All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S09E07 - Summer of 75 [1080p]

Operator, get me the police.

I need a constable
at 590 Jarvis Street.

Hurry.

No! No!

William?

Julia.

I didn't realize
it was so late.

Well, whatever you're doing
is very absorbing

by the look of things.

Oh, it's nothing.

Just something
I'm putting together.

Would you like to finish it,
or shall we go home?

Home.

Detective Murdoch.

Yes, George.

Yes, I'll be right there.

Well, almost home.

Sir, the victim called
for help at 10:25 p.m.,

but he was shot dead
before he identified himself.

Thank you, George.

Fatal gunshot wound
to the chest.

Gunpowder residue suggests
he was shot at close range.

And quite recently.
His body's still warm.

Excuse me, ma'am.
You can't come in here.

Oh, is that so?

Detective William Murdoch.
Can I help you?

Billy Murdoch?

- And you are?
- Freddie.

Freddie Pink.
You remember.

A Governor General Young
Scholar, like yourself.

Winifred Pink?

I was Freddie then,
I'm still Freddie now.

My God.
He got to Hamish.

You know this man?

Yes.
And so do you, Detective.

This is Hamish McTavish.

Another Young Scholar,
I presume?

Oh. Hamish.
Yes, of course I remember.

You don't seem surprised
to find him dead.

He was not the first
to be shot at.

A week ago, this bullet
missed my head by inches.

Someone is trying to kill
all of us.

We all met at summer camp
in Algonquin,

some 30 years ago.

We were the Governor General
Young Scholars of 1875.

One from each province.

And now you think someone
is trying to kill all of you?

Oh, Miss Pink, this is my wife,
Dr. Julia Ogden,

the city coroner.

I'm sorry to meet
under such circumstances.

Likewise.

What do you think is going on?

At first I thought
being shot at

was related
to a case that I was on.

A case?

I work for a private detective
in Montreal.

And you often get shot at?

Trouble has occasion
to find me.

Then, two days later,
Hamish contacted me.

The two of you
have stayed in contact?

Just the odd letter.

He was convinced
he was being followed.

That's when I began to suspect
the two events were related.

Hamish and I
had only one thing in common...

That prize the seven of us won.

But that was so long ago.

It was.

But I believe
that what happened back then

is the reason
that Hamish was killed.

Edwin Clarke
from New Brunswick?

Here.

Jacques Devereaux
from Quebec?

Here.

William Murdoch
from Nova Scotia?

Yes, sir.

Hamish McTavish
from Ontario?

That's me, Mr. Collins.

Where's
Master Prince Edward Island?

I'm here.

You?
You're, uh, Freddie Pink?

Winifred, actually.

I knew I wouldn't stand a chance
if I used my proper name.

You're here now.

Start hauling, lads.

Your brains might be fine,

but your muscles
could use some work.

- A girl?
- Think you can keep up?

She won't.

I can take that for you.

I can manage, but thank you.

William Murdoch
from Nova Scotia.

Pleased to meet you,
William Murdoch.

Don't your friends
call you Billy?

- Not really.
- Why not?

Hurry up!
You're getting left behind.

Thank you, Miss James.

Mr. McTavish was killed
when this .32-caliber bullet

pierced a main artery.

He died instantly.

I pried this out of a post
on Saint Catherine Street.

It's also a .32 caliber.

The striations
could be a match.

- So the same gun, then.
- As I suspected.

Thank you, Doctor.

You're welcome, Detective.

I know this is connected
to what happened that summer.

Miss Pink, I am not in the
habit of jumping to conclusions.

So you think
this is a coincidence?

A man you barely knew
was killed,

and now you presume
all of us to be at risk.

But what if it is connected
to what we found?

I'd prefer
not to be called Billy.

All right, Billy.

Look!

Stay back.
Stay back.

- What are you doing?
- Helping you get him out.

You're not scared?

There's nothing to fear
from the dead, sir.

Do you know him, sir?

It's Glen Singer.
From town.

Seems he fell overboard
and drowned.

Wonder how long...

I think he died yesterday
at 4:10 p.m.

How can you know that?

Why would he keep
a broken watch?

I don't think that man
died by accident.

So you keep saying.

His watch didn't break
by itself.

It likely broke
when he fell into the water.

People don't
just fall out of boats.

He could have slipped.

Or he was attacked.

You read too many stories.

Look at the facts.
What do you observe?

There isn't very much
to observe.

Unless...

Don't do it if you daren't.

Look for anything unusual.

Like this?

A 1 1/4-inch wound.

I wonder
what he hit his head on.

Maybe this is
why he fell in and drowned.

Maybe.
But he still hit his head.

There must be blood somewhere.

No sign of any in this boat.

Perhaps it was something
on the riverbed.

You check the river.
I'll look around the shore.

Don't get too wet.

Billy!
Come look at this.

There.

- Blood.
- Let me look.

Told you.
Murder.

- Yes, you were right back then.
- And I'm right now.

The investigation's
only just begun.

I may well find another reason
for Hamish's murder.

We well may.

Governor General Young Scholar.

That gathered a few sniggers in
the schoolyard, I would imagine?

Intelligence is nothing
to be ashamed of, Inspector.

Not at all, Miss Pink.

As long as it's not announced
with a clarion call.

Point taken.

Sirs. Ma'am.

Crabtree.

Have you found anything
to support.

Miss Pink's wild theorizing?

Well, I just may have, sir.

I contacted the remaining
participants of your trip

back in 1875.

And?

Well, Seymour Bailey died from
a heart condition two years ago,

but Jacques Devereaux
is still alive

and living in Algonquin Park,
your old stomping grounds.

And it just so happens

Edwin Clarke is visiting him
there now.

Mm, so Hamish
is the only victim.

Uh, not quite, sir.

A Mr. Quinn Proulx
was shot and killed

near Gravenhurst
just a couple of months ago.

The coroner's report says
a .32-caliber weapon was used.

Well, there you have it.

Two of us killed, and an attempt
made on my life.

What do you say, Detective?

Do you still think
this has nothing to do

with our wilderness trip?

George, book a ticket on
the next train to Algonquin.

Sir.
Right away.

Make that two.

So...

Toronto's top detective

and happily married to
a fine and intelligent woman.

And you...
Private detective.

The police
have yet to see the light

and include women
amongst their ranks.

Unfortunately, I don't think
that will happen for some time.

Your loss.

I gather you're quite good
at what you do.

I telephoned ahead.

Edwin and Jacques
are expecting us.

You remember them, I imagine.

Yes.

Very much so.

Good day, sir.
How can I help you?

Good day.
I'm looking for Dr. Ogden.

She will be back shortly.
Can I take a message?

- You are?
- Rebecca James.

Miss James.
I see.

Oh, here's the doctor now.

Dr. Julia Ogden.
You must be Mr. Richmond.

You received my application to
hire Miss James as my assistant.

Yes, and I have met Miss James.
Everything is in order.

I will be informing you
of my decision very soon.

I have every confidence.

Miss James
is the right candidate.

I'm sure you do.
Good day.

You carry that everywhere?

Oh, it's Constable Crabtree's
idea.

He believes it useful

for organizing one's thoughts
while traveling.

A'lapboard," he calls it.

I'll stick with my pad.

Right.

So why would someone
be shooting at you?

Or Hamish or Quinn?

We must have seen something.

Let's say you did.

Mr. Singer's watch
broke at 4:10 p.m.,

so he was murdered
the afternoon

the day before we found him.

What were we doing then?

Likely setting up camp.

You and I
usually put up the tents.

What are you doing, Billy?

Positioning the third peg
using Pythagorean theorem,

which means...

The tent will be
perfectly square?

Does that really matter?

It's the right way to do it.
That's all.

Now, why would you
pitch your tent facing east?

So the morning sun'll wake me,
and I'll be first in the water.

What was everyone else doing
that afternoon?

I don't remember.

Was that the day that Hamish and
Quinn got into all that trouble?

Where are Hamish and Quinn?

I don't know, Mr. Collins.

Good evening, gentlemen.

May I ask
what you've been up to?

Just admiring nature, sir.

Turn out your pockets,
Hamish.

You too, Quinn.

You have been smoking?

Are you not aware of the danger,
you idiot?!

The ground is dry as bone.

A forest fire could ignite
in seconds!

Sorry, sir!

Yeah, you will be
if I catch you again.

They must have seen something.

Or someone.

But why wait 28 years
to silence them?

And why shoot at me?
I didn't see anything.

Tell that to the killer.

Ah, Dr. Ogden.

We've been discussing
the matter of your assistant.

- Please, have a seat.
- I believe I'll stand.

Mr. Richmond,
what could you have to say

that you couldn't have said
in my morgue?

I'm afraid we are unable to
authorize Miss James

as your assistant.

I presume you have a reason?

Miss James
has no medical training,

therefore she is unsuited
to the position.

She spent one year

at the New York Medical College
for Women.

And she's resuming
her studies here

at the Ontario Medical College
for Women.

That cannot be the reason.

In truth, we feel a woman
should not be the apprentice.

Oh, come on, man.

There's been nothing
but bloody women in the morgue

ever since I've been here.

I've given you reason enough.

Are you refusing a capable
and qualified candidate

because of her dark skin?

Dr. Ogden, my decision
is firm and final.

Good day.

Miss James will remain
in my morgue.

I will
pay her salary myself!

I can't believe it.

Unfortunately, I can,
Doctor.

He'll bend society's rules
for himself,

but that's about as far as
his tolerance will ever extend.

Algonquin!

This station stop
for Algonquin!

We kept looking.

- Do you remember?
- When?

After we found
the murder weapon.

We kept looking for clues.

Right.

That's when we found
those symbols.

Freddie!
Freddie, look!

What?

Never did find out
what those symbols meant.

No, but they did seem to help
point Constable Dobson

to Glen Singer's killer.

- Ah, yes. Uh, Joe...
- Huggins.

Huggins, right.

But Joe Huggins
isn't shooting at anyone.

He's still in jail.

He was released two months ago.

- Joe Huggins was?
- One and the same.

We don't get
a lot of murders up here.

It's mostly accidents
or misadventure.

That's how Glen Singer's death
would have been reported

if it weren't for you two.

We pulled him
out of the water,

myself and young
William Murdoch here.

It's Glen Singer.

It seems he drowned.

Jeez.
He'll not see Virginia again.

Is Virginia his wife?

You should take a look
at his head, Constable.

Nasty bash.

Look what we found.
There's blood on it.

We didn't touch it.

Well, I'll be damned.

Someone hit him.

Who the heck else
was out here?

Do you know
what these symbols mean?

Beats me.

Those are
Indian tracking symbols.

Are they, now?

Well, there is an Indian that
lives not too far from here.

Joe Huggins.

Sometimes acts as guide
for Singer, come to think of it.

When he's sober enough.

Billy found a bottle
on the boat.

Cheap whiskey.

Singer wouldn't touch
this stuff.

But I know who would.

Looks like I'll be paying
Joe Huggins a visit after all.

Sharp eyes, you two.

When I first questioned him,

Joe claimed he couldn't remember
anything because of drink.

But a night in my cell
sobered him up.

So he confessed
to killing Singer

and then was sent to jail.

Yes.
My guess?

He's the one shooting at you.

What do you want?

Mr. Huggins, we're investigating
two recent murders

we believe are connected
to Mr. Singer's death,

for which you served
a rather lengthy sentence.

The murders were committed
since you got out of prison.

Well, I didn't do them.

I've served my time.

Leave me in peace.

He's not
going to tell us anything.

Not today.

What are
you still doing here?

Dr. Ogden said I was still...

Dr. Ogden has no authority here.
Get out.

I can walk out myself, sir.

[ French accent I Despite
the worrying circumstance,

it's a pleasure
to see you both again.

Indeed, Jacques.

How long have you been living
up here?

I bought this lodge
10 years ago.

- And you?
- I'm just here for the fishing.

It really is
a striking property.

Strangely enough, it used to
belong to Mr. Singer.

You have quite the reputation,
Detective.

I've followed
a number of your exploits.

I'm surprised you are taking
Miss Pink's theory seriously.

Hamish, Quinn, and I
live in different cities,

have different occupations.

Apart from
the Young Scholars award,

this gunman is the only thing
we have in common.

And you share this concern,
Detective?

We're hoping
you can help us reconstruct

the day of Mr. Singer's death.

It was the same day

that Mr. Collins lost his
temper with Hamish and Quinn.

I remember that.
He had a mean side.

That same day, he refused

to take me fishing with him
for no reason.

And what do you recall, Edwin?

I suppose
I was tending the fire.

That was my usual job.

You really think
this line of inquiry

will help find a murderer?

It's the way detectives work.

I wasn't aware
clutching at straws

was a standard
investigative procedure.

But I suppose when you only
handle tawdry divorce cases...

Do you think
we're also in danger?

It's certainly a possibility.

After all, the four remaining
Young Scholars

are all now in one place,

ready to be picked off,
one by one.

Good morning.

Did you sleep well?

Not really.

I fear we're no closer
to finding

Hamish and Quinn's killer.

Well, Edwin and Jacques
weren't much help.

Neither remember anything
significant.

Neither do we.

Where are we going?

Back to
the scene of the crime.

Expecting a 28-year-old clue?

At this point,
I'll take anything.

I see his body lying there
like it was yesterday.

You didn't seem scared to me
that day.

I was.
I just didn't show it.

Nowadays, a dead body
barely makes me feel anything.

Do you have much occasion
to see dead bodies?

Those tawdry divorce cases
can get out of hand.

Let's retrace our steps,
shall we?

The Indian symbols
are still here.

That's strange.

The tree growth should have
absorbed them by now.

Someone's gone to some trouble
to keep them visible.

Perhaps it marks
a hiding place.

Or a triangulation.

There would be
a third symbol.

Indeed there would.

A third symbol.

Now to find
the midway point.

Perhaps the Pythagorean theorem
would help.

Not in this case, Freddie.
That would require right angles.

What if it's a square?

Well, that certainly is
a possibility.

Uh, in that case...

One, two, three...

The hiding spot
would be somewhere...

Here.
Look at this.

Someone's deliberately
disguising this spot.

Something could have
been hidden here.

Something still is.

No visible markings.

This is pure gold.

Where one gold coin was buried,
there were likely many others.

Buried treasure.

It's like a children's story.

This has something to do with
Singer's murder, I'll lay money.

Which means his murderer
is the one

who has been maintaining
these symbols.

Then it wasn't Joe Huggins.

He's been in jail
all these years.

No, it wasn't.

Joe Huggins pled guilty
to the murder of Glen Singer.

Who pleads guilty
if he's not guilty?

What can you tell us
about Glen Singer?

Singer?
Showed up sometime in the 1860s.

Kept to himself, mostly.

There's not much more to tell.

I'll have my constable
look into Glen Singer.

How nice.
I do all my own legwork.

Really?

I would have assumed
one of your colleagues would...

Because no one
will speak to a woman?

Sometimes that's true.

But often my gender helps
more than it hinders.

- Where are you going?
- To make a cup of tea.

Crabtree.

Ah, sir.

I do hope you're enjoying
your sojourn in the woods.

I'm not on holiday, George.

Uh, no, no, no.
I daresay not, sir.

I remember all too well
the perils of the wilderness.

I need you to
look into something for me.

Find out everything you can
about a Glen Singer.

He would have come
to the Algonquin area

sometime in the 1860s,

and he may have come into
possession of some gold coins.

Gold coins.
Right away, sir.

Thank you.

Have you found
the culprit yet?

Not as yet.

I don't think I'll sleep again
until you do.

That's quite the collection.

Ah, oui.
They came with the house.

Edwin is researching
their histories.

Especially that buoy knife.

They're not much
for protection,

but they're good
for conversation.

We'll find him, Jacques.
Don't worry.

Where's Freddie?

You're no killer,
are you, Joe?

A native Indian with
a penchant for the drink.

No one
would have believed you.

You must have felt like
you had no choice.

You were already guilty
in everyone's eyes anyway.

Say I did it... serve 25 years.

Go to trial... get hanged.

Those were my choices.

So you confessed.
You don't bear a grudge?

I used to.

Going to jail
got me sober, though.

I don't think that would
have happened otherwise.

Do you recognize this symbol?

Tracking symbol.
Not mine.

You know whose?

- I don't know.
- Singer's?

Could be.

He used to ask about that sort
of thing from time to time.

Bring a bottle over
and get to talking.

Sometimes he had a young fellow
with him.

Who was the young fellow?

I don't remember a lot
from those times.

Fancied himself
a guide of these woods.

Thank you, Mr. Huggins.

Do you think he meant
Mr. Collins?

Can't think of anyone else.

If Collins
knew about the symbols,

then he knew about the gold.

Yes, but Collins can't be
our killer.

He was with us at the campsite.

Was he?

Jacques said
Collins went fishing.

By himself.

I'm starving. How long
does it take to catch a fish?

I know
all the fish in these waters.

Why wouldn't Mr. Collins
take me too?

Well, the fire's ready for
whenever Mr. Collins returns.

Dinner's here.

Jacques, take this, please.

Walleye.

Where are Hamish and Quinn?

I don't know, Mr. Collins.

Hamish and Quinn
were in the woods.

And now they're dead.
They may well have seen Collins.

Returning from
the scene of the crime.

Mr. Collins.

William Murdoch.
Freddie Pink.

We were Young Scholars
back in 1875.

Yeah, I heard you two
were up here.

Then you've also heard that two
of our group have been murdered.

Don't know why
you're talking to me.

Where were you three days ago?

Here.

- And last week?
- Here.

Can anyone attest
to your whereabouts?

I expect not.

What can you tell us
about Glen Singer?

Singer? What does he have to do
with anything?

- He's been dead for years.
- Just how well did you know him?

As well as anybody.

Did odd jobs for him and such.
Helped build his house.

You and Singer used to drink
with Joe Huggins.

What of it?

He taught you
Indian tracking methods...

So much so that you were able to
identify the symbols on the tree

next to where we found
Singer's body.

Was I?

Mr. Collins,

you left the campsite
to catch food for us

right around the time
that Mr. Singer was murdered.

You went alone
despite Jacques' pleas.

I don't remember that.

But I do remember
catching those fish

in the exact opposite direction
of where Singer was found.

I don't suppose
you could prove that.

I don't suppose
you can prove otherwise.

He did it.
I feel it in my bones.

But your feelings aren't
evidence, of which we have none.

Freddie!

I hit him!

Freddie, stop!

Damn it.

I lost him.
Again.

What were you thinking,
Freddie?

That I might catch the man
who's trying to kill me.

- You are reckless.
- I'm enterprising.

This is a police investigation,
Miss Pink.

- .32 caliber.
- As we suspected.

What now, Detective?

Miss James!

Goodness, you are
a hard woman to find.

Sorry, Doctor.
I have to find a job.

But you already have one,
with me.

You're very kind.

But Mr. Richmond
doesn't share your belief in me.

He came to the morgue?
While I wasn't there?

That cowardly, self-important...

I appreciate everything
you've done,

but my future at the morgue
isn't meant to be.

I won't accept that.

I've been lucky to know you,
Dr. Ogden.

Now I must be getting on.

Inspector.

Doctor.
To what do I owe the pleasure?

Mr. Richmond.

Oh. I knew I hadn't heard
the last of this.

Exactly which
of society's rules

is Mr. Richmond
so prone to bending?

Are you certain that Miss James
is worth the trouble?

Tell me what you know.

I have something you may
find of interest, sir.

I began my search for
lost gold coins in the 1860s

when I happened upon
a newspaper account

of a Confederate soldier, sir.

A Horace Wilcott
of Ashby's Cavalry.

Now, at the end
of the American Civil War,

he was entrusted
with transporting

a large cache of gold
to an undisclosed hiding place.

Go on.

Well, sir, this Wilcott fellow
up and disappeared,

as did the gold.

George, what has this to do
with our case?

Sir, Wilcott was tracked all
the way to the Canadian border,

where his trail goes cold.

Wanted posters were spread
far and wide,

but neither he nor his booty
were ever found.

George, there are
a great many such stories.

Indeed there are, but this
is the only one I found

involving a soldier
from a small town

by the name of Singers Glen.

Glen Singer.

So Horace Wilcott stole
the gold and brought it here,

changing his name
to Glen Singer.

After his hometown in Virginia.

Virginia.

It seems he drowned.

Jeez.
He'll not see Virginia again.

Is Virginia his wife?

It's Constable Dobson.

He knew
Singer was from Virginia.

He would have known
about the gold

from the wanted posters.

That explains why the three
of us were his targets.

I heard him say Virginia,

and Hamish and Quinn must have
seen him in the woods.

But we still don't know
why now, all these years later.

Only one person
can answer that.

I've had occasion
to use one before.

Hello?

- .32 caliber.
- Suicide.

Not how I thought this story
would end.

Nor I.

This wound is consistent
with the grazing of a bullet.

And recently at that.

That's my doing.

The bullets
that killed Hamish and Quinn

likely came
from this .32-caliber gun.

Look at this.

Train tickets.

Gravenhurst,
on the day Quinn was killed.

And Toronto and Montreal.

Well, there you have it.
All of our questions answered.

Dobson killed Singer
for the gold,

pinned it on Joe Huggins,

and then began killing the
witnesses who could expose him.

Right, but why would Dobson
wait so many years

to start killing
to protect his secret?

We may never know.

Wait.

What?

He has a sizable contusion

on the back of his head.

He didn't hit himself
on the back of the head.

He most certainly didn't.

This wasn't a suicide.
Dobson's been murdered.

For the gold?

Or some other reason?

Did you find anything else?

Here.

No need for all that.

He's hardly alive to complain.

"I know you killed
Glen Singer."

"$500 will keep you
from the noose."

Blackmail.

These letters began
three months ago.

He must have thought
the blackmailer was one of us.

This is why
he needed to silence us now.

And he appears
to have succeeded.

The letters stopped
after Hamish's death.

I've been corresponding
with Hamish over the years.

This isn't his handwriting.

No?

Well, it couldn't
have been Quinn.

The letters continued
after his death.

So the blackmailer has to be
Collins, Jacques, or Edwin.

My money is on Collins.

Good night, ladies.

Good evening, Mr. Richmond.

Dr. Ogden, what...

How dare you follow me?

I'm merely here
to offer you a lift.

Your wife will be wondering
what urgent business

has kept you so late.

You think Mr. Collins was
blackmailing Constable Dobson?

I wouldn't be surprised.

But how did he know Dobson
killed Singer?

He must have
seen Dobson returning

from the scene of the murder
when he was out fishing.

No, he couldn't have.

He was fishing in the opposite
direction of the murder scene.

He said as much, but it would
be impossible to prove it.

Ah, you could prove it.
He came back with walleye.

Care to elaborate?

Well, walleye are found
in deep water

with hard, rocky bottoms,
or weed beds in shallow lakes.

There was no such spot
between our old campsite

and where we found Singer.

Then someone else must have seen
Dobson in the woods that day.

But who?

I was pitching the tent.

What are you doing, Billy?

I was poking fun at you
pitching the tent.

Collins was fishing.

Jacques was sulking.

Hamish and Quinn
were off smoking.

Edwin was lighting the fire.

Right.

But for that,
you would need firewood.

Of course.

Edwin must have gone
into the woods.

Edwin saw Dobson.

Edwin?

But how could he have known
about Singer

and the stolen gold?

Edwin had been researching
these weapons.

Most recently,
this buoy knife.

Right?

See the inscription?

"Ashby's Cavalry. HW."

Horace Wilcott.

Edwin must have found out
about Glen Singer

and the stolen gold,
the same way my constable did.

I'll check the porch.

- Where are you going, Edwin?
- Leave me alone!

Not so pleasant, is it?

Your murderer, Detective.

Good work, Detective.

You seem to know
everything already.

You never imagined Dobson
would start killing anyone

over a few letters.

Of course not.

I didn't even know about
Hamish and Quinn.

Or you, Freddie.

Until we informed you.

I stopped the letters
right away.

But after Dobson took the shots
at the two of you today...

...I knew I had to stop him.

I couldn't bear
any more blood on my conscience.

Don't know
why I bothered to run.

You two were good detectives
28 years ago.

You're even better now.

Bit like old times,

the two of us
investigating together.

It was, wasn't it?

I imagine your employer
will be anxious

to get you back in Montreal.

I may not be so very welcome
there at the moment.

Are you in trouble?

Nothing a bit of distance
can't solve.

Perhaps I can help.

Not this time, but I may
bank that offer for the future.

It's high time
that I hung out my own shingle.

Pink's Detective Agency.

Congratulations.

In Toronto.

I-I don't know that that
would be such a good idea.

Why not?

Toronto seems the ideal place
for my venture.

And being acquainted
with the top detective

and his coroner wife
might come in handy.

Yeah, Montreal is one thing,

but I don't know that you'd
find the same abundance of work

in Toronto the Good.

We shall see.

I'm sorry to disturb you,
Dr. Ogden.

I've only come
to collect my things.

Miss James.
A letter came for you.

A letter for me?
Here?

You should open it.
Might be important.

"Dear Miss James,

your application to work
at the city morgue

has been approved."

Dr. Ogden,
I don't understand.

Seems clear enough.

But how?

I imagine Mr. Richmond

was shown the rashness
of his judgment.

Now, put on your apron.
Let's get to work.

Do not turn around.

William,
really.

I only need a moment more.

All right.

You may look.

What is it?

It's our home,

that I'm going to build
for you.

William.

[ Gasps I
It's extraordinary.

Wait.
There's more.

More?

There's the parlor.

The conservatory.

Piano room.

Bedrooms here and here.

And a dishwashing cupboard.

Dishwashing cupboard?

Oh, yes.
Fully automated.

No need for servants.

I'm still sorting the details.

But this!

A laboratory workshop.

Laboratory for you,
workshop for me.

- To share?
- Yes.

So we may always benefit
from each other's counsel.

William Murdoch.

It couldn't be
more perfect.

- Really?
- Yes!