All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries (2008) - S04E05 - Monsieur Murdoch (1080p BluRay x265 Langbard)

Please,
just give her this note.

I'm afraid I have instructions
not to accept

any more messages from you.

I'm sorry.

But why?
I don't understand.

You can't just...

I said I'm sorry.

Please excuse me.

Ah, welcome back.

Ah, my good wife,
you look splendid.

Merci.

As do you, Monique.

Merci, Roderick.

I so wish for you
to join us tonight.

Unfortunately, I can't.

But you two go ahead
and enjoy the performance.

Enjoy.

Thank you.

I forgot my camera.

But we'll miss the curtain.

I'll be fast.

Fourth floor, please.

Fourth floor, please.

Has Monique returned?

No, ma'am.

Is everything all right?

Monique Poirier, age 23,

vanished shortly
before 8:00 p.m. last night.

She's here from France
visiting her sister Sophie.

Sophie's husband,
Roderick Dalewood,

is the hotel owner.

The Dalewoods live in suite 409.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

Thank you for coming,
Detective.

Can you explain
the circumstances leading up

to your sister's disappearance?

We were in the lobby,
leaving for the theater.

Monique forgot her camera,

so she went up to the suite
to get it.

She never came back.

I see.

Do you have a photograph
of your sister?

No,
I'm afraid not.

Detective.

I found this in the laneway
behind the hotel, sir.

That's Monique's purse,
her compact, keys, fan.

Where is her comb,
her pearl comb,

and her camera?

It was not in the room.

Well, someone may have
found the purse

and stolen any items of value.

George, check with pawnbrokers
and camera shops.

Perhaps someone will try
to sell the items.

Sir.

That's her room key,
suite 409.

And this one?

This is to room 212.

Sir, why would Monique
have a key to a room

on the second floor
if she's staying on the fourth?

I don't know, George.

There doesn't seem to be
anything remarkable

about this room.

Perhaps,
but a key to this room

was in the possession of a woman
that is now missing,

which makes it a room
of great interest.

Mm, if only the walls
could talk, sir.

Mm.

George, please have
Monique's film developed.

It may give us some insight
into her disappearance.

- Sir.
- Thank you.

Excuse me.

Yes?

Who rented room 212
last night?

Uh... no one, sir.

No one.

When was it last occupied?

Uh...

May 25th.

That's almost two months ago.

- Yes.
- Thank you.

Uh, you wanted to see me,
Detective?

Ah, yes.

You operated
the elevator last night?

Mm.

By all accounts,
you were the last person

to see Monique Poirier.

And that was around 8:00 p.m.?

Yes, sir, right before the end
of my shift.

I took her to the fourth floor,
and then I waited for her,

and then she came back about
a minute later with a camera.

Then she asked to be let out
at the second floor.

Did she say why?

Oh, um, it's...
it's not my place to ask, sir.

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

Monique went
to the second floor?

She knew I was waiting
in the lobby.

She had a key to room 212
for some reason.

Mr. Dalewood, why is room 212
rented out so infrequently?

It looks out onto
a brick wall.

It's our least desirable room.

Hmm.

Sophie, perhaps the detective
would be interested

in the note you found.

Oh, I'm sure it's nothing.

There was a man Monique met
on the train from Montreal.

Somehow he had the notion
that he should call on her.

But Monique made it very clear

she wanted nothing
to do with him.

And what was his name?

Hmm,
I believe it was David...

odd...
Deletran.

Deletran.

What kind of bloody name
is that?

Is he another
garlic-eating Frenchie?

I suspect not, sir.

"De le train" is a grammatically
incorrect way of saying

"from the train" in French.

He was trying to be clever.

Oh, yes, I forgot.

You speak French, don't you?

Yes, sir, educated by Jesuits
in New Brunswick.

Right.

So this David was trying
to be clever.

I can see why she sent him away.

In his note, he cryptically
lists his address

as "number 23
on the street of willow trees."

There's a Willow Avenue
on the beach.

Yes, sir.
I had it checked.

It's owned by an elderly couple,
no David.

What about this hotel room,
212?

Maybe our missing young lady
went there

to "rendezvous avec David."

- It's a possibility.
- Is Inspector Brackenreid here?

Is he here?

Excuse me, Murdoch.

Sir, we've developed the film
we found in Monique's purse.

Ah,
thank you.

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.

A pleasure once again.

Isaac Lowe.

Isaac.

Yes, of course.
We met at...

The Policeman's Charity Ball.

Yes.

I was slightly in my cups
that night.

Yes, well,
you gave one hell of a speech.

Impromptu as it was,
you made a favorable impression

on some
very well-appointed people.

Well, it's nice of you
to say so.

What can I do for you today?

I have a proposition for you,
Inspector.

Follow me, Isaac.

It would seem Sophie
was taking Monique

on a tour of the city.

Yes, but unfortunately,

the camera was never turned
on Monique.

It would be helpful if we had
a photograph to distribute

to the other stations.

Ah, here we are
at the hotel, sir.

Mm.

That's room 212, George.

And contrary to what
we have been told,

it was occupied recently.

I followed a man up here, sir.

He went into 212 using a key.

And you have no idea
who he is?

No, sir; he's been skulking
around the hotel

asking about Monique.

Toronto Constabulary.

Inspector Marcel Guillaume.

Securite Paris.

Now, get these petits singes
off from me.

Get this what off me?

He just called you
a little monkey, George.

Not just him.

You, too, monkey.

Let's do English, please.

Allow me the chance
to massacre your language.

What are you doing here?

I'm commissioned
by Monsieur Pierre Poirier

to investigate the vanishing
of his daughter Monique.

But she only disappeared
yesterday.

How could you possibly know?

I was in Montreal
for a conference

on international
police cooperation.

And it's clear to me now
there is much work to do.

Hmm.

This Monique has an obsession
with room 212.

What did you find there,
Monsieur Murdoch?

Nothing in room 212.

But this was apparently written
by a persistent admirer.

And we've determined
that he does not live

at 23 Willow Avenue.

I would think not,
Monsieur Murdoch.

♪ Son p'tit fichu sur
ses epaules ♪

♪ Elle rentrait par
la rue des Saules ♪

"She returned
along the street of willows."

What the bloody hell
is he on about?

It's from a song,
Rue Saint-Vincent.

"23 St Vincent."

George.

I met Monique on the train
from Montreal.

We talked most of the way.

Felt nice talking to her.

She's very pretty.

Mm.

And you wanted to see her again,
so you gave her your address?

Yeah,
I told her where I lived,

and she said, "Oh, just like
the song, Rue Saint-Vincent."

She sang it for me.

But you didn't hear from her.

So you went to find her at the
Queensborough Hotel, Mr. Bishop.

How did you know
she was staying there?

She asked me to visit.

But then I get word she wants
nothing to do with me.

Made no sense.

Where do you work, David?

At the Kent glass factory.

Glass factory?

And you think a man like you

would interest a woman
like Monique?

She is from a good family.

She confided in me.

What about?

She was worried about
her sister.

Ever since she moved to Canada,

Sophie's letters to Monique
seemed detached.

She thought the marriage
wasn't working out.

And when was the last
you saw of her?

At Union Station.

I saw her meet with Sophie,
but... they seemed... cold.

They didn't even hug.

Oh,
you have an electric car.

Very nice.

Yes, thank you.

No, thanks to Gaston Plante
and to Camille Faure,

because without them,
you have no battery.

No battery, no electric car,
and no photo to show.

Mrs. Dalewood, if I may,

how is it you came to meet
Mr. Dalewood?

We met in Paris when Roderick
was there on business.

It was the start
of a passionate affair.

We later exchanged letters,

and within months,
I proposed...

by telegram.

How's that for modern romance?

I sailed for Canada
two weeks later.

That was last December.

But you are the only one
not smiling.

I was sad to board the ship,

leaving behind my sister
and father

to start a new life in Toronto.

How did your marriage
affect Monique?

Not well,
but it is my fault.

Being so far away,
I closed myself to her,

hoping it would hurt less.

May I see her letters to you?

Oh, forgive me.

I know those are private words
between sisters,

but it will help us
understand Monique

and where she might have gone.

"My dear Sophie,

"It has been so long
since you've written.

"And your last letter
was so brief.

"I am worried
that something is wrong.

"Is it?

Please tell me."

"Dear Sophie,
Only a telegram?

"Are you angry with me?

"Or are you unhappy
with Roderick

and ashamed to tell me?"

A woman bears her heart,

and you read her words
like a newspaper.

"I am coming to visit.

"Please don't try
to talk me out of it.

"I love you,

and I must see you."

Well,
whatever her concerns were,

they seem to have been allayed.

By all accounts, their visit
brought them closer together.

She probably didn't
just run away.

Well...

Yeah.

You're here quite late, sir.

Just weighing up my options,
Murdoch.

I've been asked to stand
as candidate for alderman

in the next elections.

How about that?

Indeed.

My backers have deep pockets.

They're looking for someone
to uphold our shared values,

et cetera, et cetera.

Mm,
and what's their agenda?

Agenda?

I assume they're looking
for a man of law and order

to clean up this city.

What else do they want, sir?

Well,
what else could there be?

That's a very good question.

Excuse me.

I need to see the detective.
It's very important that I--

Excuse me.

Detective Murdoch,
I saw her, Monique,

in the East End.

She was on the corner
of Queen Street and Broadview.

Are you quite certain
it was her?

I mean, her hair was blonde,
and her clothes were different,

but I'm sure it was her.

Hmm.

The desk clerk saw the woman,

presumably Monique Poirier,
crossing at Queen and Broadview.

Do we have a photograph
of Monique

to show people in this area?

No, and it'd take weeks
for one to reach us from France.

Actually, sir,
I may have an idea.

It's possible Monique's father
could wire us a photograph.

But a telegram is for words.

Yes, telegraphs transmit dots
and dashes,

which represent letters,

but they could easily represent
any values we assign to them.

Values?

Yes,
let me demonstrate.

Any picture
is simply a collection

of shapes and shadows,

the components of which can be
broken down to individual units.

All we have to do is assign
each unit a numeric value

according to where it falls
on a gray scale.

Yes, sir; I see how the
picture can be converted

to numbers, but how do we
convert numbers to a picture?

We paint in each square
or unit.

How many do we need?

80 squares across and down
should suffice.

But, sir,
that would be a total of...

6,400 squares.

Each square painted at a rate

of approximately 10 seconds
a square,

that would amount
to 20 hours of painting.

George,
perhaps Constable Higgins

should assist you on this.

An excellent idea, sir.

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid,
this is Edwin Drury.

Mr. Drury heads the consortium
of individuals

who will be financing
your campaign.

Pleased to meet you.

Isaac says you're a man
with personal appeal,

a man who can win elections.

What we need to know is what
kind of alderman you'll make.

A good one, I hope.

I keep abreast of the issues.

I'm familiar with the workings
of city government.

And as a man of law and order,

I'm prepared to do
what's necessary

to clean up this city.

What's your view
on the proposed subway project?

Subway?

I, uh... haven't given it
much thought.

But as a police inspector,

my focus has been
on the streets,

not below them.

Well, of course, your
experience in law enforcement

is of great interest to us, but
this is the future of the city.

Boston just opened
their subway.

Paris is building one.

A world-class city requires
a world-class subway.

Imagine an electrified railway
running underneath Queen Street

whisking people from one end
of the city to the other

in a matter of minutes.

That would definitely
put Toronto on the map.

I'm glad you agree,

because our consortium
is very keen on seeing

the subway proposal approved.

It's set to come to a vote
after the elections.

Currently, the council
is split on the issue.

We're hoping that your vote
will carry the day,

as our consortium owns
much of the land involved.

Oh, it's time.

Du vin, monsieur?

No.

Sirs, we have received word
from Paris.

Ah.

"Nooz soms plain
dee-apostrophe..."

George, please.
Uh, yes.

So...
"Nous sommes enthousiaste..."

Oui.
"La Securite..."

Parfait.
Oh, good.

The father has agreed
to provide a photograph.

La Securite
will conduct the coding

and transmission immediately.

So now we have time for lunch.

Sirs, a body's been found
at Union Station.

- It's a young woman.
- Right.

But... but...

At first we thought
it was a dead rat,

but then we noticed the stench
was coming from this trunk.

Ooh.

That smells like
sulfuric acid.

Um... Inspector Guillaume,
Dr. Ogden, our coroner.

Well, well,
I am very impressed.

That a woman can be a doctor?

That a doctor can be
so beautiful.

Well,
decay has begun, obviously.

I'd say she's been dead
for at least 48 hours.

Someone tried very hard
to conceal her identity.

She had beautiful hair, though.

According to her sister,
Monique has dark brown hair.

The hair is like hers,
but the face...

Did they do this to her
when she was--

No,
she was dead before the acid

touched her hands and face.

Did Monique have any
identifying features

on her body,
any birthmarks?

Yes.

She had one on the back
of her neck.

That is why she always wore
her hair down to cover it.

Like this?

Oh, it is her.

Monique.

Who could have done this to you?

Do you remember the stakeout
we did of that postal box?

Oh, do I ever.

That was the most boring night
of my life.

This is worse.

Really, Higgins?

I don't find this so bad.

In fact, I think this could be
a recreational activity.

Think about it; it allows
anybody to be a painter.

You just need to know
which color to put where.

This is in black-and-white.

Yes, but it doesn't
have to be, Higgins,

and it doesn't
have to be squares.

You could have
whichever color you like

in whichever shape you like.

We could call it,
"paint by numerical value."

We could sell small kits.

It couldn't sell worse
than your adventure novel will.

Oh, that's great, Higgins,
very supportive, encouraging.

So how is our long-haired,
cheese-eating pond-hopper?

He's fine, sir.

He has a certain...
je ne sais quoi.

Je ne sais quoi.

What does that mean?

Uh... "I don't know."

So why did you just say it?

Uh...

sir,
how was your political meeting?

Oh, that.

Well...

they want me to champion
their subway proposal.

A subway?
Fascinating.

Yes.

We've just commenced
building a metro in Paris,

and it's fantastic.

Well, of course, there is the
cost of a subway to consider.

Right.

Well, nothing's free.

Subway construction
is very dear.

Heads have rolled
because of that.

Yes, I've heard similar
stories coming from Boston.

Right,
so what are you saying,

stay clear of the whole deal?

No, sir.
No, sir, not at all.

It's simply an issue of,
who do you want to work for?

Are you representing the people
or your backers?

Hmm.

Death was by strangulation,

possibly garroting
with a piece of cloth.

Curiously, her stomach
and small intestines were empty.

She hadn't eaten in days.

She also has urine burns
in her pelvic area.

Suggesting she was tied up
for a prolonged period of time?

Very cruel.

Gentlemen,
how are you faring?

Sir, if the woman in the trunk
has already been identified

as Monique, do we really
still need the photograph?

Yes, Henry.

We need to track her movements
after her disappearance.

Having a photograph could prove
to be quite useful.

Henry, could you turn the...

Sir.

I see two shapes.

Yes, their father gave
Securite Paris a photograph

he had taken on their estate
of both Monique and Sophie.

It was the most recent
photograph he had of Monique.

I see.

Thank you, George.
Carry on.

Sir--oh, also,
Constable Worsley telephoned.

They traced the trunk.

A porter picked it up
early yesterday morning

from the Queensborough.

Thank you, George.

Shall we?

Mm-hmm.

This coroner...

you're in love with her, yes?

I beg your pardon?

Oh.
Please, monsieur.

It is obvious,

the way you sneak glances at her
when she's not looking,

the way she sneaks glances
at you.

Uh, well...
she's engaged to another man.

Then it is
a perfect situation.

How so?

Well,
she can be your mistress.

My mistress?

Monsieur Murdoch,
the marriage is about family.

You make babies with your wife,

but you make love
to your mistress.

We received a telegram asking
us to bring the trunk down

into the lobby.

What time was this?

About 4:00 a.m.

The trunk was taken
from what room?

Uh...214.

Beside room 212.

Yes.

She was tied to this chair.

And gagged.

The smell of ammonia.

Urine.

Hmm,
the murder weapon, perhaps?

- Sir?
- Yes?

Who booked room 214?

Oh...

Mr. J. Hill,

paid by mail, postmarked
on the 22nd of this month,

but he never checked in.

The 22nd.

He asked for room 214
specifically?

Yes.
People sometimes do.

It's one of our
less expensive rooms.

Mm, and when was
the trunk delivered?

Uh...
I have no record of that.

I see.
Thank you.

You have news, Dr. Ogden?

Yes.

Monique's murder reminded me
of a case I read about

six months ago in Montreal.

I had the coroners report sent
on the overnight express.

A Jane Doe in her early 20s
was found stuffed

into a steamer trunk.

She was also strangled
with a cloth.

Just like Monique.

Excellent work, Doctor.

It's good to have you back.

It's good to be wanted back.

And Darcy?

He's well, I hope?

Yes,
he got a position

at the Victoria Sick Children's
Hospital.

Oh, good.

Very good.

Thank you.

Oh, sorry.

Sorry, I didn't get much sleep
last night.

Did you get my message

about the unknown woman
discovered in Montreal?

Oh, yes, Jane Doe.

Yes,
but I'm confused.

How can she be unknown
if you know her name?

Uh, no, Inspector.

"Jane" or "John Doe"
are names given...

Will I see you tonight?

Well, it will depend
on my case, cherie.

But perhaps we'll have dinner.

You were saying?

That's your wife?

Oh, no.

Her name is Cecelia.

I met her last night
in the hotel.

So you think Jane Doe
and Monique were murdered

by the same man?

Yes, but, as I was saying,
"Jane" isn't...

Oh, I thought I heard
another man's voice.

Good morning, monsieur.
I am Angelique.

- Uh...
- Merci.

You met her in the hotel
last night as well?

Oh, no.

That is my wife.

I've seen it before,
men who kill women like this.

They are usually pathetic men

infatuated with taking revenge
for what they cannot have.

And what would that be?

Oh, love, of course.

Life is a contest.

Women are the prize.

But some men,
they just try too hard.

Men like David Bishop.

Yes.

Well, he has recently arrived
from Montreal.

Jane Doe is from Montreal.

Perhaps he rented out
room 214.

He went to visit Monique,
and she rejected him.

After she led him to believe
she had interest in him.

He must have been
very disappointed.

So David Bishop lured Monique

to room 214.

He's done this before.

He has his reasons.

Inspector...

David Bishop works
in a glass factory, yes?

Yes.

To make glass,
you need sodium carbonate.

To make sodium carbonate,
you need sulfuric acid.

You went into my apartment?

What is all of this,
Mr. Bishop?

Art.

I make hair jewelry.

Who makes jewelry out of hair?

I do.
Isn't it obvious?

No.

No, for me,
it's just very strange.

This one is dark brown.

Yes,
it's Monique's.

She has beautiful hair.

I asked her for a lock.

It's what I do.

You do this with
all your victims,

make their hair
into little ornaments?

- Victims?
- The women you have murdered.

Murdered?
Now, hold on.

Where did you get the hair
for these, Mr. Bishop?

From women I've met
and from customers.

Customers?

People who want to preserve
the memory of a loved one

in a decorative,
yet tasteful manner.

They think they're beautiful.

Uh... yes, just like Monique,
hmm?

Monique was beautiful too, no?

What do you...
what do you mean "was"?

Monique's dead?

You know very well she's dead.

You killed her.

Just like you killed
that woman in Montreal.

I did no such thing.

Was she beautiful too?

Is that why you kill them,

because their beauty taunts you,
and you cannot have them?

Mr. Bishop,
where were you

between the 5th
and the 16th of March?

Montreal, perhaps?

I was in Moncton

visiting my family.

This telegram confirms
that David Bishop was in Moncton

when Jane Doe was murdered
in Montreal.

Who else has access
to this sulfuric acid?

Sulfuric acid is found
in fertilizers, batteries--

Roderick Dalewood.

Yes,
he owns an electric car.

Electric car.

No.
No, no, no.

What motive would he have
for murdering his wife's sister?

Monique was angry that
Roderick was to marry Sophie.

No,
that's not enough.

Sirs, a pawnbroker
just turned this in.

It was sold to him yesterday.

A pocket camera.

It's the same camera
used by Monique, no?

Yes.

There's film in it.

You develop
your own photographs.

Impressive.

Well, well, well.

Sophie's husband
enjoying the love

that dare not speak its name.

It's a crime here, yes?

Yes,
And by taking this photograph,

Monique gave Roderick
ample motivation for murder.

Mon Dieu.

You claimed to have a torrid
sexual affair with this man

who clearly prefers men.

What exactly is the nature
of your marriage?

It was an arrangement
of mutual interest.

He didn't want sexual relations,
and neither did I.

He placed an ad,
and we exchanged letters.

So the story
of your "whirlwind romance"

was a fabrication?

It's what people wanted
to hear.

Even Monique?

Especially Monique.

That's why this was so perfect.

Who would ever know?

Did you know that Roderick
was a homosexual?

I am a French girl.

I know the ways of the world.

But it was never discussed.

But Monique knew
or suspected?

She took that photograph, no?

Not that I am aware of.

Why?

We believe Monique learned
of Roderick's homosexuality

and set out to expose him.

So she rented room 214 under
a false name to spy on room 212.

And then,
when the time was right,

she let herself into room 212
and took this photograph.

Do you think he killed her?

What do you think?

You are a homosexual, yes?

No, I, uh--

You hire pretty bellmen

who will lie with you
for the price

of a bottle of champagne.

- No.
- Please, monsieur.

It is always dangerous
to lie to the police.

But it is stupid
to lie about that

which is not at issue.

Not at issue?

Not at issue?

This is not about
making love to men.

This is about murder.

Oh,
I didn't kill Monique.

Did she not let herself
into your room,

Mr. Dalewood,
and take these photographs?

Yes, but--

- Then what happened?
- She ran out.

Where did she go?

I don't know.

You didn't follow her?

I-I tried.

But as soon as I got
my clothes on, she--

Please, Mr. Dalewood,
that's quite enough.

I believe you saw her go
into the room next door.

The bellboy told us
you sent him away.

Then I believe you let yourself
into room 214

with your master key.

No,
that's not what happened.

We found Monique's purse
in the laneway

directly below room 214.

Why would she throw her purse
out the window

unless she knew you were
coming after her at that moment?

Do you know what I believe?

I believe Monique is alive.

Then who is the girl
who was stuffed

into a trunk in room 214?

I have no idea.

All I know is Monique
has set out

to destroy my life.

And she's not finished yet.

It is him.

Who else could it be?

Who else has the motivation
and the means?

I agree.

But there are
some inconsistencies.

If Monique threw the purse
out the window,

why did Roderick
not retrieve it immediately?

He would have needed
to bind and gag Monique first.

Yes,

but whoever stole the camera
from the purse did so

in a very short period of time.

Perhaps we have a witness.

We need to speak
to that pawnbroker.

I've decided not to stand
for alderman,

at least not this election.

Maybe next time.

There won't be a next time.
You know that.

Tell me, Thomas.

How do you feel your career
has progressed so far?

I suppose I've done all right.

Thomas,
a century from now,

when Toronto
is a teeming metropolis,

a young woman
will be whisked effortlessly

beneath a crowded street,
and she will give silent thanks

to the man who made
that possible.

You.

Let that be your legacy.

You reported that a woman sold
this camera to you yesterday.

That's right,
big brown eyes, pretty,

blonde hair.

She lives in a rooming house
down on De Grassi Street.

You know where she lives?

I've watched her go in there
a few times.

She's the kind of girl
a man notices.

I was passing through
the laneway

and saw the purse on the ground.

I thought it had been
thrown out.

I'm not a thief.

Of course not.

Miss Wiggins...

you live on De Grassi Street,
yes?

You must do your shopping
at Queen and Broadview.

I do, yes.
Why?

Vous etes tres jolie.

I'm sorry?

Miss Wiggins, let's take
a little walk to my jail cell,

shall we?

It was found property.

I am not a thief.

Monique.

I knew it.

She has changed her hair,
but it is her.

I told you she was alive.

I've never seen
this man before.

Who's Monique?

Oh,
she looks so much like Monique.

It is astonishing,
the resemblance.

But it is not her.

What are you saying?

Of course it's her.

I would know my own sister,
Roderick.

You are convinced
this woman is Monique?

No, I believe the real Monique
was murdered,

and her body was stuffed
in that steamer trunk.

This Victoria Wiggins
played the role of Monique

just long enough for her
disappearance and murder

to be pinned
on Sophie's husband.

You are saying
Sophie killed her own sister?

Impossible.
You're wrong.

I read the letters.

The sisters,
they loved each other.

There's something else
going on here.

Then whose body
was in the trunk?

And why does her hair
match David Bishop's jewelry?

We do need that photograph
of Monique.

Yes.

Gentlemen, how goes it?

It goes, sir.
We're almost finished.

Hmm,
close enough.

Let's have a look.

I don't recognize
either of them.

I do.

George, take a photograph
of this telefacsimile.

Sir.

Inspector.

Here.

This is the woman we know
as Sophie.

But I believe this
is the real Sophie,

the woman smiling here.

Then who is the woman who has
been calling herself Sophie?

Where did you get this?

It was sent by Sophie
and Monique's father.

When?

Yesterday.

It is a telefacsimile,

a new technology
invented by Monsieur Murdoch.

Hmm.

This is Monique,
and this is Sophie.

And strangely,
it appears she's not you.

You met Sophie on the ship,
didn't you?

Here she is to your right
the day you sailed.

And during the course
of the voyage,

the two of you became friends.

Very good friends,
the kind who tell secrets.

She told you about
the arrangement she had

with her wealthy fiancé,

a man whose bed
she would never have to share.

A very good arrangement,
indeed.

So you decided
to take her place.

And once the ship docked
in Montreal,

you killed her and stuffed
her body in a steamer trunk.

You can't prove any of that.

Oh, please, madame.

Or should I call you Jaqueline,
Jaqueline Chisholm?

Oh, yes.

You remember her, don't you?

She's wanted by French police

for a murder in Normandy
ten months ago.

The French consulate here
is sending us her photo

as we speak.

And I wonder what
she will look like.

If you're willing to make
a confession,

we can help you avoid the noose.

But perhaps she would prefer
the guillotine.

Oh, it's up to you.

It seemed so perfect,
a new identity,

a new life,

but then her sister had to come
and ruin it all.

Oh, but that's when you turned
a problem into an opportunity.

Kill Monique and frame
your husband for her murder.

And then you'd have all of
his wealth once he was hanged.

That was a most devious plan.

You knew your husband dallied
with the bellmen in room 212,

and you would do anything
to protect his secret,

so you made it appear as if
Monique was caught spying on him

and was killed for it.

Fantastic.

And that's when
your accomplice,

Victoria Wiggins, came in.

You needed someone
to play the role of Monique.

When the real Monique
was bound and gagged

in room 214 for three days.

I felt bad for her,
but what can I say?

It wasn't my sister.

What a remarkable notion,
William.

You've outdone yourself.

You know, sir, I foresee a day
when telefacsimiles

will be created automatically
by machine,

huge "simile" machines
that will take just minutes.

Dr. Ogden,

if there is one image
I will take home to France,

it is of you looking at me.

Jaqueline Chisholm,
also known as Sophie Dalewood.

Such a tragedy for the father.

Yes,
to fear for a missing child

only to discover both daughters
killed by this woman.

Mm, thank you,
Inspector Guillaume.

The pleasure was mine.

Now I can attest
at the next conference

international police cooperation
is not only possible,

it's already a fact.

William,
just a little joie de vivre.

That's a good thing.

I'll try.

Please do.

Mademoiselle.

Monsieur.

Merci, senor Guillaume.

Whatever was that about,
William?

He believes I should try
to be more... French.

Well, shouldn't we all?

Gentlemen.

Sir,
have you made a decision

regarding your run for alderman?

I've just come from a meeting
with the backers.

I've thought about this subway
issue six ways from Sunday.

And?

Well, it's not just the one
subway line, Murdoch.

They're talking about one
up Yonge Street too,

maybe even one up Bloor.

That's an ambitious
undertaking.

Yes, I know,
and if it all goes wrong,

there will be a mob
howling at my door.

But any city without a subway
will get left behind,

so I'm going to do it.

I'm going to run for alderman.

In that case,

let me be the first
to congratulate you, sir.

My best wishes for
a very successful campaign.

Thank you, Murdoch.

I'm in it now,
aren't I?

Yes, sir.

It would appear you are.