All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S08E06 - The Murdoch Appreciation Society - [BD][1080p][x265 10-bit][AAC 5.1]_Track05

[ Camera shutter clicks]

Time to move along, old fella.

Oi.
I said wake up.

Or is it a visit to the cells
you're after?

Right, then.

Up with you.

Oh, holy jumpin'...

[Whistle blowing]

Dr. Grace,
you're up and about very early.

I was doing my morning
calisthenics, Detective.

Good for the heart and mind.

I see.
What have you?

DR. GRACE:
Stab wound to the abdomen.

Judging by the lack of rigor,

the victim's been dead
for many hours.

No sign of a struggle.

Very little blood.

I don't believe
he was killed here.

Oh?
Who found him?

JACKSON:
I did, sir.

I thought he was a tramp
sleeping it off.

You might want to talk
to this young man.

He was here at first light.

Bird watcher, of all things.

Nigel Barnes, Detective.

Good day, Mr. Barnes.

I can't say
I can be of much help.

You didn't see anything out
of the ordinary this morning?

I didn't. Not many frequent
the park at this hour.

Actually, as I arrived,
I saw a man leaving.

- He seemed in quite a hurry.
- Really?

Can you describe him?

Yes.
He had a long coat.

Oh, and a beard.

That's all I can remember.
Birds are more my interest.

Thank you, Mr. Barnes.

Well-dressed.

Nothing to identify him,
just this key...

and pages torn from a book.

A novel, it seems.

Odd.

Appears to have dried blood
on his index finger.

DR. GRACE: But very little blood
on him or around him.

So why would someone kill him,

then leave his body
in a public place?

Someone wanted him found.

The question is, why?

[ Indistinct conversations]

HIGGINS:
Ah, sir.

Someone to see you,
an Owen Hume.

He'll only talk to you.

Can I help you, Mr. Hume?

Yes, Detective.

My employer,
Mr. Randolph Sampson,

is missing.

"Sampson" with -- with a "P."

Can you describe Mr. Sampson?

He is 60, gray hair,
not tall nor large in girth,

and he takes great pride
in his appearance.

Please come with me, Mr. Hume.

When did you last see
Mr. Sampson?

Two days ago.

He left the office as usual
at 6:00.

What does he do?

Mr. Sampson is a lawyer.

I've been his clerk
the past two years.

Prepare yourself, Mr. Hume.

That's him.

Poor Mr. Sampson.

So, this clerk
identified the corpse.

Yes, sir, a Randolph Sampson.

But there was no apparent motive
for the murder?

No, sir. He seemed an ordinary
man with an ordinary life.

Any clue what happened?

Well, sir, these pages were
found on Mr. Sampson's person.

They're from a recent novella
by Mark Twain.

Maybe he liked reading
three pages at a time.

Pages 39, 81, and 146, sir?

Oh, I see what you mean.

Sir, where is
Constable Crabtree?

Medical school.

Oh. ls George considering
a career change?

That was a joke, sir.

Oh. I don't recall
you making many of those

in the last 12 years, Murdoch.

Oh, very good, sir.

It was there, right there.

A corpse simply doesn't get up
and walk away.

Well, clearly not, Dr. Dempsey.

It must be found
with all dispatch.

The brain cannot deteriorate.

My research grant depends on it.

Sir?

I'm in the midst
of proving a theory.

I believe that high intelligence

is correlated to a high density
of neurons in the brain.

The cadaver was an eminent
philosopher, a brilliant man.

I need to examine his brain.

Right. Uh, what was
the deceased's name, sir?

Professor Andrew Richardson.

And he -- or it, I suppose --
arrived here yesterday?

Yes. As soon as I was notified
of his death,

I arranged for the delivery.

I've already told you,
Constable.

It was right here on this table.

Dr. Dempsey, may I ask,

how do you go about choosing
the right brain to out up?

I placed an excruciatingly
difficult puzzle

in the newspaper.

Those who responded correctly

were invited to donate
their brains to my research.

After they died, I assume?
Y.-

- Of course.
- Only one agreed.

Professor Richardson.

This was no ordinary cadaver,
Constable.

Well, clearly not.

Uh, Doctor, do you have
a photograph I could use

-for identification purposes?
- No. I do not.

What the man looked like
is irrelevant to me,

just the contents of his skull.

DR. OGDEN:
So Kathleen King has left us?

HAILE:
It would appear so.

DR. OGDEN:
And the Furious Four?

Is now the Terrible Three.

What have we gained?

A hundred signatures
on a petition.

Which was ripped up.

And a demonstration which,
despite the fracas,

hardly set the world on fire.

So, we need a bigger stage

to put women's suffrage
before the public.

A provincial election
is coming up.

Can we use that in some way?

I don't see how.

We'll gain no purchase

from those stuffy
sitting politicians.

What if one of us were to run?

What do you mean?

It would never occur
to legislature

that a woman would run
for office.

Perhaps they never bothered
to put it in writing.

We're going to need
a legal opinion.

[ Chuckles ]

I know just the woman
for the job.

Mrs. Dewar, these pages are from
a recent novella by Mark Twain,

"A Double Barrelled
Detective Story."

I understand your shop
is the only one in town

that has a copy.

Mysteries are my specialty,
Detective.

The story features
Sherlock Holmes.

I'm sure you'd find it
quite illuminating.

It's hot off the press.

So you do have a copy?

Oh, I did, but it sold,
but I could order you another.

Oh, I'm afraid I'm not
much of one for novels.

Um, do you know
who you sold the book to?

It was a regular of mine,
Annie Cranston.

She works in Minnie's Tea Room.

Quite the reader.

- Good day, sir.
- Good day.

I'm looking for a waitress here,
a Miss Cranston.

Oh, that's Annie.
She's over there.

Thank you.

Miss Cranston?

Detective Murdoch
of the Toronto Constabulary.

Oh, good day, Detective.

I understand you recently
purchased a novella

-from the Belair bookshop.
- Yes, by Mark Twain.

- May I see it?
- Oh, I don't have it anymore.

- Why not?
- Someone took it.

I left the book on the counter,

and when I came back to read
the next chapter after lunch,

it was gone.

When was this?

About four days ago.

A cruel thing to do,

take a novel
before one knows the ending.

Do you recall if any
of the pages were missing?

No.

Do you recognize this man?

I'm sorry, no.

Do you have time for tea?

Oh, it would be a treat for me

to spend time
with a real detective,

not a figment
of a writer's imagination.

Thank you, Miss Cranston,
but I must be off.

[Clears throat]

I couldn't help but overhear.

The day Annie's book
went missing,

I saw a man rummaging about
at the counter over here.

If you ask me, he seemed to know
what he was looking for.

I see.

Is this about a grisly murder,
Detective?

Not that I'm prying or,
uh, anything.

Is this the man that you saw?

Uh, no.

He was younger, more handsome.

And you say you would
recognize him, Miss...

Ruby Rosevear.

Uh, yes, I think that I would.

I could draw a picture of him
for you...

if I knew how to draw.

[ Chuckles ]

Urn, his beard was a bit thicker,
I think.

Thicker beard.

What a clever thing this is,
Detective Murdoch.

It was your idea, wasn't it?

Go on, tell me.
You invented it.

Uh, yes, yes.

- It can be quite useful.
- Mm.

Thicker beard.

That's him.

- That's him.
- M m.

Right, then, Miss Rosevear,
what was he wearing?

Uh, he was wearing a long coat.

All in all, I think
he was quite shifty-looking.

Shifty.

I know that the mind
is the seat of reason, George,

and that the mind resides
in the brain.

Yes, but the brain is also
the dominion of the soul, Henry.

Does that mean that the mind
and the soul are connected?

Well, I suppose
it's all in there.

Up there, if you will.

So smarter people
with great minds

also have larger souls, then?

It doesn't seem right
they should have both.

I do hope that was a help.

Yes, Miss Rosevear.
Thank you.

Oh, it's Ruby to you, Detective.

[ Chuckles ]

George, I need your help.

Sir, I can't this afternoon.

- I'm off to Unionville.
- Unionville?

Yes, sir. I'm on the case
of the missing brain.

An entire cadaver,
actually, sir.

But the brain
is the most important part.

There's a Dr. Dempsey
at the university, sir.

He's researching brains
of highly intelligent people.

You would be
an excellent candidate, sir,

if you were dead, of course.

Have you searched
the university?

Sir, high and low.
There's no sign of this corpse.

I am off to Unionville now

to try to find the widow
of the corpse, as it were,

to see if she has a photograph.

Does this corpse have a name?

It does.

Or he does.

Would it be "it" or "he"
for a cor--

Uh, either way, his name
is Professor Andrew Richardson.

You'd be fascinated
by this, sir.

Dr. Dempsey has all these
cut-up brains in jars,

which, of course, is very eerie.

But also can't help remind me

of my Aunt Rose's
pickled cauliflower.

Thank you, George.

- Henry.
- Sir?

I need you to fetch
Nigel Barnes,

the bird watcher from the park.

- Right away, sir.
- Thank you.

Any luck in the bookshop?

Sir, the one copy
of Mark Twain's novella

was purchased
by a young waitress.

It was later stolen, possibly by
a man who was seen in the park.

This same man may have
torn out the three pages

and sent them to Mr. Sampson.

Why would he do that?

Well, sir, I've been analyzing
the contents of the pages.

And I believe
they may be conveying

a message of some sort.

Have a look at page 39.

There's a date, June 19th.

The day Sampson went missing.

Yes, sir.

Page 81, "seven in the evening."

Where's this going, Murdoch?

Well, sir,
we have a time and a date.

Page 146, there is a character
named Stillman.

I've checked. There's a Stillman
Street down by the docks.

The same page contains
the numbers 50, 60, and 70.

I've checked the map, and
Stillman extends to number 56.

We need to pay
5O Stillman Street a visit.

[ Birds crying]

So, Murdoch,
how's married life treating you?

All well at the hotel?

I'm happy to report that
it's an excellent arrangement.

No one pays you
any particular mind.

What do you mean?

Well, sir, at my boarding house,
the other residents --

I was constantly being pulled
into conversations

of limited merit.

I can only imagine
the difficulty.

[ Horse snorts]

Thank you.

BRACKENREID:
Some place for a meeting.

Well, it doesn't look like
there's anything here, Murdoch.

Sir.

Constable.

Fetch my ultraviolet light
from the carriage.

Poor bugger.

This must be
where he met his end.

Lured by the coded message.

BRACKENREID:
What is it?

There's more, sir.

BRACKENREID:
"Blue Sky."

What the bloody hell
does that mean?

[ Indistinct conversations]

Gentlemen.

Mr. Hume, does "Blue Sky"
mean anything to you?

"Blue Sky"?

I'm sorry, Detective.
I never heard of it.

And what kind of law
did Mr. Sampson practice?

Largely patent law.

- Dry work for a clerk.
-[ Chuckles ]

Do you have a key
for this drawer?

Mr. Sampson kept that
on his person.

Sir, a key was found
in Mr. Sampson's pocket.

[ Lock clicks]

Well, well, well.
Mr. bloody Blue Sky.

Anything?

MURDOCH:
It appears to be an index

for plans and technical drawings
of various inventions.

A honeycomb radiator
for an automobile.

But the plans themselves
are missing.

Did Mr. Sampson
represent inventors?

Yes, several.

Sir, I recall the prototype
for this radiator being German,

but this would suggest
an improved version.

Innovations like this would
revolutionize the automobile.

Are you thinking
what I'm thinking, Murdoch?

Mr. Sampson was involved
in industrial espionage.

BRACKENREID: Perhaps he was
selling these innovations

to the mysterious bearded man.

That would explain the need
for the coded message.

But Mr. Sampson seemed
such an ordinary man.

Criminals come in all shapes
and sizes, son.

RICHARDSON:
I don't understand, Constable.

How can my husband's body
be missing?

CRABTREE:
I assure you, Mrs. Richardson,

we'll get to the bottom
of the matter in no time.

If you had a photograph of your
husband that I could borrow.

Of course.

Anything I can do
to help find poor Andrew.

He was a very clever man,
you know,

and keen to help
Dr. Dempsey's research.

The two men discussed the matter
at length on several occasions.

A generous man also,
I would say.

I mean, to give up his brain.

I thought it was macabre,
to tell the truth,

but it was none of my business.

It was Andrew's to do with
as he pleased.

Still, to have it pickled
in a jar...

What do you mean, Constable?

N-Nothing at all,
Mrs. Richardson.

If I could get that photograph.

Of course.

DR. OGDEN:
You're absolutely correct.

There are signs of petechial
hemorrhage in the victim's eyes.

Are you sure?

You did well to spot them.

These tiny markings
can be difficult to identify.

Well, a second set of eyes
never hurts.

I was happy to help.

We should let the detective know
right away.

Actually, I may just wait till
this evening to see William.

Oh.

You know, Julia,
married life suits you.

Really?
Am I that different?

There is a lightness in you
I haven't seen before.

You seem...happier.

I must say, the romance
of the honeymoon continues.

Romance?
The detective?

[ Chuckling ] Yes.

We're quite enjoying ourselves.

-[ Chuckles] Oh, my.
-[ Chuckles]

Cathode.

- Dr. Grace?
- Hmm.

Doctor,
have you something for me,

or is this is a social visit?

No.
I mean, yes.

I have a further report
on Mr. Sampson.

- Oh.
- I now believe he died

longer than 24 hours
before his body was found.

I see.

DR. GRACE: And after
a more detailed examination,

I can confirm he was indeed
stabbed but stabbed postmortem.

Well, how did he die?

Suffocation.

Likely smothered.

Are you quite sure?

DR. GRACE:
I was astonished myself.

But my curiosity was piqued
when I saw possible signs

of petechial hemorrhaging
in his eyes.

I asked Dr. Ogden
for a second opinion.

She supported my conclusion.

But if he was smothered
before he was stabbed,

how did he write the message
in his own blood?

Dr. Grace,
your report throws new light

even as it casts more shadow.

How eloquent, Detective.

Quite a romantic turn of phrase.

I'm sorry?

Nothing.

Sir, you wanted to see me?

Yes, Henry.
Please bring in Mr. Barnes.

HIGGINS: Sure.

BARNES: That one
is the tyrant flycatcher.

They superficially resemble
the Old World flycatcher

but are more robust
and have stronger bills.

You're something of
an ornithologist, Mr. Barnes.

[ Chuckles ]

The myriad birds in our city
are quite remarkable,

something most citizens
fail to notice.

Hm.

BARNES:
That's the man I saw, Detective.

Annie Cranston.

Who?

Thank you, Mr. Barnes.
You've been most helpful.

I'm most happy to oblige.

CLARA:
Hello, ladies.

- Clara.
- Thank you for joining us.

Thank you for bringing this
matter to my attention, Julia.

I must say, you have a talent
for unconventional thinking.

Oh, some would say
it's my forte.

So, what do you think, Clara?

Do the election rules
prevent a woman from running?

Were a woman to be elected, I'm
sure the doors to Queen's Park

would be well and truly barred.

However, I can find nothing

to say that someone
of the female persuasion

cannot stand as a candidate.

- Officially?
- Officially.

Clara, that is fantastic.

Now all we need is a candidate.

I nominate Julia.

Why me?
It could be anyone.

You are the most accomplished.

You speak so well.

And you are mightily persuasive.

- I don't know about that.
- Plus, it was your idea.

- Well, in that case --
- HAILE: Excellent.

Then it's settled.

[ Chuckles ]

This is a rather momentous
occasion.

I think we should be drinking
something stronger.

Au contraire,
it is quite perfect.

The advancement of women marked
by the clink of china teacups.

[Teacups clink]

[ Indistinct conversations]

Miss Cranston.

Hello, Detective Murdoch.

You know more about the man
who stole your book

than you're letting on.

What do you mean?

Who is he?

His name is Maxwell.
That's all I know.

He said he worked
for a Mr. Henry Ford

and that we would both be rich
if I would help him.

- What did he ask you to do?
- I was to buy that book for him.

Mark Twain's.

Yes, and if anyone
were to ask about it,

I was to say it had been stolen.

How did you two meet?

He lives in my boarding house.

Sir.

What is it?

The book, complete with
the missing pages.

Maxwell is our man.

Ohh.
We're too late, Murdoch.

The landlady said he left
for New York City 12 hours ago.

No forwarding address.

Unfortunate.

We can send his photograph
to the New York coppers.

Oh, cheer up, Murdoch.

It's not very often we let
a murderer slip our grasp.

No, sir, that isn't it.

This case --
Something seems odd.

What do you mean?

This Maxwell fellow.

He looks familiar.

George?

Sir, I have a photograph
of my missing brain.

Our two corpses
appear to be the same man.

Something's fishy.

It certainly is.

Bring them in, George,
all of them.

Yes, sir.

Who exactly?

ANNIE: Ruby.

No.

[Sighs]

MURDOCH:
Good afternoon.

DEWAR:
Good afternoon, Detective.

Why are we here?

I want to thank you.

You have all been most helpful

in my investigation into
the murder of Randolph Sampson.

Well, we're glad we could help.

However, I regret to inform you

that I have failed
to apprehend the murderer.

Why not, Detective?

MURDOCH:
For one simple reason.

Because the murderer
does not exist.

-[ Gasps]
- But I saw him.

And he was in the photograph
that I --

You could not have seen him,
Mr. Barnes,

because the man
in the photograph was you.

- But I --
- MURDOCH: Please, Mr. Barnes.

You'll have an opportunity
to speak when I'm finished.

Not only did the murderer
not exist,

but neither did
Randolph Sampson.

The corpse belonged
to none other

than Professor
Andrew Richardson,

whose cadaver was on it's way
to scientific research

when it mysteriously disappeared
two days ago.

This has all been
an elaborate ruse

in which you all played a part.

- Very good, Detective.
- MURDOCH: Please, Mrs. Dewar.

Mr. Hume, you reported

the fictitious Randolph Sampson
missing.

Mr. Sampson is my employer, sir.

He is away on business.

L-I borrowed his office.

And his good name.

The torn pages from the novel

led me to your bookshop,
Mrs. Dewar.

And you, in turn,
led me to Ruby Rosevear

and Annie Cranston,

who furthered the myth
of the bearded man.

I was led to a series of clues,
including "Blue Sky"

and the photograph which
featured you, Miss Cranston,

and the mysterious Mr. Maxwell,

which was, in fact, you,
Mr. Barnes, with a false beard.

BARNES:
It wasn't false.

I grew it especially
for the part.

Didn't I tell you?
I knew he would figure it out.

This has all been a game

and a colossal waste of the
constabulary's valuable time.

What were you hoping to achieve?

We wanted to watch you
as you work, Detective Murdoch.

Watch me work?

- Why?
- To appreciate you.

We are such admirers
of your detective skills.

- And the rest.
- Ruby.

BARNES: We read about your
successes in the newspaper,

and then we meet once a month
to discuss your clever ways.

All your marvelous gadgets
and your analytical mind.

I'm most surprised by you,
Mrs. Dewar.

We meant no harm.

But your actions were harmful.

The corpse you stole
was more than just a plaything

in your macabre game.

What do you mean?

Professor Andrew Richardson
did not die of natural causes.

He was, in fact, murdered.

DEWAR: Oh.

- Murdered?
- MURDOCH: Yes.

And thanks
to your ridiculous antics,

the true killer may very likely
have escaped justice.

How uncanny.

We stage a fictional mystery,

and the corpse we borrow
is actually a murder victim.

How did you obtain
Mr. Richardson's body?

BARNES:
That was my doing.

I was a medical student at one
time and knew the building well.

When we conceived the notion
of a murder investigation,

I agreed to procure the corpse.

And the blood
at the crime scene?

Pig's blood, sir.

My brother works
at a slaughterhouse.

Pretty convincing, though,
wasn't it?

We devised roles in the mystery
around our real lives.

You concocted
a fanciful amusement

which I must now undo
to investigate a real murder.

Perhaps we can be of assistance.

No.

Mrs. Dewar has a brilliant mind
and an excellent memory.

- Perhaps she can --
- MURDOCH: You can help

by staying out of my way.

I'm of a mind
to charge the lot of you.

[Both gasp 1

What with?

Desecration of a human body.

If you continue to interfere
in this investigation,

you will all wind up
behind bars.

Is that understood?

BRACKENREID:
I'm very sorry, Dr. Dempsey.

As soon as our investigation
is complete,

Professor Richardson's body

will be transported back
to the School of Medicine.

There's no need. The brain
has already deteriorated.

My research remains unproven,

and my funding
soon will be cut off.

Who's responsible
for stealing the cadaver?

A former medical student,
lbefieve,

-by the name of Nigel Barnes.
- DEMPSEY: That ass?

He was expelled for hijinks
at the school.

I cannot believe he would ruin
my important research

for another ridiculous lark.

Their actions are mystifying,
Julia.

Why break the law
simply to watch me work?

They read about you.
They meet to discuss your work.

They're your fans.

The Detective Murdoch
Appreciation Society,

as it were.

[ Chuckles ]

But I'm simply doing my job.

DR. OGDEN:
Thank you.

- Shall we?
-[ Door opens]

Why follow the activities
of a person you don't know?

I suspect they feel
that they do know you.

Perhaps they want to feel part

of something greater
than themselves.

But they seem to have
perfectly good lives.

Everyone needs a hero, William.

Mmm.

Julia, this soup is cold.

It's supposed to be.

- Oh.
-[ Chuckles ]

William...l've agreed
to do something rather bold.

Well, that would make a change.

-[ Chuckles ]
- What is it?

How would you feel
about my running

for Provincial Parliament?

As a candidate?

You wouldn't even be able
to vote for yourself.

Then you would
have to vote for me.

MURDOCH:
It's highly unorthodox.

It certainly would garner
a platform.

Exactly.

You'd be in the public eye.

Do you mind?

You may even wind up
with a few fans of your own.

[Laughs]

How do we wade through the mess
that those idiots created

and sort out who murdered
Andrew Richardson?

Well, sir, we go back
to the beginning.

Dr. Grace ascertained

that Richardson
had been smothered to death.

Right, smothered, not stabbed.

Right.

George's investigation
provided vital background.

Richardson had been sick
for several weeks

prior to his death
four days ago.

So, who had opportunity?
Who visited the man?

Exactly, George.
Who saw the victim last?

This is too much, Detective.

I am reeling
from my husband's death

when I learn
his corpse has vanished.

Now you tell me he was murdered.

I'm terribly sorry to upset you,
Mrs. Richardson.

When did you discover
your husband deceased?

Four days ago.

I thought he had passed
mercifully in his sleep.

Was anyone with him
the previous night?

My sister Hattie
came by every evening.

It was something of a ritual.

She would bring over
chamomile tea,

and she and my husband would
discuss matters of philosophy.

You didn't visit with them?

I preferred to take
a sleeping draft and go to bed.

Did anyone else
see the professor

the night before he passed?

RICHARDSON: Why do you
need to know all this?

I already answered
the other detective's questions.

What other detective?

Mr. Hume, you are under arrest

for impersonating
a police officer.

L-I was just trying to help.

Mm-hmm.

Sir, Dr. Grace telephoned.

You're needed at the morgue.

Thank you, George.

Dr. Grace, what have you?

I won't beat about the bush,
Detective.

Not only was Mr. Richardson
smothered and stabbed,

he was being poisoned.

Poisoned?

I found traces of arsenic
in his kidneys.

Smothered, stabbed,
and poisoned.

It is certainly a doozy one.

Oh, an expression
of my father's.

He's something
of a colorful character.

I see.

Have you a record

of Mr. Richardson's
stomach contents?

Pork chop, suet pudding,
and traces of chamomile,

likely from a tea.

Chamomile tea.

CRABTREE:
So, this is the sister's house.

MURDOCH: Yes, according to
Mrs. Richardson,

Hattie Baker would bring over
chamomile tea every evening.

Hattie Baker?

Toronto Constabulary.
Open up.

Remember, George, we're looking
for evidence of poisoning.

[ Knock on door]

Sir, poison like this?

Yes, George.

It would appear
Hattie Baker is our killer.

Very good, George.

- ANNIE: Detective!
- RUBY: Detective!

Detective! Stop!

MURDOCH:
What are you doing here?

You were told to stay away.

Hattie Baker
is not your murderer.

Oh, and what brought you
to that conclusion?

The victim's wife placed the
arsenic in her sister's house.

- Yes, and we can prove it.
- We have photographs!

But we helped you catch
the real murderer!

MURDOCH:
You were poisoning your husband.

Why?

He never stopped going on
about my lack of brains,

how Hattie was
his intellectual equal.

I couldn't shine a light to her
or him.

I may not be that clever,
Detective,

but I still have feelings.

That counts for something.

When Andrew boasted that doctor
wanted his superior brain

for science, I saw my chance.

You began to poison him.

In his suet pudding.

Believing the true cause
of death would go undetected

when his body was brought
to the medical school.

That Dr. Dempsey was so keen
to get at his brain,

I knew he wouldn't look
at anything else.

But why frame
your sister Hattie?

RICHARDSON:
She thought she was so smart.

Let her use her brilliant mind

to wriggle
out of a murder charge.

The poison wasn't working
quickly enough.

So you smothered your husband?

Smother?
I didn't smother him.

We know who stabbed Richardson.
We know who poisoned him.

But who the bloody hell
smothered him?

Maybe it was a mercy killer

putting the poor bugger
out of his misery.

Perhaps the housekeeper
that was looking after him.

Or Hattie Baker,
for that matter.

You spoke to both of them,
George.

Yes, sir,
they both swear up and down

that Mr. Richardson
was still alive

when they left the house
together.

Sound asleep but alive.

So they did it together

or someone else was in the house
that night.

Sirs, when I was in Unionville

questioning the women
in question,

I took the liberty
of having a look around.

I found a set of footprints
near the side of the house.

And then in a shed,

there was a ladder
with some fresh mud on it.

I mean, I wonder if somebody
could have just climbed up

into Mr. Richardson's room
in the dead of the night.

Very good, George.

Mrs. Richardson
had taken a sleeping draft.

She wouldn't have heard
an intruder.

But who had motive
to kill Mr. Richardson?

BRACKENREID: What about that
Dr. Dempsey from the university?

What if he killed Richardson
to obtain his brain

before his research money
disappeared?

According to the widow,
Dempsey had spent some time

there at the house
with Mr. Richardson.

He'd have known the place.

So he had motive
and opportunity.

BRACKENREID:
Impressive plan.

Smother Richardson in his sleep,

then get the body
delivered to your door.

Any evidence would have ended up
in the university incinerator

when the cadaver
was disposed of.

That's the hallmark
of a perfect murder.

Studying intelligence

by examining the brains
of intellectuals.

I imagine finding suitable
subjects wouldn't be that easy.

Sadly true.

The superstitious belief

that the body retains
some sort of soul after death

still prevails,
even among the high-minded.

Utter nonsense, of course.

But you're not here to discuss
metaphysics, Detective.

I understand
Professor Richardson

was a coveted specimen

and that you were under pressure
to prove your hypothesis

before you lost
your financial backing.

I was.

How convenient, then,
that Professor Richardson's body

wound up
on your dissecting table

just before
that funding dried up.

Where were you the night

that Professor Richardson died,
Doctor?

What you are suggesting?

The professor was murdered.

You knew he'd been ailing
for some time.

You simply
helped the process along.

[ Scoffs ]
That is absolutely ridiculous.

The circumstances are
very compelling, Dr. Dempsey.

Get out of my lab, Detective.
I have important work to do.

MURDOCH:
Really?

I understood that you lost
your financial backing

along with
the professor's brain.

Not that it's any concern of
yours, but I have another donor

of equal intelligence
and at an advanced age.

The papers will be signed
this afternoon.

But your funding...

It will not be long before
my research is again under way.

Good day to you, Detective.

So, you think he's our man.

Yes, but to prove it?

He's Mr. Clever Clogs,
all right.

George and I will go back up
to Unionville,

see if there's anything
we might have missed.

Worth a try.
What else?

Well, sir,
we've wrung all we can

out of the poor professor's
body.

Any evidence
is long gone anyway,

thanks to the boneheads
still in my jail cell.

What should we to do with them?

Sir, I'd love
to charge them all, but --

We wouldn't have a clue
about this murder without them.

- BARNES: ...Detective Murdoch.
- Aye-aye.

Speak of the devil.

Mr. Barnes, how can I help?

It's Mrs. Dewar. I think
she's put herself in harm's way.

Oh. Right this way.

- Have a seat.
- Thank you.

What about Mrs. Dewar?

We were having tea
at the bookshop,

discussing
Mr. Richardson's murder,

when we hit upon a bizarre,
though plausible, theory.

Which was?

Dr. Dempsey, the brain
researcher, might be the killer.

I talked with friends
at the school,

and it turns out
that Dr. Dempsey

was under terrible pressure
to prove his neuron thesis.

He needed a brain tout de suite.

So I thought perhaps he took
matters into his own hands.

Mr. Barnes, what does this
have to do with Mrs. Dewar?

She has come up with a plan
to entrap the doctor.

She donated her brain.

BARNES: Yes.

The puzzle that Dr. Dempsey
placed in the newspaper?

She had already completed it,
so she took it to the doctor.

He of course wanted her brain,
and she said yes.

You were going to
lure Dr. Dempsey

into trying to kill Mrs. Dewar?

Exactly. Catch him red-handed,
so to speak.

But I started
to have second thoughts.

I tried talking her out of it,
but she wouldn't listen.

That's why I came here.

George.

Sir?

Telephone
the Faculty of Medicine.

I need to speak with Dr. Dempsey
urgently.

Sir.

Mr. Barnes, I believe Mrs. Dewar

is due to sign the donor papers
today.

I tried to dissuade her.

Really I did.
I told her it was too risky.

- But she wouldn't hear it.
- Why not?

Catching the real killer

was to be her apology to you,
Detective,

for interfering
the way that we did.

Oh, Lord.

Sir, Dempsey left the School
of Medicine 15 minutes ago.

We must leave at once.

That's Dr. Dempsey's carriage.

Please hurry, Detective.

He might already
be smothering Mrs. Dewar.

MURDOCH:
Doctor, step aside.

How dare you?
I am examining my patient.

BARNES:
Are you all right, Mrs. Dewar?

I am now that you
and the detective are here.

What on earth?

MURDOCH: Well, well.
The murder weapon.

DEMPSEY:
That is not mine.

Nigel Barnes,
you are under arrest

for the murder
of Andrew Richardson.

DEWAR:
My goodness!

What are you doing?
Dempsey is your murderer.

So you led me to believe.

But you are the killer,
Mr. Barnes.

Why would you think that?

On the way here,
you were concerned

that Dr. Dempsey was
going to smother Mrs. Dewar.

So?

MURDOCH: There is only one way
you could have known

how Professor Richardson
was killed.

You did the smothering.

[ Chuckles nervously]

You told us how he died,
Detective.

You told the whole group.
Isn't that right, Mrs. Dewar?

As I recall,
Detective Murdoch told us

that Professor Richardson
was murdered

but not how he was murdered.

You were upset at the time.
You've forgotten.

I don't think so, dear.

You said so yourself --
I have an excellent memory.

- This is absurd.
- DEWAR: Honestly, Mr. Barnes.

Do you really think
you could outwit

the great Detective Murdoch?

MURDOCH:
[Clears throat]

Take him way, George.

So, Mrs. Dewar,
about your brain.

Even with this
unpleasant incident,

I trust our agreement
still stands.

After your death, of course.

I don't see why not.

Thank you.

And, Detective,

you'd be an excellent candidate
for my study.

When the time comes, of course.

So, Doctor, what do you make
of the detective's admirers?

It seems the notion
of ardent followers

is something
of a modern phenomenon.

A byproduct of his successes,
I suppose.

The whole idea
is rather fascinating,

psychologically speaking.

A bunch of happy dafties,
if you ask me.

[ Chuckles ]

I cannot believe
Mr. Barnes did it.

Why would he kill
Professor Richardson?

He didn't know him.

The poor professor was an
innocent victim in all of this.

The intended target
was Dr. Dempsey.

But Why?

MURDOCH:
Simple revenge.

Dr. Dempsey was the teacher

that expelled Mr. Barnes
from the Faculty of Medicine.

Once he learned about
your murder idea,

he set his plan into action.

But why not just kill the
professor and frame Dr. Dempsey?

Why complicate things
with the pretend murder?

MURDOCH:
That's the clever part.

Clever how?

In order to frame Dr. Dempsey,

Mr. Barnes had to devise
a perfect murder,

one that only Dr. Dempsey
could commit.

He knew that I would
see through the masquerade

and find the true identity
of the victim.

He also knew that we would find
the true cause of death,

the smothering.

So he had you, Mrs. Dewar, lure
Dr. Dempsey to your bookshop.

He sowed the seeds of suspicion

and made sure that I arrived
at just the right time.

And the chloral hydrate
in the doctor's bag?

The final piece of evidence
he planted.

But our friend Mr. Barnes
was a little too eager.

One slip of the tongue, and
our detective caught him out.

Congratulations, Detective.

[Laughs]

May I have your autograph,
Detective?

- All right, Miss Cranston.
- Oh.

Well, how about a photograph,
Detective?

Certainly.
Why not?

Henry?

Could you please
take a photograph of us?

Of course I can.

Miss Cranston, Mrs. Dewar,
Mr. Hume.

- You too, Ruby.
-[ Giggles ]

You're a good sport, Detective.

All in day's work.

All right, everybody smile.

[ Camera shutter clicks]