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Oh, hello, ladies!

You two look wonderful today. What's the occasion?

Oh! We now need an occasion to look good?

No. Of course not.

We're having our portrait painted today.

Oh, right! Yes. I hope it turns out well.

You know, William, I was thinking:

Perhaps we're not exposing Susannah to enough art.

At her age?

How much art appreciation are we hoping to cultivate?

Well, you're attempting to cultivate an understanding of

Maxwell's electromagnetic equations.

Oh, yes. That's easier to understand.

This is something, isn't it?

That painting that was stolen from the Louvre

still hasn't been recovered. It's been two weeks.

- Oh? - It's called the Mona Lisa

by Leonardo da Vinci.

Da Vinci, a scientist!

And a painter.

Although I hadn't heard of this piece.

Do they have any leads yet?

Ah, "authorities, surprised by the brazen theft,

are searching for their chief suspect,

art student Jacques Martine."

Well, we must be off. Wish us luck.

- Good luck. - Mm-hmm.

Little Susannah is growing just like a weed!

What are you suggesting?

It's a compliment. Growing quickly.

Oh! Yes. Thank you.

Detective Murdoch.

Aboard the ship?

Has the victim been identified yet?

Who's this, then?

A mister Jacques Martine.

A Frenchman. Coming to Canada for a visit?

Or fleeing the scene of the crime.

Mr. Martine here may be wanted for the theft

of a valuable painting called the Mona Lisa.

La Gioconda.

The cultured among us know her as la Gioconda,

the joyful lady.

Yes. Well, the joyful lady

may be the reason for this murder.

He was struck on the head several times.

I'll have to check for defensive wounds.

And no sign of that painting?

If he had it.

Likely motive, if he did.

He lets someone in, they see the Mona Lisa

and kill him for it.

Oh, I read about that painting in the paper.

- Do we think this man stole it? - Possibly.

Fresh paint on this palette. But there's no paintings.

Hm. Any thoughts on the murder weapon?

Ah, something small,

approximately a few centimetres in width with sharp edges.

Right.

Let's get all of these items down to the station house

and see if there's a murder weapon amongst them.

Oh. Uh, Mr. Dubois?

Ah, yes.

I've been working on this boat for the last three years.

First time I see something like this.

Hm. Don't cabin stewards work solely in first class?

Ah, indeed, sir.

Then how is it that you came upon Mr. Martine?

Um, I-I was asked to-to check that everyone had gone up

to the main deck to disembark

and, uh, the door was open. I-I saw him on the ground.

Was there anyone else here,

in the hallway, or one of the other cabins?

No, sir.

Right.

Did you move anything in this cabin?

After I found him dead? Of course not. No.

Thank you.

- This is outrageous! - Do you know to whom you are speaking?

What seems to be the problem?

This constable will not permit my daughter and I to pass.

We would like to disembark this instant.

There's an ongoing murder investigation, I'm afraid.

And my constable here is only doing his duty.

Oh, do you really think we would have anything to do with that?

Well, I wouldn't know that yet, would I?

My name is Lady Isabelle.

And this is my father, Arthur Rawley,

the Duke of Surrey.

Oh, sir. I do apologize.

Uh, Your Grace. Constable, let them through.

Oi, you in the suit.

You can't go down there. It's a crime scene.

I was only looking for something.

And you left it in your berth?

No, no. Think Mr. Martine has it... have it.

- Oh? - My match case.

I-I lend it to him, but, uh, he did not return it.

- Can I go to see? - I'm afraid not.

You knew the dead man, did you?

No, no! H-His room was next to mine. That's all.

But you know who I did see him with?

Lady Isabelle.

She would sneak down to the third-class lounge.

Is that right?

This is decidedly not how my first day in Canada

should be progressing.

I understand. However,

we do need to ask your daughter some questions.

I don't see what my daughter has to do with any of this.

I can answer for myself, papa.

What were you doing consorting with passengers in third-class quarters?

Isabelle?!

I wanted to talk to other artists, papa.

Artists?

- What about that nice chap in first? - Ugh...

Lord William?

- He collects etchings. - No, real artists.

Like Monsieur Martine.

Yes. How well did you get to know Mr. Martine?

Oh, well, hardly at all.

I was never alone with him, of course.

Who else was there during your visits?

A very, uh...

Forthright woman.

She had studied in Paris

and claimed to know all about painting.

- Hm. - I saw her in the company

of Mr. Martine many times.

And this woman, did she and Mr. Martine seem close?

No.

No, in fact,

I saw them argue.

I think they rather hated each other.

Hm.

Right. I'll be needing this woman's name.

Miss Emily Carr.

Thank you for coming in to answer some questions.

I would say you're welcome, but it would be a lie.

So, please, be quick about it.

You were familiar with the victim,

Mr. Martine, were you not?

I was.

Apparently, the two of you fought.

We had a disagreement,

but I wouldn't call it a fight.

What did the two of you argue about?

Art.

He was enthralled by the old masters.

I said that he should be open to a more expressive style,

not to strive for mere verisimilitude,

but to paint with the mind's eye.

So a professional disagreement.

Art is more than mere profession,

Detective Murdoch. It's a vocation.

Did you ever visit Mr. Martine's cabin?

Oh, good heavens!

No. I stay well clear of any and all men.

I'm telling you, I barely knew him.

All the same, I would like a print of your fingermarks

before you leave, Miss Carr.

As you wish.

Who did this?

I did.

It's a serious question.

It was a serious answer.

You have a strong sense of colour and vitality.

Yes, I would think I do.

Sincerely...

It's very good.

I feel almost humbled.

Well, I certainly hope she's innocent, Murdoch.

She's obviously a woman of taste.

- Hello! - Oh!

What have you, Miss Hart?

I've completed my postmortem,

but I haven't typed up my report just yet.

Do you know the cause of death?

Well, he died from his head injuries. Nothing more.

I see.

All the blows caused a subdural hematoma.

He was hale and hearty otherwise.

Oh!

I also found these in the wounds.

- Pieces of mirror? - I think so.

Odd.

- Mr. Martine's suitcase. - Oh?

Entrancing.

Just a hint of annoying smile

as though she has a secret.

Well, they all do, don't they?

Ah-ha.

Hm.

This must be that bloke's match case.

Manganese oxide. Azurite. Verdigris?

Oils. Spike lavender.

Mr. Martine must be making his own paints.

What's this?

- What's that? - What's what?

Well, judging by the blood here,

I'd say we've found our murder weapon.

Hello?

Yes?

I-I'm looking for Mr. Bernier.

He's painting a portrait of me today.

- I sent him home. - I'm sorry?

Everything is cancelled.

There's just so much to do before tomorrow night.

Wh-what's happening tomorrow night?

We received a call from Lady Isabelle herself

wanting to exhibit her paintings, here!

Isn't that wonderful?

Yes, quite. But we had an arrangement.

It's not every day that we get the chance to display the works

of such a distinguished artist.

Of course you understand.

Yes. Of course.

Oh! Detective Watts!

- What are you doing here? - I'm looking for a painting.

Well, good luck.

I don't have time for any enquiries.

I can see you are a busy man.

But I only have one question.

Surely you have time for one question?

Very well.

You're a detective, I gather?

Ah, now it is you who has a question.

Well, go on, then.

Has anyone come in here looking to discreetly sell

a sixteenth-century painting called the Mona Lisa?

- The Mona Lisa? - Mm.

Oh, good heavens, no! No.

But a man did come in this morning

- looking to sell some renaissance art. - Oh?

Yeah. Something seemed off to me. I didn't trust him.

I told him to leave.

- Did he give you a name? - Yes.

Hm. I doubt it was his real one. He t...

He told me that if I changed my mind and wanted to, uh,

discuss a sale,

he would be staying at the Park Embassy Hotel

under the name Mr. Raphael.

Mr. Raphael. Thank you, Mr...

- Lash. - Lash.

- Huh. - Even though the suitcase was in the water,

I've managed to pull a fingermark from this.

Must be something to paint with,

but I've never seen anything like it.

Ooh! Very interesting.

You have a match?

Miss Emily Carr.

Perhaps art is not her only vocation.

I've told you I barely knew him.

Miss Carr, your fingermarks

are on what very well could be the murder weapon.

That's impossible.

That's the murder weapon?

Well, I might have picked it up,

but I certainly didn't kill him with it.

Mr. Martine was a very direct man.

He asked me if he could borrow some of my brushes.

I said no and then he went into my cabin,

and he took them for himself.

And what did you do?

I waited until he was out of his cabin,

and then I took them right back.

And then I saw that thing on the table,

and I picked it up to look at it.

What's this used for?

It's some kind of drawing aid, I imagine.

Why did you not tell me before that you broke into his cabin?

I'm no fool. I knew it would look as though I was guilty,

but I-I'm telling you,

I would not kill over my brushes,

even if they are the best sable.

I'll be needing your whereabouts

for the last 24 hours aboard the ship.

I was in the breakfast room,

then I was in the library all morning;

many people saw me.

But the night before,

I was by myself.

I require my solitude.

Unfortunately, solitude does not constitute an alibi, Miss Carr.

17 Brookham Drive.

I'll be there for the foreseeable future.

See that you are. Detective Murdoch

may want to speak with you again.

Yes, Constable. May I go now?

I'm expecting a delivery of my painting supplies.

Ah, yes. Thank you.

Pardon me. I couldn't help overhear.

- Are you a painter? - Yes.

Well, how wonderful.

Would I have seen your work anywhere?

Well, that depends. Were you at the Salon D'automne in Paris?

No, but that does sound grand.

Do you paint portraits?

- On occasion. - Would you accept a commission?

My daughter and I were to have our portrait painted today

and it fell through, and I know you've only just met me,

but may I ask if you would paint it?

- Well... - I would pay handsomely.

I don't have a studio.

You could come to my house.

How about tomorrow morning?

- You said that you would pay well? - Absolutely.

All right, then. You have yourself a painter.

Fabulous.

Have you found anything else, Miss Hart?

I ascertained that time of death

was approximately nine o'clock that morning.

So not Miss Carr;

she was seen in the library the entire morning.

- Mm. - Oh.

Mr. Peruggia. How can I help you?

I was, uh, told you have my match case.

Ah, yes. It's being held for you at the front desk.

Grazie.

Oh, dio!

Is that... a dead man?

It is.

That's Mr. Martine.

You knew him.

Of course. I-I-I did not recognize him

after his soul departed.

Well, uh, have a good day.

Oh! Of course. Arrivederci.

It's strange.

What is?

He knew Mr. Martine and didn't recognize him.

Very few of us look the same in death.

I feel I must warn you,

my brushwork is bold and expressive.

Oh!

You've heard of the fauvist style?

Ah, no.

Mm. It means you and your baby

won't look pretty as you would in, say, a Fragonard.

Oh!

When you told me it was your husband

who had accused me of murder, I did think twice.

Oh, well, he was just pursuing his investigation.

And being a foolish man in the process.

So, did you have any idea that Mr. Martine

could have stolen the Mona Lisa?

Not at all.

Your husband didn't ask you to question me, did he?

Oh! Of course not. No, I was just curious.

I bet it was that Lady Isabelle

who told your husband to suspect me.

No, I just remembered something.

But I don't want to gossip.

Oh! You can tell me.

She seemed very chummy with Mr. Martine.

I overheard her saying something about money being no object.

And then

she asked him when she could come to his cabin.

Do you think they were talking about the painting?

Possibly.

Or...

She was taking lessons.

Her work is uneven, at best.

Here she is, Dr. Ogden.

Fresh as a daisy.

Thank you. Hello, darling. Are you ready?

Aww.

A little to your left.

Oh.

You still tinkering with that contraption?

The shards of mirror found in the victim's wounds

match this broken mirror here.

- But it's curious. - How so?

This is a front-surface mirror,

the type of thing used for a reflective telescope.

Whatever the murder weapon is,

we need to find that bloody painting as quick as possible.

Whoever has it, is most likely our killer.

Watts called earlier. He's following a lead to a hotel.

I just may have some information, as well.

- What've you heard? - Miss Isabelle was overheard

talking to Mr. Martine about purchasing something expensive.

Overheard by whom?

- Miss Emily Carr. - You talked to her?

Uh, she's painting a portrait of myself and Susannah.

Oh. Why don't you two go and talk to the lady?

And tread carefully.

We don't want an international incident.

Hello! Lady Isabelle?

It's all right, Maxine. You can let them in.

We just have a few questions.

I am just off to my show. Can't talk, I'm afraid.

Well, this shouldn't take too long.

We're investigating a possible exchange of money

between you and Mr. Martine.

I loathe discussing money. It's so vulgar.

- What a lovely tapestry. - Oh, please don't!

The Mona Lisa will not be returned to you.

It is evidence in a murder investigation.

But I gave that poor man 2,000 pounds for it

- the day before he died. - Why did you not tell me about this?

I couldn't say I spent that money in front of papa.

He says I spend far too much on art.

- It's stolen property. - I know.

I couldn't resist.

We believe Mr. Martine was killed for that painting.

I didn't kill him!

I couldn't have!

Please, you must believe me!

Do you have any proof of your purchase?

A receipt,

a letter,

witness?

You've put Lady Isabelle in the cells?

She was in possession of the Mona Lisa.

Do you really think she killed the Frenchman?

That remains to be seen.

She claims she purchased it from Mr. Martine

the day before he died, but has no proof.

If she bought a stolen painting,

what was she thinking?

That she is a lady from a wealthy family

and above the law.

Look at that satisfied smile.

She's obviously been up to no good.

It's an interesting painting.

Interesting? Murdoch, look at it.

The subtle brushstrokes,

the way the light dances across her eyes,

the sfumato technique.

- The what? - Sfumato.

Layers of thin glaze that create those smoky shadows.

It's beautiful.

What's beautiful?

- We found the Mona Lisa. - That's impossible.

Why do you say that?

Because I've just found her.

Where on earth did you get this?

Remember when I told you I had a lead

on a possible suspect at the Park Embassy Hotel?

You got a painting of the Mona Lisa from a hotel?

- Yes. - So where's the person who had it?

- Did you bring them in? - No.

Bloody hell, Watts!

The person who had it is more than likely Mr. Martine's killer!

I found the Mona Lisa with the person who bought it.

I was too late to apprehend the seller.

Talk us through precisely what happened.

I was told that Mr. Raphael,

likely not his real name, was in room 312.

I knocked on the door.

Is that room service?

No. Uh, please open the door. I'm interested in a painting.

You're too late. Please leave.

But then, I spotted the man with the service cart.

Commandeered the cart and knocked again.

Room service.

Come in.

The door opened, and I went inside.

Your champagne.

Wonderful.

I wanted to drink a toast...

To a beautiful lady.

Well, that will have to wait.

- Excuse me? - Toronto Constabulary.

I'm Detective Llewellyn Watts

and I'm placing you under arrest for murder and theft.

But I bought the Mona Lisa. I didn't kill anyone for her.

Prove it.

The man told me he entered the hotel room

and saw the painting.

He then was spoken to by a man behind a screen.

Leave five thousand dollars on the table

and turn to face the wall.

The man did what he was told.

When he heard the door shut, he turned...

And thus he had bought the Mona Lisa.

He never saw the seller's face.

So which one is real?

Well, they appear identical.

That's what this device is used for.

Yes, what is that?

Well, I-I don't know the name, but if you peer...

Yes!

Peer through the top.

Can you see the reflection of the painting?

The mirror's half-broken, but yes.

If I look down on it, I can see it.

That's what Mr. Martine was doing aboard the ship.

He had the real Mona Lisa and used this device

- to help him make a copy. - Oh!

What he used to aid him ended up being used to kill him.

Poetry aside, we still don't know who swung the bloody thing.

We still have Lady Isabelle in our custody.

So if she had the fake, it's more than likely

that she's telling the truth, that she bought it off Mr. Martine.

So, the killer sold the real one for more money.

The question is...

Which is which?

Ah. Good morning, sir.

I've already been to the Park Embassy Hotel,

but neither the clerk nor any of the bellboys

can remember what Mr. Raphael looked like.

Ah. Very well, Henry.

Could you keep an eye out for a telegram for me?

Of course. May I ask what it's about?

I've asked the Louvre to send any and all information

that will help us discern the real Mona Lisa from the fake.

Ah.

Does it really matter, sir?

What do you mean?

If they look identical,

I say the more the merrier.

I'm not sure the Louvre would share your sentiments.

Yeah. Of course.

Nanny is just changing Susannah.

Oh! Well, it shouldn't take too long.

No, it's not that. I just... I can't...

I was painting so freely in Paris and now...

Oh! Well, I'm sure it's wonderful. May I take a look?

Oh! Oh, well, I see. Yeah, well, it's-it's very colourful.

- Damned by faint praise. - I love it, truly.

No, you don't. It's insipid and muddy.

Nonsense. You have such a-a... free style.

Even that police inspector painted better.

- No. - I'm wasting my life.

No! I'm n-not!

You're ruining it! You're ruining it!

You can't ruin something that was never anything.

To think of a Rawley tossed into jail like a common criminal.

No one can ever know of this.

Is that really all you care about?

How it reflects on the family?

I am your daughter!

If I may? We'd like to discuss the case.

Oh, this case is a farce.

Do you really believe Lady Isabelle killed a man?

There's been a development.

- Go on, then. - We now have in our possession

two Mona Lisas,

the original and a copy.

If your daughter had the copy,

then it is possible she purchased it from Mr. Martine.

I told you I...

No, wait, that's impossible.

I couldn't have bought a mere copy.

If you had the real Mona Lisa,

it might appear that you had killed for it.

This is ridiculous. Neither of them is the real painting.

How do you know that?

My secretary told me just this morning

that he heard J.P. Morgan

was approached by a seller looking to quietly

sell the Mona Lisa.

How does your secretary know this?

His cousin is J.P. Morgan's art agent.

The seller told Mr. Morgan

the sale must happen quickly in Toronto.

I had planned to tell you.

That is very interesting.

I assume the arrest of my daughter

won't be in any of the papers.

You have our word.

We'll just be needing one more thing from you.

What's your plan?

Draw the seller out.

I had the Duke call his secretary

and get me the details of the person

- who contacted Mr. Morgan. - So we can contact him?

Yes. Now, he sold the first quickly

and for relatively little money.

But for this one, he went to Mr. J.P. Morgan.

Who I've heard pays hundreds of thousands

for a painting by an old master.

So this could be the real one.

- And, therefore, the person selling it... - Is likely our killer.

I just want to say right now:

I'm not pretending to be J.P. Morgan.

- But, sir. - Not today, Murdoch.

I'm just not feeling in a thespian mood.

I'll be out front chasing him down if he runs off.

Huh. As you wish.

So, who is going to be Mr. Morgan?

Are you sure?

He's done it before.

Henry, I've contacted the seller.

You are to go to the Park Embassy Hotel

tomorrow morning at eight am.

Who am I pretending to be?

Well, you're far too young to play Mr. J.P. Morgan,

so I've created a buyer, a friend of Mr. Morgan's.

So a rich man, you say.

I suppose.

I'll be needing a new suit.

Was the new suit really necessary?

Sir, Pierpont is worth over 80 million dollars.

I need to look like his representative.

And what's that?

Oh! Pierpont is fond of cigars.

Thought I would partake.

The hat looks ridiculous.

- Ruthie bought it for me. - Lose it! Give.

Now go in there and see if he's got the bloody painting.

Right. Uh, how much should I offer for it?

As much as you want, Henry. We aren't actually buying it.

Oh. Of course.

Not sure I approve of this plan of action.

It's the best one we have.

Yes. Hello. Enter.

What's your name?

Mr. Reginald Templeton.

Are you a copper?

Don't be absurd!

Do I look like an uneducated ruffian to you?

What's going on?

He's signalling.

That man!

- He's using him as a lookout. - Toronto Constabulary! Stop!

What're you doing?

Nice suit.

Too bad about the shoes, copper.

Police! Stop!

Stop!

Seems like he got away, sir.

Get that suit back to where you got it from.

- Really? I... - Now!

There are several paintings here.

A landscape...

A still life,

both signed JM. Jacques Martine.

The killer didn't just steal the Mona Lisa.

They stole all Mr. Martine's paintings.

And there she is.

A third Mona Lisa? Will wonders never cease?

This is most likely the real one.

Huh. It makes one ponder:

If we cannot distinguish between the real and the fake,

why reject the forgeries as inferior?

Because one is worth a fortune, and one isn't.

But consider a lithograph,

or a piece of music, or a choreographed dance.

They are repeated and each iteration

is considered a work of art.

Yes, but in each of those examples,

repetition is inherent in the creation.

A forgery of a painting is intentionally deceitful.

- Mm. - He's got you there.

Well, no. I agree. The intent with which these were made is different,

but if we cannot tell them apart,

we simply enjoy them all.

Therefore, is authenticity relevant

to one's aesthetic experience?

- It's relevant to what it's worth. - Why?

Because it just bloody is! That's why.

Sir, if I may?

Does this man look familiar?

It's the cabin steward, Henri Dubois.

The one who found the victim.

It's signed JM, 1910.

How did Mr. Martine paint the cabin steward last year?

Did they know each other?

This is not a portrait of Henri Dubois.

This is a self-portrait

of Jacques Martine.

Bloody hell. We've been tricked.

Why would Mr. Martine switch identities with Dubois?

Because Martine was wanted for the theft of the Mona Lisa.

Better to be declared dead than to be chased

by the French police the rest of your life.

Have this image printed, Murdoch,

and have it distributed everywhere.

He's likely planning to leave Toronto.

Oh! Detective Murdoch!

Oh. Mr. Peruggia,

have you not retrieved your match case yet?

Oh, y-yes and I wanted to thank you again for that.

Ah. You're welcome.

- Good day. - Oh.

I overheard that you found the Mona Lisa. I am so happy.

Yes, we actually have three now.

We believe one to be the original.

You don't know?

Well, I have an idea.

No. A true lover of la Gioconda would know.

Yes. How would one know for certain?

Ah. One could hear her calling to you

through the ages in Italiano.

Anything more concrete than that?

No.

Good day.

Have you seen this chap before?

Never seen him before.

I'll take a scotch, please.

Hello, Miss Carr.

Oh.

Inspector.

What's this, then?

It's nothing. It's a bad habit.

I think drawing is one of my best habits.

You have talent. I do not.

Ah. It's not going well.

I know how you feel.

I've thrown many of my paintings in the fire before.

Hm.

I tried painting a portrait of a mother and her baby.

Heaven knows I need the money, but it never came alive.

Maybe you're not a portrait painter.

It can be quite inhibiting trying to paint real people,

especially when you have to flatter them. May I?

It's a...

It's a church out in British Columbia.

It's in a thick forest.

It's so beautiful there.

You should go out west,

paint outside amongst nature.

Paint what you love and paint how you want to paint it.

Do you think it's that simple?

No, not at all.

And if I fail?

Then you fail doing something that you love.

Better that than the alternative.

How so?

Well, you'd spend time doing something that you enjoyed.

The end result doesn't really matter then, does it?

I do long for British Columbia.

Thank you, Inspector.

Can I keep this?

It's worthless.

Not if I like it, it isn't.

Will you be paying for the lady?

Bloody artists.

Probably starving.

Excuse me, sir! A moment.

- I'm in something of a hurry. - Oh. Paintings to sell, is it?

It's quite a good likeness.

Indeed.

I suppose it would be worth more now that the artist is dead.

Enough with the charade.

I know it's a self-portrait.

Ah.

You killed an innocent cabin steward.

He saw my paintings.

Yes, your paintings.

You are uniquely talented.

Why turn to forgery and murder?

My original work was called derivative.

Old-fashioned.

So I figured perhaps originality is overrated.

Perhaps I could make more Mona Lisas

for the world to enjoy.

You didn't paint them for edification.

You made them for profit.

You think so little of me, Detective.

You killed Mr. Dubois and assumed his identity

so that you could sell the paintings.

You had to have known that the authorities

would be looking for the Mona Lisa.

Perhaps.

You weren't just trying to throw the police off your trail.

I don't know what you're talking about.

You were working with someone else.

And if they also believed that you were dead,

you would be free to sell the paintings

and keep all of the profit.

If it was my plan,

it isn't anymore.

I've changed my mind about the Mona Lisa.

It's not just about the money, Detective.

Oh. Then please tell me what it is about, Mr. Martine.

Maybe I had a partner.

But I won't give you his name.

If I can't have her,

why shouldn't he?

A true lover of la Gioconda would know.

You don't have to give me his name.

I know who it is.

Mr. Vincenzo Peruggia.

Henry!

- Yes, sir. - There are only two paintings here.

- Where's the third? - I... don't know, sir.

And where is Mr. Peruggia?

The Italian man? I haven't seen him around.

He must've known which one was the original and taken it.

- I'm sorry, sir. - Right.

Alert the border crossings.

He's likely leaving the country and headed to Europe.

Right away.

For a brief moment in time, Da Vinci's masterpiece was in Toronto.

It's probably long gone by now.

There's been no sightings of that Mr. Peruggia anywhere.

He's likely on a ship or a train

traveling under a false name.

False names, a false body,

false paintings.

I've been thinking about what you said, Watts.

- Oh? - About the aesthetic experience.

I think a fake Mona Lisa is good enough for me.

If you don't mind, Murdoch, I think I'll take one home.

Of course.

Give Margaret something to crow about.

Eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

No, I'll take this one.

Good night, gentlemen.

Oh, I don't trust her smile.

Hm.

You could try to find another artist.

I've had two failed attempts at a portrait.

I'm beginning to think that I'm cursed.

You could paint it yourself!

From this photograph I took of you.

Hm. Oh, no, William. I've tried painting a few times

with no great success. I find it so hard

to get the proportions right.

Well, then, come with me.

What is this?

It's called a camera lucida

and you peer through it like this.

And...

Oh! I can see the photograph.

Yes! It allows you to perfectly

- duplicate the proportions. - Ha!

Oh!

You know, William,

I really wish I came to the office

to see the real Mona Lisa. Was she very beautiful?

I had the original and the copies

and, to be honest,

- I couldn't tell the difference. - Oh!

Well, I do hope the Louvre recovers the true one.

No doubt they will.

Thank you, William.

I bought you these new colours, as well.

Oh, huh.

Ochre. Apparently, that's very popular these days.

Oh, right.

Ah, ha, ha. What is that?

It's a painting. What's it look like?

Well, where did you get it?

Do you know what this is?

It's the Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci.

Well, a bloody good copy, anyway.

- A copy? - Aye.

I don't want a copy

of a painting sitting on our mantle.

- It's common. - Margaret!

Besides...

It's like her eyes seem to follow me everywhere I go.

Mm, I don't like it.

Well, I do. And she's staying.

Uh-huh.

Ah, no.

I don't... what's so special about you?

Ugh.

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