All language subtitles for S01E08 Away with the Fairies

Seven o'clock, Ariel.

Home time.

There you go.

Ariel!

Mm, morning, Dot.

Morning, Miss.

Didn't you used to know the editors
at the Women's Choice Magazine?

What do you mean, used to?

I just heard the news
on the wireless.

Miss Lavender has died.

Oh, dear. When?

This morning, they said.

And all her wonderful stories.

Now we'll never know if Hilda
and the Blue Fairies

were rescued from Marvin.

Marvin who?

Marvin the Malevolent
Monitor Lizard.

Miss Fisher!

We tried to keep any suspicious
circumstances away from the press.

And you did a first-rate job,
Constable.

I wasn't suspicious at all
until I saw you.

Hello, Jack.

Sorry, sir.

Phryne! How appalling this all is.

I'm so sorry, I only just heard.
What happened?

If you'd both like
to vacate this office,

we might find out. Now please.

If I could just have
a quick look at her...

Not yet, Miss Charlesworth, please.

Ladies?

Blue as a cornflower
and cold as ice, Stephen said.

Well it wouldn't have been
her heart.

We all know she didn't have one.

Come on, everyone.
No time for the vapours.

We still have a deadline to meet.

Do the police know how she died?

Not that they're telling me.
These are my tireless workers.

I'm sure you've all heard of
the honourable Miss Phryne Fisher?

My former pupil,
now dear friend.

This is Mrs. Helen Opie, in charge of
domestic and cooking pages.

who does the gardening section.

It's a pleasure to put faces
to bylines,

in spite of the circumstances.

But where's Stephen?

The one who phoned
poor Miss Lavender?

Stephen Opie is my husband.

He's the office caretaker.

And he's managed to fix
those damn pipes, I see.

We have running water again.

Only took him three days.

Perhaps you'd like to make
the first pot of tea, Miss Prout?

Come on, Phryne,
let's take some air.

Is there anything I can do to help,
Miss Charlesworth?

Georgina.

I can't bring myself to call a
teacher by their first name,

and Miss Lavender would
never condone such a thing.

Poor Marcella.
She did love her formalities.

I was surprised when I heard you left
the Argus to start Woman's Choice.

I thought newspaper journalism
was more your style?

But how many women
read the newspapers?

If I have to run 100 new recipes
and dress patterns

for just one article
on women's health

or education that may change a life,
then I'm happy.

No wonder my father didn't stand
a chance against you.

He was wrong, I was right.

One clever, grubby little girl

gets to stay at school
and look what you end up with.

Sad truth is, though,

most of our readers
are waiting with bated breath

for the next instalment
of the Blue Fairies.

Which hasn't been written?

It has, but it's now off limits
in Marcella's office.

And if we don't meet the printer's
deadline for the next edition,

I don't know how I'm going
to pay this fortnight's wages.

You know I can loan you the money.

Don't you dare.

I couldn't accept it.

In that case, Miss Charlesworth,
may I be excused?

I'd better try and retrieve
your story.

Now tell me, Jack.

Does that new furrow in your brow

have anything to do with kissing me
the other night?

I didn't kiss you.
I was trying to protect you.

All in the line of duty?

You were looking a gunman in the eye
and I had to distract you.

I'm sorry if you think
I took a liberty.

Jack, you kissed me.
Let's call a spade a spade.

You kissed me back.

And I'm not here to apologise.

Then why are you here?

I need a favour
for Miss Charlesworth.

I've already asked her to wait.

I promise I won't touch anything.

Technically brilliant,
but not particularly avant-garde.

Obviously her blue period.

Blue seems to have been her colour
till the bitter end.

I would have guessed a thrombosis

if I didn't suspect
somebody had it in for her.

I think that classifies
as touching something.

Would you like me to slip on
some gloves?

No.
Just the desk drawer...

Goodbye, Miss Fisher.

If you happen to find that story...

It may be relevant to the case.

Hilda and the Blue Fairies
versus Marvin the Monitor Lizard?

I'll let you know later today.

Do you have any idea who might want
to hurt Miss Lavender?

Well I don't think this is
just about Marcella.

There was a brick through the door
last night.

We've been harassed before.

There was a dead possum
dumped on the doorstep,

a prank phone call
and another break-in or two.

Did you report them to the police?

Mindless vandalism, they called it,
but I wasn't convinced.

A bunch of women with opinions.
Not everyone likes that.

No.

It may sound fanciful,

but I'm convinced someone has it
in for the magazine.

Then I'll make it my business
to help find out who.

Fifty uses around the home
for lemon juice,

how to make the perfect
Yorkshire pudding every time,

and four whole pages devoted
to needlework.

Who on earth wants an embroidered
lavatory seat cover, anyway?

But there was a story on women going
to university in the last edition.

And in August, they had an article
on family planning.

My mother returned it
and asked for her money back.

Who's Artemis?

She solves everyone's problems.

My friend, you know Alice,
she wrote to her and asked about

whether she and Cec
should get engaged.

And what was the advice?

She said she could do better
for herself.

But it was too late by then.

And you can't do better than Cec.
Except for Hugh.

Excuse me. Detective Inspector
Robinson is here.

Hello, Jack.

Marvin the Monitor Lizard
gets his just desserts

and Hilda saves the day.

Jack! You've ruined it for Dot now.

Oh, no, I read it for my nieces.

Oh, be my guest. We found it
in a box of files

we took back to the station,
but it's definitely not evidence.

Not unless Miss Lavender
was poisoned

by a band of five-year-olds.

Well, I will just take it upstairs,
then.

Poisoned?

The Coroner seems convinced even
before the autopsy.

It was Prussic acid poisoning.

Cyanide? How was it administered?

No idea at present.

She'd been dead since early evening
the night before.

What time did she usually leave?
I noticed she was wearing her coat.

Very good. Seven o'clock every night
on the dot.

I heard Miss Lavender taught you
at school.

What kind of woman was she?

Cold as a halibut on ice.

Are you wooing me for information,
Inspector?

Miss Fisher, another visitor.

Lin!

My apologies for the intrusion.
Detective Inspector.

Nice to see you again, Mr. Lin.
Come and join us.

I'll call for some tea.
No, I was just leaving.

If you could just make sure Miss
Charlesworth receives that envelope.

Thank you.

I'm not surprised
about Miss Lavender.

The old trout made more enemies
in a month

than Genghis Khan in a lifetime.

Any chance of joining you
on police rounds?

I'd kill to come along.

No need for that, Miss Prout.

And I'm in no doubt
about your enthusiasm.

We found this
in Miss Lavender's files.

It's only a carbon copy, but I'm
sure you've seen the original.

It's a letter of warning,
addressed to you.

Please, come in.

She found out
I was trying to moonlight.

And threatened to sack you?

She had the nerve
to tell the newspaper

that I was being dishonest.

All I did was submit some articles
which were damn good.

It was none of her business.

So you and Miss Lavender
didn't see eye to eye?

Miss Charlesworth didn't agree
with her, either.

You should have heard their rows.
Miss C's a serious journalist.

Started at the Argus.
Now that she's the boss,

I'm sure things will change
for the better.

I've missed you, silver lady.

Likewise, beautiful man.

Now tell me why you're here.

I thought you had a whole
Chinese dynasty to appease.

Ah, my engagement has been
indefinitely postponed.

What happened?

Grandmother feels Camellia
is not demure enough

to be her daughter-in-law.

She's answering her back.

I like the sound of Camellia.

Grandmother questioned her chastity

and she refused
a medical examination.

Never mind a woman's privacy
when a dowry's at stake.

The longer it takes
to resolve this dispute,

the more time I have with you.

True.

But not today.

So Mr. Opie,

you found Miss Lavender dead
at six o'clock that morning?

Well I fixed the pipes
before I went upstairs.

See, we'd been without running water
in the building

for a couple of days.

I saw the smashed window
from the outside first,

and when I went upstairs
I saw that slogan on the wall.

I checked the office, but
Miss Lavender's door was locked,

so I used me master key.

Right.

So what time did you leave?

I caught a cab around six.

I promised Stephen
I'd be home at 6.30.

Me wife got home a bit after seven,
I think.

She shouldn't be putting in
such long hours on a job like that.

But Helen tends to lose track of
time when she's working back.

You live in Richmond.

You allowed half an hour
for a five minute trip?

Just as well I did.
There was a traffic hold up.

A tram became unhooked, but Miss
Lavender was still there, though.

She's always the last to leave.
Just made the rest of us feel guilty.

So you were the last person
to see Miss Lavender alive

when you left work that evening?

Seems that way.

Hello, Mr. Bell.

John, please.

Not Giovanni, if I recognise
that continental charm?

I've lived here many years,
Miss Fisher.

I know the limits
of the local dialect.

But you don't feel hopelessly
outnumbered on the magazine?

I was raised by five sisters.

I like the company of women.

Besides, my nom de plume
is Miss Green Thumbs.

Well, Miss Green Thumbs,
perhaps you could help me.

I've met everyone on the paper now
except for Artemis.

Whose nom de plume is that?

I'm forbidden to tell you.

Really?

Really.

There's a price, I'm afraid.

Who's Artemis, your agony aunt?

Marcella Lavender.

Why hasn't anyone told the police?

Because the staff all know

that to reveal her identity
means instant dismissal,

and because the police would want me
to hand over

all of Artemis' letters.

And to do so would be a gross breach
of our readers' confidentiality.

Has it occurred to you that one of
those letter writers

could be disgruntled enough
to be a cold blooded murderer?

The thought had crossed my mind,
in my spare moments.

Unpublished, those we haven't got
to yet, and never to be published.

The rest are in the magazine.

I have been meaning
to go through these myself,

check if there's anything fishy to
hand on to the police but frankly,

getting the next issue
of our magazine out

is a matter of our survival.

Excuse me, Miss Charlesworth.

I've been thinking.
Mmm, here's trouble.

Remember those articles we wanted
to do, Migrant Melbourne,

where we interview newcomers?

Sounds more interesting
than how to make an Easter bonnet.

Much more.

Miss Lavender hated it.

But now we can go back
into her office,

I thought that I perhaps could
resurrect it from her reject pile.

You're a shameless opportunist.

Show it to me
and I will consider it.

An enthusiastic recruit,

but not the type to let a dead body

get in the way
of her naked ambition.

Such a pretty colour.

Did you take this?

Ah, yes.

That's one of her better portraits,
if I do say so myself.

It's called a cyanotype.

It turns everything Prussian blue.

Found it, eventually, in a big red
file labelled 'rejected'.

Must have been
one of her favourites.

Oh, lovely. Covered in corrections.

Half my pictures are missing.

Brilliant. Jammed again!
Where is Mr. Opie when you need him?

He does have other offices
to service, you know.

Mr. Bell... could you? Pretty please?

Why do you think I could fix it?

You fixed Miss Lavender's
music box.

I'll never get this obituary done
with everything else on my plate.

Perhaps you could entrust
the Artemis letters to me?

I know someone absolutely perfect
for the job.

Phryne, would you?

I don't think I could bear
to wade through

all that heartache right now.

Oh honestly, this is the worst job
Miss Fisher has ever given me.

This sad soul has lost her husband,
her job,

and she has a sick kiddie
with another on the way.

This one has some terrible
medical condition

and this poor woman
has nine children

but doesn't want to deny
her husband.

Well if those ones
are upsetting you, Dorothy,

I'll take the
'never to be published'.

Who knows what monsters lie there?

So Miss Prout had a motive because
her career was on the line.

Mrs. Opie had a spare
hour of opportunity,

Mr. Opie had a spare key to the
locked office. What about Mr. Bell?

Ah, he was booked into
a Spencer Street hotel

with a lady friend for the evening.

He is a dark horse.

What about Miss Charlesworth?

What about her?

Well, she and Miss Lavender had
serious creative differences.

Did you notice the cyanotypes
on the walls?

Those blue photographs in the office?

Of course I did.

Made from a solution
of ferrocyanide.

Damn! How could you know that?

Could that be our cyanide compound
used to kill Miss Lavender?

Not sure.

Who was the photographer?

Georgina Charlesworth.

You'd find out anyway,
and it doesn't mean she did it.

Hello?

Miss Fisher? Hugh.

I know where to find you and I'll
make you pay for what you told her.

I think something just came up, Jack.

That's a threat if ever I heard one.

So this was hand delivered
to the magazine?

No return address
except the sender's name,

'Desperate's Husband'?

All we have to do
is keep going through the boxes

till we find Desperate's
original letter to Artemis.

What were you doing with them?

I thought, with Miss Lavender gone,

Dot might like to be
the magazine's new Agony Aunt.

Collins, go and assist Miss Williams

to sort through
the rest of the letters.

Bring back anything you think
constitutes evidence. Yes, sir.

I'll head back to Women's Choice
and go through the back copies.

If Desperate's husband is our killer,
his wife's letter is our only lead.

I'm so sorry,
we misplaced your photograph.

There's been a bereavement
and everything's been in chaos.

No matter.
This picture is almost the same.

Same squadron, same aeroplane.

I will guard it with my life,
I promise.

Right, this is the last
of our previous editions.

Where is everyone?

Mrs. Opie's gone out to buy
ingredients for a new recipe.

Mr. Bell must have gone
for cigarettes, as usual.

Oh, that man really is the limit.

How's that migrant article
coming along, Letitia?

Coming along quite nicely, Miss C.

I just have to check a fact
with one of my migrants.

I'm going to see if I can catch him
at the bottom of the stairs.

Do that.

Dottie, do you think you're
the right kind of person

to be giving this advice?

Maybe they need someone
with more experience.

Miss Phryne wouldn't suggest me if
she didn't think I could do the job.

Besides, all these people need
is some common sense advice

and some kind words.

Alright.

What about this one, then?

'Dear Artemis, I've been going out
with the most wonderful girl

for nearly... six months now,

to the pictures and dancing
and on walks.

I think she's kind,
and I think she's funny,

and she has a lot of common sense.

And I think she likes me too,

but how can I be sure
if she's my girl?'

Six months, you said?

And he thinks she's wonderful?

That's what it says.

Well, I... I suspect she likes him
too. A lot, probably.

So...

Common sense tells me
she's definitely his girl.

Well thank you, troops,
for an heroic effort today.

With a good wind behind us,
we may just make the printers.

I hope so.
I only have one more recipe to go.

Miss Letitia Prout?
Yes?

Yes, my Migrant Melbourne articles
will be on your desk at 9am sharp.

Feel free to take anything you want,
Phryne.

I'm just going
to lock Miss Lavender's office.

Of course. I'll come back tomorrow.

Goodnight!
Goodnight.

Oh, look at that!
I do admire the girl's pluck.

But she has no sense
of order whatsoever.

Coming?

Mr. Lin to see you urgently, Miss.

Lin, what's the matter? What's...

Phryne Fisher,
may I present Miss Camellia Lu?

I'm honoured to meet you, Camellia.

She knows no English,

but I have a problem I need
to discuss with you privately.

Mr. Butler,
perhaps you could show Camellia

through to the dining room
and offer her some tea?

Yes, Miss.

Tell me all.

Grandmother wants
to send Camellia home,

but the Hus have refused
to pay her passage.

So Grandmother took her revenge on
Camellia, with a bamboo cane.

How awful!

Don't worry,
Camellia fought like a tiger.

But I need you to keep her safe
until I calm the waters.

Of course. Camellia will be my guest
for as long as she needs.

Oh, it's alright, Miss. Come in.

If you go back to your room...

Mr... Mr. Butler will bring you
your things.

Goodnight, Camellia.

She's...

She's had a good soak in the bath.

Lin's gone home for the evening.
He'll call on Camellia tomorrow.

She left this downstairs.

I wonder if that's
her wedding dress.

Quite probably.

Such a shame she won't get
to wear it.

How can you tell anything?
It's all in Chinese.

I can tell it's about Communism.

Is Miss Lu a Communist?

There's clearly some connection.

She may have a much more colourful
history that Mr. Lin's family knows.

Would Mr. Lin object?

His grandmother most certainly would.

Let's keep a close eye on her.

I like to know exactly what I'm
dealing with in a house guest.

Miss Fisher. I apologise.
I think I misunderstood.

I thought it was Mr. Lin who was
joining you for supper tonight.

Never mind, Mr. Butler.

Perhaps a little more light
on the situation,

but I'm sure the Inspector
and I will cope.

Mr. Chung looks well.
We crossed paths as he departed.

I hope you like Chinese food.

Is that better?

Miss Prout is behaving very oddly.

I'm not sure what it has to do with
Miss Lavender's death yet, but...

I think this should tell us.

O... V...

No, no, U.

O... I... N... G.

What's that?

It's the sign for pounds.

'I know what you did.
I will expose you.

Bring...

Two... nought... nought...
two hundred...

Two hundred pounds.

Nine... pm.

In five minutes' time!

Oh no!

I can't believe it!

Poor Letitia!

Should I notify her family?

Ah, no. They've been notified.

The man Miss Prout arranged
to meet last night,

could it be the same man that I
saw her with in the office yesterday,

and then later downstairs?

I can't imagine he'd return
to the scene of the crime,

assuming he murdered
Miss Lavender as well.

It's too coincidental.
He must be connected.

He gave her a photograph
for the article she was working on.

Oh, I'm sorry...

Which has disappeared.

Inspector? A Constable Collins
on my telephone for you.

Thank you.

'Since I had the new bub,
I can hardly rise from my bed.

The children look up to me

and I feel nothing
except a hopeless failure.

I can't help thinking they will all
be better off without me

and I should just walk out
the door.'

I'm sure she felt worse after she
read what Artemis had to say.

I found her reply after you phoned,
Dot, published two weeks later.

'Dear Desperate, slothfulness
demonstrates weakness of character.

Shake off your malaise with
housework and a strict routine

to serve the needs of your husband
and children,

and you'll have no time
to wallow in self-pity.'

Think the husband's our man?

If his wife left him
and he blamed the advice.

Is there an address
on that envelope?

Bring the car around, Constable.

Good work, fellow sleuth.

Go around the back way, Collins.

And be careful, there might be
children in the house. OK, sir.

Hello, anyone there?

Oi!

What's going on?
Desperate's husband, I presume?

When did it happen?

She left the children with the
neighbours, caught a bus to Rye.

It was about a week ago.

The day it happened,

someone saw her walking
on the cliffs,

just before she, um...

Police said it took all day
to recover her body

and track me down.

So where were you that night?

Frankston Police Station, mostly.

They called me in
to identify her body.

Then where'd you go?

I went to that magazine building

and I threw a brick straight through
their front window.

And I found some old paint laying
downstairs.

I just wanted them to know
what they did to her.

Did to us.

They told her to buck up.

What sort of stupid bloody women
run that place?

And last night? Where were you?

Here. I haven't left this house
since the day my wife died.

The children?

Well welfare took them.

Said I was a risk.

I'd never hurt my kids.

They're all I got left.

His name is Robert Green,

and Miss Lavender was already
lying dead inside her locked office

when he threw a brick
through her front door.

So what are you looking for now?

Evidence of Miss Charlesworth's rift
with her business partner.

Aha.

Looks like some kind of contract.

Offering Miss Lavender
a new position

to oversee the publication
of her entire body of work.

I'm sure she had all kinds of offers.

Signed the week before she died.

Well, either way, she would have been
lost to Women's Choice,

and how would murdering her help
Miss Charlesworth?

Why don't you ask her yourself,
Miss Fisher?

In the event of
either partner dying,

the other partner becomes
sole owner of Women's Choice.

I see.

The Inspector's trying to confirm
what I have already told you.

Why would Miss Charlesworth volunteer
that information if she was guilty?

What about Miss Prout? You think
she just pushed her down the stairs?

Can we not discuss the case
in front of a main suspect?

Main suspect?
I'll go.

No, stay, and help me
mount your defence!

Phryne, darling,
I've had two deaths in two days.

I don't think I have the strength
to mount anything.

Oh, damn!
Miss Charlesworth, that is enough.

Miss Charlesworth may have had
motive and the means,

but she did not kill Miss Lavender!

That's clean water.

What's your point?

How could Miss Lavender have a jar
of clean water in her office

if the pipes had been broken days?

And weren't fixed until the morning
after she died.

I fixed the pipes at six o'clock
the night before.

Why the deception?

Because I didn't want my wife to
know that I came back that night.

How could she not know?
She was working back.

No, she wasn't.

Miss Lavender was the only one here,
and when I left her, she was fine.

Where was your wife?

I'd like to know the answer to that,
even more than you would.

Oh my God. How much does he know?

Mrs. Opie, it's not just your husband
you've led astray.

This is a police investigation.

I went to meet a friend. A man.

I waited till everybody left
the office at five,

then I left shortly after.

Miss Lavender was the only one
still here.

This gentleman friend's name?

I'd rather not say. But the hotel
could confirm that I was there.

Your adultery is your alibi,
Mrs. Opie.

It was John Bell, wasn't it?

It's not grubby, like you think.
We talk, mainly.

About the world, and art.

All the things Stephen thinks
I shouldn't be interested in.

Have you told my husband?

That's not our job, Mrs. Opie.

You dropped one.

She was going through the letters.

Perhaps they read each other's
mail...

She was reading.

I thought she couldn't
understand English.

I'll eat my hat if that's true.

Mrs. Opie and Mr. Bell provide
each other with an alibi.

What about Mr. Opie?
His first instinct was to lie.

He has no one to support
his alibi that night

and he has ample opportunity.

Just short on motive.

Maybe he wanted to sabotage Women's
Choice by killing Miss Lavender

to get his wife to come home
and cook dinner more often.

Some men will do anything
for a hot meal.

Excuse me, Miss Fisher,

there's a Miss Williams
on the telephone for you.

Lovely, thank you, Dot.

I think it's time you levelled
with us, Camellia.

Your English is far better
than you would have us believe.

Your reading material suggests
an educated woman.

And you seem to be able to hold
your own with Granny Lin

in a way that deeply impresses me.

You are right.
I am sorry, but it was necessary.

We only want to help you.

Please, I have lied to the Lins.

I am a widow.

My parents forbade my marriage,

because my husband
was a member of the Communist party.

So we eloped to Shanghai,

where my husband was executed
along with many of his comrades.

I had no choice but to flee,
and beg for my family's mercy.

My father made the necessary
arrangements

to find a new husband for me,
as far away as possible.

I have brought great dishonour
on my family.

If I go home,
I'm afraid my father will kill me.

Don't worry, Camellia.
We will find a solution.

If what you've told me is true,

I could never allow her
to be sent back.

So what are your intentions?

I realise you have no obligation,

now that your grandmother
no longer considers her suitable.

But of course. I will see to it that
she has money and somewhere to live.

Alone?

In a strange country?

Shunned by your family,
with no family of her own?

But she's obviously made
one friend already.

Your grandmother won't find you
another bride like Camellia.

She wants a daughter-in-law
who's compliant and ignorant.

Camellia is strong. Clever.

And you are now her advocate?

You made your choice,
to follow your tradition,

and marry for duty and honour.

Perhaps I was wrong,

and this broken engagement
is my last chance... for love.

Come out with me tonight
to Chinatown for dancing.

Not tonight.

I have to rise earlier
than I care to.

Inspector Robinson and I
are working on a case.

Is he unable to solve crimes alone?

Jack is strictly business.

Lin...

I care for you.

But you know I can never commit
myself...

...to any man.

I know.

I've turned the office upside down
looking for that migrant article.

I can't find it anywhere.

No one else saw him?

They met in the middle of the office.

He was bald and plump,
with a moustache.

Well, Mrs. Opie
didn't catch his name,

and Mr. Bell can't recall
meeting him at all.

But I made some notes

when Letitia first talked about
doing an article. Here they are.

'Barber By The Bay.'

The photograph
that you gave Miss Prout,

it was of you, in the war?

With my squadron,
Aeronautica del Regio,

taken before we were shot down,
all of us,

and the Germans took us prisoner.

Is that what the article was about?

No.

The young lady was also interested
in the fighting.

But the other one...
Miss Charlesworth?

No, her name was like a flower.

Ah... Lilac?

Miss Lavender?
Lavender.

She come to see me
to ask about the war.

And about the story of the man
who was once my friend.

What man?

The man I showed her,
in the photograph.

Just more pictures
of the barber shop.

Look for images with a plane
in the background.

Mr. Butler?

This one has uniforms.

That's him. That's our man.
Who?

Giovanni Campagna.

That's odd.
He didn't say he was going out.

Did you hear the front door, Miss?

Check Camellia's room, Dot.

Help!

A Studebaker.

Are you sure?
Where will they take her?

Yes, I'll meet you there.

Lin.

There's a boat to China at midnight.

I recognise the two men
at the far shed.

Camellia must be in there.
Did you come armed?

Please,
these men are my cousins.

Alright.

You create a diversion
while I slip inside. Ready?

Help!

Those thugs! Bastards! Animals!

It's close by. There's two of us.
Time to fight like a tiger.

Ya!

Ya!

Brilliant!

No!

Grandmother! I know you're here.

Show yourself.

This ends now.
Camellia is to be my wife.

I will not allow this harlot
to bring shame to my family.

It's my family too, and I'm taking
my role as the head of it.

And Camellia will be by my side.

Sorry!

If you're going to demand a
denouement, Miss Fisher,

the least you can do
is turn up on time.

What is all this about,
Detective Inspector?

John Bell, you're under arrest

for the murders of Miss Marcella
Lavender and Miss Letitia Prout.

What?
Mr. Bell, do you deny it?

Well of course I deny it!

What possible motive
could he have for murdering

Miss Lavender and Letitia Prout?

Miss Fisher,
perhaps you'd like to begin?

The name Giovanni Campagna.

Miss Charlesworth,
you have a smattering of Italian.

How would that translate
into English?

Oh well, Giovanni is John, and...

It's John Bell, isn't it?

That's right. Interesting, because
Giovanni Campagna is a traitor.

He spied for the Germans

and was responsible
for hundreds of Italian pilots

being shot down in flames
over the Austrian Alps.

But this can't be true.

You led us to believe that you were
brought here as a child.

If he hadn't fled Italy
he'd have been tried for treason,

and probably shot.

These are all lies!

I can assure you, Mr. Bell,
we can prove it.

The Italian Embassy
has been quite helpful.

What has this to do
with Marcella and Letitia?

Meticulous Miss Lavender found the
photograph of John Bell in uniform

that Miss Prout missed in her
Migrant Melbourne article.

Miss Prout only noticed
the familiar face later

when her Italian barber friend
gave her a better photograph

to replace the one that
mysteriously disappeared.

Why didn't either of them
go directly to the police?

Miss Prout attempted
blackmail instead

and ended up at the bottom
of the stairwell.

But Marcella would never stoop
to such immoral behaviour.

I suspect she gave him advice,

as usual and hoped he'd do
the noble thing and turn himself in.

She appealed to his better nature.
But he didn't have one.

No, he was with me! He couldn't have
killed Miss Lavender.

I knew it!
Oh, Stephen!

Wait!
Stephen!

Take it easy.

I'm sorry, Stephen.

Thank you, Collins.
Mr. Campagna was a pilot.

All pilots were given cyanide
capsules to take in case of capture.

You decided to save your bitter
pill for a rainy day.

But the problem was,

how to administer it without being
connected to the crime.

Then, opportunity presented itself

in the form of Miss Lavender's
broken music box.

Because, as he obviously knew,

cyanide mixed with an acid
gives off deadly fumes

and turns everything it touches
into a lovely shade of blue.

John, how could you?

Get out of my way!

Take your hands off me!

Get up!

Move forward.

Chin up just a fraction.

Thank you very much, Camellia.

Well Phryne, you were right.
You are perfectly lovely.

Whatever happens,
people will sit up and take notice

with the soon to be Mrs. Lin Chung

heading your Migrant Melbourne
article.

And you must be Dorothy.

What a splendid Artemis you make.

There's a cheque for you, waiting
in my office, and a permanent job,

if you'd like to try something more
challenging than a lady's companion?

Oh, no, I could never leave
Miss Fisher.

I would understand, Dot,

if you want the opportunity
to try something different.

You're different enough for me,
Miss. But thank you.

Yes, she's certainly different.

Jack.

Good of you to come.

And what puzzle
are we solving tonight?

No puzzle.

And no candlelight.
No chopsticks, either.

There won't be chopsticks
at this table for quite some time.

And how will Mr. Lin feel about that?

Mr. Lin would have quite enough
to worry about

with his Communist
revolutionary fighter bride.

Really? Pass on my congratulations.

Perhaps we could allow ourselves
just one candle.

What do you think?

I think I could cope with that.