what that is?

Identifying criminals by
their physical characteristics.

I see you're a well-read man.

Well, my reading of you, Mr. Dickens,
is that you have a tendency to violence.

In fact, if I were to hazard a guess,
I'd say you had rather a talent for it.

First of all, Inspector Abilene,

your so-called science of
anthropometry is worthless.

I've seen my share of thieves and
adulterers and murderers in my day,

and neither you nor
anyone else can tell one

from another by the spacing of their eyes,

the width of their heads, or
the length of their left foot.

Really?

Really.

In fact, if you were to use real
science in your pursuit of the Ripper,

if you were to secure the crime scenes,

or examine the bodies for
microscopic evidence left by the killer,

or take fingerprint
samples of your Suspects,

and compare them to the
traces left on the many

letters with which the
Ripper has taunted you,

then you might not have so
completely bungled this investigation,

and many of the poor
souls who have fallen victim

to the Ripper's knife might not be dead.

Your manner, Mr. Dickens, does
little to allay my suspicions of you.

If your expertise in tracking
the Ripper is any indication,

then neither of us has anything to fear.

Good day, Inspector.

You were certainly
ardent a poor inspector.

Feel a bit guilty, perhaps?
Move aside. All's I'm saying is,

if you worried more about getting
your client to hell early and less about

who might be going along with them
as a result of the conversation,

well, that little girl's
mother might still be alive.

Move aside.

If you're going to keep coming
over, perhaps I should give you a key.

Get out.

Yeah, I'm having my portrait done, and
for good money, too. I said get out!

I need to be alone with Mr. Sickert.

Well, I won't go!

Perhaps the police would like to
know about your interest in my models.

Especially the ones that disappear.

And what would you know about that?

I inquired at the Ten
Bells pub this morning.

As to Nellie's availability for
continuing yesterday's portrait,

no one has seen her. Should I be alarmed?

I think we both know you have
reason to be alarmed, Mr. Sickert.

Is that a threat?

I don't make threats.

I want you to stay here.

What the bleeding hell did you think
he was doing dragging me out of there?

It's not safe.

He was just starting to talk to me.

I was going to ask him
about Nellie and Catherine. The

others would have had it,
like poor Martha Tabern.

Another hour and I could have
had good evidence against him.

I don't need evidence.

So you have it on good
authority that the Ripper

will be stopped? No evidence needed?

And I presume you mean to
be the one who stopped him?

What if it ain't him?

What if you kill the wrong man?

I'm willing to take the risk.

Oh, that's bloody high-minded of you.

But if you kill an innocent, what makes
you any different from the Ripper himself?

Killing is man's work.

Justice is woman's work.

We'll both go after him.

Tonight.

I'm pleased to see you
believe in equality of the sexes.

At least in bed.

God created Eve to be man's equal.

Ah, he's a religious fella.

Well then, perhaps you
better say your prayer.

Interesting.

He told me I couldn't kill you,
but I scarcely believed it till now.

No.

It's impossible. Jack the Ripper's a man.

Indeed he is.

But only for as long as
he's Jack the Ripper.

That's why you made your deal.

To change you to a man
through your killing?

Not just a man.

A different man every time.

That's why all the letters
were in different handwriting.

All written by me.

Just different me's, eh?

It's time to reveal myself.

Is that why you killed?

To be famous?

Tut, tut.

I thought you favored
the equality of the sexes.

Why shouldn't a woman rise
to the top of her profession?

By killing other women?

You can hardly call them women.

Diseased, uneducated,
disgusting creatures.

I've lived among them.

I know.

He tricked you, didn't he?

Would the devil tell you that
it'd be easier to kill as a man?

That you could kill more
often and never be caught?

But every time there's been a witness,
that's what they've seen. A man, a tall man,

a short man, red hair, dark hair, fair
skin, ruddy complexion, but never you.

They never see you.

Yes, he tricked me.

Every time I went to do my work, I
changed whether I wanted to or not.

I've killed hundreds in my ten years.

It's only in the last month that anyone
suspected it might be the same killer,

and even then everyone thinks it's a
man, thought he jacked the ripper.

But no more.

Tonight, I leave this letter
to be delivered by Mr. Sickert.

Sickert?

Yes, my little helper.

Twisted fellow, but harmless.

He gives me money.

It supplies me with
stationery for my letters.

He was actually doing a study for my
official portrait when you barged in on us.

He'll also be writing an account
of my adventures after I'm gone.

I expect it'll be a bestseller.

So Sigurd knows everything.

All except those few small
details that would send him to hell.

They'll think he's insane. No one will
believe Jack the Ripper was a woman.

Which is why I must kill
one more time as myself.

The devil's gifts end in the
last two days, don't they?

Yes, I can feel that the changing is done.

So, tonight, my last
victim dies in public.

With dear sick at bear to memorialize it.

Alas, spectacular proof of all my claims.

Amusing, isn't it?

You thought I would be the final victim.

No.

No.

Not Emma.

She's not a prostitute. She's a girl.

I said she was too good for these streets.

Now, thanks to me, she
will never walk them. No!

I tried to warn you.

I recommend you to take an
interest in the theater.

Only I suppose it's not
so much man's two natures

you've been exploring as it is woman's.

Sort of a Mrs. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Well, here we are in the last act.

Not much time left till the final curtain.

Well, it's a pity you
won't be there to see it.

I do believe it'll be quite memorable,

what your sweetheart's got
planned for that little girl.

Well, must be off.

I don't want to miss it myself.

Enjoy the show, Mr. Sickert.
Where are you off to in such a hurry?

I was thinking we might go see
your friend, Inspector Aberline.

I'm sure he'd be interested
to find out how long Constance

has been leading you
down her trail of bodies.

I don't expect you to care
that she's about to kill a child,

but I do expect you to care
about your own miserable life.

And if you don't tell me where
she is, your life ends right now.

Constance!

Hello, Morgan.

Come to have a chat?

You best be careful what you say.

Let go of her.

Why should I?

Call it a last act of contrition.

Are you saying that would save my soul?

I've always known where
I was headed, Morgan.

One child more or less
won't make the difference now.

It'll make a difference to her.

From what I hear, your body count far
exceeds anything I could have achieved.

How do you maintain such
delicate sensibilities?

I harvest the guilty. I
don't kill innocents.

And so you've come for me?

But too late.

Dear Emma will be the bell
that rings through history,

reminding generations to come that
anything a man can do, a woman can do better!

Oh, I like the bit about the bell. Clever.

But I'm the one in charge of history.

You won't stop me this time!

The world will know my name!

In about ten seconds, love. You
won't have much to say about it.

You cheated me!

Why help me kill so many and deny me the
credit you told me I was your favorite?

I want your heart, love.

That's why I plan to keep
you close by my side forever.

Congratulations, love.

Now you truly are from hell.

As long as no one ever knows
her name, you're safe from me.

Bring me Mr. Dickens.