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Oh, I'll do that.

Last time you did the laundry,

you flooded the kitchen.

I'll do it after work.

You're going to be late.

I know, I know.

You look nice.

Thank you.

How are things at Scotland Yard?

Wonderful. Inspector Blake is such a gentlemen,

so considerate,

quite the nicest person I've worked for.

Thank you for that.

You don't count.

Again, thank you.

Oh, I'll do them.

And yes, I'll do them properly.

Now, get your things and go.

- But... - Coat, hat, bag, now.

Good morning, my dear.

Oh Barnabus, I'm so sorry,

I don't have time for breakfast.

I need to be in early today, so much to do.

This is the third time this week

we will miss breakfast together,

and it is the cornerstone of our day.

There's tea in the pot, bread and jam on the table.

Lizzie will keep you company.

Hmm.

Miss Scarlet.

Mr. Potts.

I've never seen Ivy this happy, Mr. Potts,

so, we all have to make adjustments.

I am aware of that.

I do not wish to be seen as a stick-in-the-mud,

but... I am a man of routine,

because without routine, Miss Scarlet, there is anarchy.

Well, I have a very busy day ahead of me.

Clarence is visiting his mother for a few days,

and I'll be alone in the office.

So, perhaps I can trouble you

for one more break in your routine?

To assist me with the dishes.

Miss Scarlet, I am yet to take my morning tea,

let alone peruse the latest headlines.

Mr. Potts... if we work together,

then Ivy will be free this evening

to give you time and attention, rather than

doing the washing up.

Very well, but...

I have a specific method

when it comes to the cleaning of dishes,

which I must insist we adhere to.

Right.

Right, indeed.

Er, I do confess,

it's been difficult to tear myself away

from this morning's news.

The front-page stories are grimly compelling.

Are you aware of the Thames Reaper?

I am, indeed. I've been following

the story with great interest.

Four murders in three

short months,

and then nothing.

Hmm...

Until now.

He has written a letter to the Morning Herald,

advising he plans to kill again.

Goodness.

It... sent a chill down my spine

when I read that the Thames Reaper is back.

We will not be safe in our beds

until he's caught.

It pains me to say this,

there are times when I truly believe

there is something rotten

at the heart of this great nation.

- Intriguing. - Er...

You don't mind if I take this, do you, Mr. Potts?

What, no, no, no, Miss Scarlet, Miss Scarlet.

Anarchy.

"Thames Reaper returns."

Get your Morning Herald.

Read all about it.

I think you need to refer back

to what you've said already, indeed.

- Mr. Barnes? - What?

My name's Eliza Scarlet.

I... I wondered if I might have

a moment of your time?

Er...

1,200 words... by four o'clock.

- 1,200? - Yes, Sir.

- Sir... - No...

That'll do, Bailey,

thank you.

Thank you.

Er, if you're looking for work,

I already have a secretary.

I'm a private detective, Mr. Barnes,

and I would very much like to help your newspaper

solve the mystery of the Thames Reaper.

You have some information?

I have a number of theories and insights,

- as well as leads... - Madam,

I am the editor of a national newspaper.

I have no shortage of people to chase up leads.

They are called journalists,

and this building is full of them.

It's been almost a year since the first murder,

and no-one, not the police, not your newspaper,

nor any of your competitors,

has the slightest idea

who this Thames Reaper is.

This case needs fresh insight,

and I will work around the clock,

seven days a week, to bring you answers.

And you would want to be paid for that, I presume?

Well, that is customary,

when someone provides a service, yes.

You bring me something new,

something I don't already know,

and then perhaps I will hire you.

Mr. Bailey...

- my name's... - I know exactly who you are.

There are not many lady detectives in London.

Pleasure to meet you, Miss Scarlet.

I hear it was you who broke the story

of the Thames Reaper?

Guilty as charged.

In fact...

these are my notes.

1,200 words by four o'clock?

Exactly.

So erm...

what brings you here?

Well, I also have an interest in the Reaper case,

and now that he's returned,

I asked that your editor hire me

to do my own investigation.

Well, er... best of luck.

The man has short arms and very long pockets

when it comes to paying even his own staff.

Well, we've agreed that if I do find any new information,

he will indeed pay me a fee.

And it oc... occurred to me that, erm...

well, perhaps it might benefit us both if we share

any insight that we might have on the case.

The Reaper story has transformed the fortunes

of the Morning Herald.

We were on the verge of closing

due to poor sales.

It's a dreadful thing to say, but...

these murders have kept us all in a job.

How did this story come to your attention?

In November of last year, a body was found

on the banks of the Thames,

near London Bridge,

a young man in his early 20s.

It appeared he had drowned.

There was little other information,

not even his name.

Normally I would have ignored it,

but it was a slow news day,

so, I wrote a couple of hundred words

that ended up hidden away on page six.

No other newspaper reported it,

and I gave it no more thought.

Then...

the next day...

a letter arrived.

It was typed on plain paper

and written all in lower case.

It simply read:

"Edward sleeps by London Bridge."

I'd no idea what it meant,

but the mention of London Bridge

made me think of the drowning the day before.

I spoke to a police contact,

and managed to get the name of the dead man.

As the letter said,

it was indeed Edward.

Edward Turnbull.

Had his name been released to the public?

No.

And the letter was posted the day before

my story was published,

compelling evidence that whoever wrote the letter

murdered the victim.

What happened then?

- "Our source." - "Our source..."

I wrote a bigger story,

mentioning the mysterious letter.

"...to be continued..."

It was a full-page article,

- this time on page two. - Excellent.

"Our source..."

Word began to spread,

sales went up.

Press now, now, now.

Mr. Barnes, our editor,

requested follow-up articles,

poring over every detail.

By the end of the week,

it was front page news.

Three weeks later, another body was found,

in a different part of the river,

and another letter arrived.

Again, the location and name correct.

Again, it was lower case, anonymous,

and formatted in the same precise fashion.

It became our front-page story for days, if not weeks on end.

Circulation began to rise.

I've never seen Mr. Barnes so happy.

- Thank you... - Keep it up.

- I shall do. - Won't you?

- Thank you. - Good lad.

And the next victim was...

a month later,

found up the river near Richmond?

It was around this time,

someone in our office,

I can't remember who,

began to use the moniker,

'The Thames Reaper.'

I didn't like the name,

but Mr. Barnes insisted we used it.

There is something of a...

circus ringmaster about him.

And the fourth victim followed the same pattern?

Exactly the same.

But that was six months ago,

and I believed that to be an end to the killings,

until yesterday, when he wrote again,

this time simply saying,

'I have returned.'

Get your hands off me.

Don't you dare touch me.

- Morning, Bob. - Good morning, Ivy. For filing.

Oh.

Get a move on.

What? Alright.

You, come on, come on.

- Morning. - Morning, Ivy.

Morning.

Come.

Morning, Inspector.

Miss Woods, how are you today?

Very well, thank you.

If you carry on like this, you'll be stronger

than any man here.

I've managed to find those records from Clerkenwell.

That's the original... these are the copies.

Most efficient. Thank you.

And how is Miss Scarlet coping without you?

Well, she's been very accommodating.

So, there'll be a hot dinner waiting for you

when you return home this evening?

I wouldn't go that far.

Was there anything else you needed?

Er, yes, but I think you have quite enough

- to deal with already. - Nonsense, what is it you need?

The new desk sergeant. What's his name?

Bernard.

He has written up the duty log for last night,

but his handwriting is illegible.

Leave it with me, I'll type it up and you'll

- have it in an hour. - Which is exactly

what I hoped you would say. Thank you.

Oh, and these need to be

copied and filed. They're urgent, so...

You would rather they didn't go

in the general filing tray?

You read my mind.

I'll see to it myself.

Miss Woods...

you're a credit to this department.

Woo. Thank you.

What are the postmarks on the letters?

From all over the city,

each one from a different borough.

And where are the letters now?

With the police, which is rather vexing,

since each body was found

in the river at a different location.

The case spans several jurisdictions, though...

City of London Police, the Surrey Police,

the Bow Street Division.

Do you really think you can find something new?

I can certainly try.

And you've no idea why he's resurfaced?

Not a clue.

Mr. Bailey?

Yes.

A telegram for you, Sir.

Thank you.

I'm being called back to the office,

another letter's arrived.

Thank you, Mr. Stevens.

I would estimate he's been in the water for a day.

Perhaps a little longer.

There's minimal discoloration of the soft tissue,

with only slight bloating.

There's an open wound to the back of the head,

possible blunt trauma injury.

Were you here when he was pulled out?

Yes, Sir.

Was he lifted, or dragged?

Sir?

Did his feet touch the ground?

No, Sir.

Inspector Blake?

Inspector Blake?

Miss Scarlet.

Your business is to see me, or him?

Well, both.

May I introduce Mr. Bailey

from the Morning Herald?

He's the journalist covering

the Thames Reaper story.

You believe this is connected?

I do, yes.

Another letter arrived at our office not one hour ago.

"Caleb sleeps by Limehouse docks."

You're working with his newspaper?

Oh, we... in a manner of speaking.

I'll need you to give a statement.

Gladly, yes.

I was talking to Mr. Bailey.

I do not need a statement from you, Miss Scarlet.

Unless there's something you can tell me that he cannot?

Well, I've just begun my investigation,

so not at present, no.

Then I bid you good day.

Escort Miss Scarlet back to her carriage.

Ah, Mr. Potts.

I'm in urgent need of background information

for a case.

Er, may I remind you of our agreement

regarding your access to these premises?

You need to state in writing

the nature of your business,

the name of your client,

and the duration of your stay...

with one day's notice.

Is this about the washing up?

No.

- Well, not just that... - I give you my word,

you will not have to clean another dish

for the next week.

Month.

And I want a cooked breakfast

or dinner

on the days when Ivy is otherwise engaged.

Very well, I accept.

Hmm. Oh, I take it you can cook?

I'm as good as they come.

Hmm.

We must make haste.

I have a staffing shortage

at Aldgate Mortuary,

which requires my attention.

Understood.

You might be interested to know, Mr. Potts,

that it's the Thames Reaper that I'm investigating.

He's killed again?

Indeed.

Well, we've received no cadavers today.

So, the body's most likely still at the scene,

- or in transit. - It's just, er,

background information

that I require on his previous victims.

I assume that even though the bodies were found

in different parts of the river,

that the records will be kept here?

Oh, that is correct, yes.

We are the central office

for all such documents.

Ah.

Indeed, we have a designated section

for all the bodies pulled from the Thames.

Yeah, drunks,

careless boatmen,

suicides.

We receive four or five bodies

from the river each month.

More in February.

- Why February? - It's Valentine's Day.

Many young men propose to their sweethearts

and are rejected.

I may throw myself in, if Ivy doesn't marry me soon.

This job of Ivy's is new

and exciting at the moment,

but things will settle down.

She used to think I was new and exciting once.

Details of the coroner's reports on the other victims.

You got access to the coroner's reports after one day?

I wrote to them for months, and didn't get a thing.

I have a friend at the city mortuary.

Well, he's not exactly a friend.

It's a long story.

As you know, erm...

the cause of death for the previous four victims

was drowning.

There were no obvious defense wounds, which...

well, would suggest that their killer

was someone with physical strength,

Capable of holding their victims under water

My theory has always been

that he's some kind of manual worker,

a docker perhaps?

That was my thinking, too.

The victims were all men in their 20s and 30s

perfectly capable of fighting back.

And certainly the, erm...

third victim, Alexander Sochnev.

The Russian? Yes, he was well-built

and over six feet tall.

I noticed there were very few details

on his file, just the basics.

Not even a next of kin.

Any idea where I can get more information on him?

Well, as I said, each body was found in the river

at a different location.

The main frustration with this case

is that the information is spread out

across a variety of different

police jurisdictions.

There is someone I could perhaps ask for help.

Absolutely not.

It's just a small favor.

A small favor that could cost me my job.

I'm not getting you confidential police files, Lizzie.

If you want them so badly, ask Inspector Blake.

He's a very nice man.

So you keep saying.

You won't change my mind, Lizzie.

You shouldn't ask such things of me.

You're right. I'm sorry,

I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.

Apology accepted... just.

Fine, I'll ask Inspector Blake.

What time will you finish?

Oh, not for another couple of hours,

some things to finish up.

First in, last out, don't overdo it.

You need your rest too.

I'll be fine, now go on, off you pop.

I'm not five.

You are to me.

How many times, Miss Scarlet?

The door was open, and I knocked.

I'm here to propose a deal.

One that I believe is mutually beneficial.

The Thames Reaper killings began

before you took up your post

at Scotland Yard.

Er, the case notes and evidence

are spread across London

in different police divisions.

And it would take you days, if not longer,

to gather the information.

What you need is a concise summary

of all the key leads and clues to date.

Names, dates, maps, coroner reports,

together with condensed notes

and working theories from the last year

to the present day.

I've been taking a keen interest in the case.

So I can see.

The latest killing falls under your jurisdiction,

but the others don't.

But, given that Scotland Yard is now investigating the case,

I'm sure that a request could be sent

to gather all the evidence here?

I'm surprised you didn't ask Ivy.

I'd never put her in that position.

So...

What do you say?

Hire me and I'll help you catch him?

How much are you being paid by the Morning Herald?

And don't lie, remember I can tell.

No, you can't.

My fee's yet to be negotiated.

But given that the editor would sell

his own grandmother for a story,

I can't imagine getting money from him

will be much of a problem.

If you solve this,

he'll pay you more than I can.

It's not just about the money,

nor is it about the glory of catching him...

well, maybe just a little.

It's erm...

it's an itch that I just have to scratch.

It's a puzzle to solve, and that puzzle's more likely

to be solved working with you.

Working for me.

Semantics.

So...

was that an offer?

It was, on one condition.

I cannot work for both

your newspaper and the police.

I'm sure you understand that it's a conflict of interest?

I do.

Absolutely.

You've been very accommodating, thank you.

You've quite restored my faith in your profession.

I haven't had the best experience with journalists.

Neither have I.

In truth, I'm not sure how much longer

I'll continue in my present career.

I come from a family of doctors.

My father and three older brothers.

Are you something of a black sheep, Mr. Bailey?

Apparently so.

Do you have any siblings?

No... there was just me.

My... my parents have both passed away.

I'm sure they'd be proud, if they could see you now.

I assume you won't be able to share any working theories

Scotland Yard might have?

No, I won't.

Oh, the conversation is closed,

and all that is left to say is,

best of luck, Miss Scarlet.

Good morning, Miss Scarlet.

Inspector Blake.

Have you severed your dealings with the newspaper?

I have.

Is that true?

I thought you could tell when I was lying.

Very well, come along.

Where are we going?

We have an identification

for the latest victim.

I could not believe my eyes

when I saw who it was...

Caleb Hunt.

Junior clerk at Aldgate Mortuary.

One of my colleagues took delivery of his body

yesterday afternoon.

I was out visiting some of the other mortuaries,

which now fall under my jurisdiction.

Perhaps Miss Scarlet has mentioned

that I've recently been promoted?

She did not.

But congratulations, Mr. Potts.

Oh, thank you.

As you know, there was no identification with the body,

So, my colleague, Mr. Wormsley,

having never met Caleb,

failed to recognize him.

I, on the other hand,

had made Caleb's acquaintance

several times at Aldgate.

What can you tell us about him?

A rather odd fellow.

Withdrawn.

Few, if... if any, friends.

And as for his timekeeping,

well, I do not exaggerate when I say

it was most unsatisfactory.

So, when he did not turn up for work yesterday afternoon,

it rang no alarm bells.

Has the post-mortem been completed?

Ah. Last night.

A fracture of the skull,

just above the nape of the neck,

most likely the cause of death.

Not drowning, like the others?

Er, the lungs of a drowned cadaver

would be filled with water,

due to involuntary inhalation.

His lungs were empty.

So, he was dead before he entered the water.

There were scuff marks on the heels of his boots.

I would wager he was dragged to the river,

having been killed somewhere else.

Where did he live?

Limehouse.

Not far from where his body was found.

Do you have the address?

Come and get your fresh fish.

Something about this latest murder

that's different from the others,

the letter sent by the Reaper

arrived the same day that the body was found.

And with the others, it was a day later?

What do you think caused this change in behavior?

Perhaps something forced him to panic.

Or someone.

Caleb's lodging room must be up here.

Good God.

The man was obsessed.

Caleb Hunt's murder was no random killing.

Go to Scotland Yard,

get some men to help with the search.

I've sent message to the Yard,

uniform will be here shortly

to help with the search.

We're perfectly capable of searching

the room ourselves.

It's called following procedure, Miss Scarlet.

You should try it some time.

Besides, we may miss something.

I make it my business not to miss a thing.

Cheerful fellow, wasn't he?

Still, everyone needs a hobby, I suppose?

He worked in the mortuary

and saw first-hand victims.

Perhaps he was carrying out

his own investigation.

Perhaps.

Or he got too close to the killer's identity

and became the next victim?

There's also the possibility that he himself was the killer.

Perhaps the last victim fought back

and killed him in self-defense.

Now, what do we have here?

Now, I would wager this was a key

to a safe deposit box.

I've seen similar before.

Does it not seem odd that a man who lived in such squalor

would have need for a safe deposit box?

It's not only valuables people wish to hide.

Secrets, too.

We need to find out how many banks in London

have safe deposit boxes.

I would guess it's between 20 to 30.

I will then need to apply for multiple warrants

for multiple banks.

That will take time,

So, I doubt we'll be able to pursue this lead

for at least a few days.

Or we could just go here,

Bank of Switzerland,

Threadneedle Street, box 17?

This is most irregular.

Nevertheless, I think you'll find everything covered

in the search warrant.

So, if you would be kind enough to open box 17?

If you insist.

Er, may I ask, is the box in question

registered to a Mr. Caleb Hunt?

The Bank does not hold lists

of clients' names here.

No names, no questions,

absolute privacy.

I would have thought that was obvious.

Inspector, can you please sign here?

And here.

And here.

Thank you.

Nothing.

Might you be able to give us a description

of the account holder?

There are many boxes,

and many clients at this bank.

I merely give them access to the room.

I don't sit here to see which client

opens which box.

What a ridiculous suggestion.

Herr Klinsman,

I shall take you straight down to Scotland Yard,

waste many hours of your time for no other reason

than I find your rudeness extremely irksome.

But what I can tell you is that there are two clients

registered to this particular box.

Each has their own key.

And the account holder information

is not kept here, you say?

It is kept in our head office in Switzerland.

Then please, send a telegram

and request the information.

Does your warrant cover Switzerland, Inspector?

No, but it will.

Thank you.

Pompous, jumped-up little clerk.

I can't abide any kind of rudeness.

I seem to remember that you were rather rude to me

when we first met.

Getting the warrant will take some time.

Given that it's another country, I'll need to

speak to the Foreign Office.

Let's meet again when I have what we need.

Well, in the meantime, I'll go through the case notes

and see if there's anything I missed.

I thought you made it your business

not to miss a thing, Miss Scarlet?

Back to the station.

Good day, Miss Scarlet.

Oh, er, Mr. Bailey?

I... I apologize for interrupting.

I won't keep you.

No, er, please.

I have come to make you an offer,

to which you will say no.

The whole thing should take no longer than a minute,

and then I will let you

get on with your day.

I'm listening?

Now that you're working for Scotland Yard,

our editor has become far more interested in you.

Mr. Barnes wishes to offer you

a fee to pass on any information

that you glean from working with Scotland Yard.

All in the strictest confidence, of course.

Does he, now?

He wishes me to offer a fee of £10.

However... he confided I have the leeway to go to £20,

if you are a tough negotiator,

which I assume you are.

Well, you assume correctly.

But...

I'm afraid the answer is no.

Which is what I told my editor you would say,

but he threatened to dismiss me if I didn't at least try.

And... that was me trying.

Well... I shall leave you to your business.

Er, however...

our paths may not cross again,

so, there is something else.

I wondered might you be free tomorrow evening, to dine?

Er, not to discuss the case, you understand, just as...

Well, as... two people who wish to go out to dinner.

Oh.

Er...

Er...

I shall give you some time to think on it.

You know where to contact me.

Good day, Miss Scarlet.

Good day, Mr. Bailey.

Eww. Urgh.

Good Lord.

Good evening, Miss Scarlet.

Oh. Mr. Potts.

Ivy's not home yet, I'm afraid.

But it's nigh on eight o'clock.

Pfft...

Urgh.

Urgh.

Why do I bother?

What's troubling you, Miss Scarlet?

I'm tired, I'm hungry,

and I do not have the skill or the patience

to cook anything edible.

I thought you said you could cook?

Well, I lied.

Sorry, that was uncalled for.

Cooking is a mystery to me,

and one that I cannot seem to fathom.

Cooking is no mystery.

It's science, plain and simple.

Chemistry, to be precise.

Up you get.

What, why?

I am going to teach you how to cook.

Oh, you can cook, Mr. Potts?

How do you think I survived on my own all these years?

In fact, my plum pudding

is really rather delicious.

You see, cooking is all about preparation.

We do not try to improvise, or, God forbid,

see it as some sort of artistic endeavor.

Instead, we plan, plan and plan again.

- If you say so. - I do indeed.

Now, let's clear this little lot up

and start afresh, shall we?

So, that's the potatoes done.

In the bowl.

And we put the bowl at the top of the line, because...?

Er, we want all our ingredients in order of usage.

Very good.

- Hmm. - Ah!

I'm feeling... strangely serene.

It's a feeling quite alien to me

when it comes to cooking.

I like this approach.

I too find cooking a relaxing pursuit.

However, I must admit,

I prefer it when Ivy cooks for me.

She's after all, a wonderful cook,

and a wonderful woman.

Ivy thinks a great deal of you, Mr. Potts,

a great deal, indeed.

Right.

Onto the next stage, the cooking.

Ah.

The water is now at boiling point.

At an exact temperature of 212 degrees Fahrenheit.

Potatoes, if you please?

Erm...

I really must congratulate you, Miss Scarlet.

You have proved to be an excellent student.

Diligent, willing to learn.

Thank you, Mr. Potts.

I wish I could say the same

for some of my students at work.

In particular, and I don't mean to

speak ill of the dead, poor Caleb.

Try as I might to teach him,

he was not a good student.

I had to correct his administrative errors

on more than one occasion.

Including on a cadaver involved in the very case

you're working on at the moment.

The, erm, Thames Reaper?

Yeah.

Caleb made a woeful mistake.

However, I'm a man of detail and duly corrected it,

so, no harm done.

What mistake?

Thank you, Mr. Stevens.

Take it down, lads.

Sir.

I want everything carefully itemized.

Yes, Sir.

So, gentle does it.

It needs to remain intact.

Inspector Blake, can I have a moment?

Miss Scarlet.

Last night, I had a conversation

with Mr. Potts about Caleb Hunt.

Obviously I didn't go into details

about what we found here, but what I did learn

was that, as a junior clerk,

one of his responsibilities

was to log the possessions found on the corpses

that were brought into the mortuary.

According to Mr. Potts,

he was rather slapdash.

Sometimes he'd miss things out,

sometimes he'd make spelling mistakes,

and this was exactly the case

with the third victim,

a Russian named Aleksander Sochnev.

Caleb misspelled the Russian's name.

He spelled Aleksander with an 'X'

and Sochnev with an 'F'.

Mr. Potts noticed

a few days later and corrected it,

but by that time,

the Reaper had already sent

the letter to the newspaper,

with the exact same

spelling mistakes.

So, Caleb passed on the identities of the dead

to whoever wrote the letters.

Probably in return for money.

And that's why the letters to the newspaper

took a couple of days after each body was found.

The Reaper had to wait for Caleb

to send the information.

Sir.

What have you been up to, Caleb?

It's a blackmail letter.

Caleb Hunt requesting more money,

since his last demand was ignored,

and if he doesn't receive the money,

he'll expose the truth

about the Thames Reaper.

He names the recipient of the letter.

Mr. Sydney Barnes, Editor, The Morning Herald.

This is ludicrous!

I am no murderer.

I am the editor of a national newspaper.

There is no Thames Reaper, Mr. Barnes, you made him up.

The bodies were just some poor souls

found in the Thames,

accidental deaths, suicides,

and with the help of Caleb Hunt providing identities,

you were able to claim the deaths

were the work of some figment

of your imagination.

And why on earth would I want to do that?

Perhaps to increase circulation, because

your newspaper was failing.

I've never even met

this Caleb Hunt.

Really?

He was blackmailing someone to give him money

in return for his silence

regarding the Reaper's identity.

And according to his letter,

that someone was you, Mr. Barnes.

And I believe this is what accounts for Caleb's murder.

I've had no dealings with this man.

Hmm. Come.

Sir.

The Bank of Switzerland have confirmed your name

is the registered account holder

for a safe deposit box

used by Mr. Hunt.

I believe this was a drop-off point for money

between the two of you to pay for his services.

I will not say one more word

before speaking with my lawyer.

Barnes is denying it, of course, but...

there's enough evidence to charge him.

Perhaps in the future, you might ask before

opening my new bottle of whisky.

Well...

I was waiting for a rather long time.

Perhaps if you'd allowed me to attend the questioning.

Are you negotiating with me, Miss Scarlet?

Erm... yes.

Perhaps in the future you may attend.

I will think on it.

I will need a full report of the case

on my desk first thing.

First thing?

That's what I expect from my men,

I'll not make exception for you.

Of course.

Is that a problem?

Are you otherwise engaged this evening?

Well... it was a possibility, yes.

Good day, Inspector Blake.

Hmm.

I may not be home for dinner.

At this rate, neither will I.

Are you dining out?

Erm...

possibly.

With Inspector Blake?

No, not Inspector Blake.

Why would you assume that?

Well, you've been spending much time together recently.

It's someone else.

- Someone you haven't met. - Who?

I just said it was someone you haven't met.

He seems like a nice enough man.

But?

I'm not sure I will go. I... I don't know him well.

That's the point in spending time together, Lizzie.

Like me and Barnabus.

It wasn't love at first sight.

- It was for him. - But...

once we spent more time together,

we got closer.

Speaking of Mr. Potts...

- Huh? - I'll let you get on.

- Miss Scarlet? - Mr. Potts.

Barnabus...

what are you doing here?

I have some exciting news.

Reverend Harvey has had a cancellation...

next month.

So, he wondered if we'd like to

book it for our wedding day.

I'm at work, Barnabus, and very busy.

Inspector Blake is waiting on some notes,

not to mention my other duties

that I'm neglecting.

But your shift ends soon,

I was hoping to escort you home.

I will be working late this evening.

Again?

I really must get on.

Very well, my dear.

Very well.

I got your note.

I booked a table at Barons.

Oh, lovely.

You heard about your editor, Mr. Barnes?

The whole office has.

I never warmed to the man.

But I did not think him capable of such deceit.

I don't know the full story, of course.

But we have all evening for you to enlighten me.

Do not worry, Miss Scarlet.

I merely tease.

I shall not be trying to coax any information out of you.

I'm very much... off duty.

Shall we?

Come.

I've got those files ready for you, Inspector.

Miss Woods.

Why are you still here?

Oh, well, I had to finish those reports,

and then there was the filing to do,

and the logbooks to transcribe.

But another hour or so, and I'll be done.

You cannot work this amount of hours,

you'll make yourself ill.

I'm fine.

Please.

You do not look fine.

Perhaps I've bitten off more than I can chew.

The truth is, between your needs

and the rest of my duties,

the volume of work is great, indeed.

But I so want to do my very best for you, Inspector...

for everyone.

Miss Woods, you're clearly not coping.

So, I believe we need to rethink your position.

It's beyond comprehension that a man

could behave such a way.

Not to mention how humiliating it is personally for me.

The paper will be a laughingstock

when the news breaks,

and so will I.

I've just spent the last year writing about a killer

who doesn't actually exist.

Perhaps I'll make a career change.

How's the private detective business these days?

I... I... I apologize, I...

promised not to talk about the case,

and that is all I've done.

Let us talk about something else entirely.

Like how elegant you look.

I'm only sorry I did not have time to change, I...

do you an injustice, Miss Scarlet.

You are too kind, Mr. Bailey.

As for the case,

I'm more than happy to discuss it,

and the crucial piece of evidence

against Mr. Barnes.

There was a safe deposit box

in a bank on Threadneedle Street.

It's a place where money was deposited between...

your editor and the mortuary clerk, Caleb Hunt.

We found the clerk's key to the box,

but as yet no luck

with the key that belonged to Mr. Barnes.

Intriguing.

And now I know why.

Because you have it on your keyring, Mr. Bailey.

When we left your office, it wasn't you

talking about the case that unsettled me so.

It was watching you lock up your desk.

And when we arrived at the restaurant,

contrary to what I told you,

I didn't go to the powder room.

I went to the cloakroom...

to search your coat.

You invented the Thames Reaper story.

You tried to cover your tracks

by posing as your editor when you hired Caleb.

And did the same when you secured the safe deposit box.

But when Caleb blackmailed you with the threat

of exposing what you'd done...

you killed him.

I'll not sit here and be insulted by this nonsense.

But you yourself said the paper was on the verge of closing?

This was your way to improve circulation, wasn't it?

I sent a message to Scotland Yard

the moment I found the key.

Lads.

Look...

Mr. Bailey was in pieces just being cuffed.

I doubt it'll take much to get a full confession.

I take it you would like to attend the questioning?

Yes, very much so, thank you.

But perhaps next time you might

wish to wear something a little...

less eye-catching.

Barnabus.

Ivy?

You should not be out alone

at this time of night.

I have some news.

Some very exciting news.

Inspector Blake has asked me

to dedicate myself to his work only,

like his assistant.

Oh.

Oh, I'm... I'm bursting with pride, my dear.

I've missed you.

I've missed you.

Well, you'll miss me no longer.

From now on, my hours will be more civilized.

What say...

we have a nice glass of sherry

by the fireside to celebrate?

I wholly endorse that idea.

Perhaps while we sip sherry,

we can discuss the wedding date

that Reverend Harvey has offered?

Let's just enjoy the evening together, Barnabus.

We'll... we'll talk about it another time.

Of course, my dear.

Of course... another time.