All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S13E08.The.Final.Curtain.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP2.0.H.264-NTb_track3_[eng]

[ Indistinct conversations ]

-It's about to start.
-Fantastic.

CRABTREE: Watts.
Over here.

Oh, I do hope
people like it.

Of course they'll like it.
They'll eat it up.

Uh, how long do you suppose
this will be?

Oh, William.

-At least try to enjoy it.
-I will.

I'd just like to know how long
I'll be trying to enjoy it.

Where have you been?

I stopped for snacks.

-Watts.
-For Pete's sake.

MARGARET:
What's going on?

I don't know.
It's probably part of the play.

[ Clinking on stage ]

-MAN: Damn!
-[ Gunshot ]

[ Audience gasping ]

[ Audience murmuring ]

[ Door opens ]

My dear,
I have terrible news.

-No.
-Darling daughter.

I entered the drawing room
not moments ago

and found your mama.

-[ Gasps ]
-She is dead.

No!
[ Gasps, sobs ]

FELIX: Someone's killed her.
It's murder.

HOWARD: That is for the police
to say.

I have awoken.

Oh, grandmama, no!

Resume your rest
on the chesterfield.

-Oh!
-[ Rings bell ]

That must be the detective.

Good evening.

Detective Roderick Justice.

[ Light laughter ]

She's dead.

It's murder.

This must be
the murder weapon.

[ Blows nose ]

Oh!

[ Exhales sharply ]

What's he doing?
It could have fingermarks or...

ANNABETH: Only us.

Then one of you
is the murderer.

[ Gasps ]

HOWARD:
Instrument of death.

And now I shall harness
your destructive powers

to take the life of another.

But no.
I cannot.

For I am not a killer.

Or am I?

[ Giggles ]

Sorry. Sorry.

-Could you please move? Sorry.
-JOHN: You seem upset.

-Oh! It's nothing.
-Are you okay?

ANNABETH: It is just
that my mother is dead.

That and...

[ Sighs ]

Oh, it's nothing.

So it is you!
The one who took my Lillian.

I am the one who has grown old.
My life matters not.

Why take her and not I?

Why not take us both?

[ Sobbing ]

No.

Death is not the answer.

[ Sighs ]

[ Gasps ]

I thought
she was gonna shoot herself.

What is she saying?

It's a mélange
of philosophical drivel.

Goodbye.
Forever.

No!
[ Sobbing ] No.

Damn it, Lillian,
I can't leave you.

Not without solving the crime
of your mother's murder.

-Not without...
-Uh-huh.

...you.

Ohh.

What is the point
of this character?

Is she just a love interest?

She has no personality
of her own.

Oh, I-I don't know.

The killer
cut the electricity,

plunging the house
into total darkness.

He arranged for his victim
to be in that exact position,

he entered the room

and committed murder
in the first degree.

No. No.

But it wasn't you,
of course.

Oh, no.

It was...

...you.

-Was it him?
-Who?

That's right.
I killed her.

But my thirst for death
is not abated.

-[ Gun cocks ]
-No!

[ Gunshots ]

-[ Gunshot ]
-[ Groaning ]

MARGARET:
What happened?

They're all bloody dead.

What kind of an ending
is that?

It's a tragedy.
It's Shakespearean.

-John's bloody Macbeth.
-Oh!

I was not expecting that.

Annabeth.

Annabeth!

No. No, there's blood!
She -- She's been shot!

She's dead.
She -- She's really dead.

[ Audience murmuring ]

That's our cue.

BRACKENREID: Nobody move!

[ Audience gasping ]

WATTS: Ask that you keep
your distance,

please, from the deceased.

CRABTREE: Be calm!
Be patient!

I'm sure
we'll all have a chance

to say something
respectful afterwards.

I-Is anyone related...

No?

Well, then, if you can
please back up just a few feet.

I --
I-I don't understand.

They were
supposed to be blanks.

Did you load
this weapon yourself?

No, but we did it over and over
in rehearsal.

What happened?
How is this possible?

We'll find out.

How well did you know
the victim?

Know her?

We'd just been married.

Ah.

She was shot.

Thank you, Doctor.

I found this
tucked into her dress.

$60.

$60?

And she's missing an earring,
for all it's worth.

I can't imagine
it means much.

We all saw what happened.

-Are you sure you're all right?
-Yes, Mother, I'm fine.

Don't use that tone with me.

You were standing beside a woman
who was shot!

And I'm more concerned
about her than myself.

-Look, I am your mother.
-Leave him alone, Margaret.

The boy's fine.

You were bloody good, you know?
In the play.

[ Gasps ] Thomas!

JOHN:
Do you really think so?

MARGARET: Oh!
[ Clucks tongue ]

Five spent shells.
The sixth chamber is empty.

This is the shot
that killed her.

The casing is clearly
a different color.

It had a real bullet in it?

It's hard to imagine
it was an accident.

Were the shots always fired
in the same order?

WOMAN:
Of course they were.

Joan Dalloway, director.

The sequence had been
rehearsed repeatedly.

And Franklin would never err.
He's a fine and precise actor.

Theater is his only vocation.

So everyone involved
would have known

which shot would be aimed
at the victim.

Yes.

-Who loaded the gun?
-I did.

I have a box of blank rounds
in the green room.

I loaded the five rounds
and proceeded directly

to place the gun
on the stage.

It sat here
in full view of the audience

until the lights went down.

Is it possible you accidentally
loaded a real bullet?

Of course not.

Thank you, Miss Dalloway.

I'm sorry, Miss Dalloway,

do I recognize you
from somewhere?

Oh, likely from one of
the many newspaper features

written about
my storied career.

I don't usually read
the theater section.

The papers here are rather
enamored with my life story.

Well, who knows why?

Oh.
How nice.

I'm from New York, you see?

Grew up on Broadway.

I was born into the theater.

Yet you moved to Toronto?

I've helmed
many Broadway productions.

It is a greater challenge
to bring drama

to less cultured
corners of the world.

The director could be lying.

She could have changed
the bullet in the gun herself.

But if we are to believe
her version of the events...

The question becomes,

who had opportunity
to swap the blank for a bullet?

Well, I arrived early.

I saw her set the gun
out on the stage.

It was visible
the entire time.

So it had to be done
during the play.

Right. George, you can release
all of the audience members.

The killer is clearly
part of the company.

Ladies and gentlemen,

please make sure that
I or one of the other constables

has your name and address
before you leave.

We'll contact you if we have
any further questioning.

Other than that,
you're free to go.

Excuse me.

The audience was released.

Herbert Gould,
Rosedale Ledger.

I'm in their employ as resident
exegete of the dramatic arts.

Aha.
You're the critic.

Indeed.

The role of the critic
has always fascinated me.

Whether the work
is good or bad,

your purpose
is to find fault,

to arraign that which
is created by others.

You are the enemy
of human expression.

Ignorance.
I do not destroy expression.

I demand it be
of the utmost quality,

challenging humanity
to be greater still.

But you yourself
create nothing.

Neither, my good man,
do most self-described artists.

Ah.

Excuse me.
You, sir.

Were you in the audience?

In a way, sure.
Barney Finch.

-I wrote the damn thing.
-Oh, yes, of course.

Uh, where were
you watching from?

The wings.

You see,
I'm the one who goes out

and shoots the gun
at the start.

That way I'm the gun,

and the gun is
the most important character.

Is that right?

You know, I find that
quite fascinating.

You know, I'm -- I'm a bit of
a writer myself.

How nice.

You know, I was thinking
of trying my hand

at being a policeman.

-Really?
-No.

The play began,
the lights went down.

The writer
then fired the revolver.

If you could retrace
your steps, please, Mr. Finch.

[ Sighs ]

I started there.

The lights went down.
I walked to the table.

The gun was there,
of course.

I raised it up,
and I fired one off.

I then put the gun back
and went to the wings.

I was with Joan
for the rest of the play.

The actors then took
their places on the stage.

Where were you waiting while
the lights were still down?

We were on the other side of the
stage. Then we took our places.

But you weren't all there
at the very start.

It seemed to me
as if the lights came on,

and then you all
came scrambling out.

I held us all back
a moment.

I thought Mr. Finch
was still out there.

-I heard something.
-Ahh.

I wondered
if it was a choice.

So there was approximately
20 seconds of darkness

and then another delay.

Mr. Finch,
you had two opportunities

to swap in a real bullet.

It wasn't me.

I walked off
right after firing the gun.

I don't know what Ada heard.

Whoever did swap in
the real bullet

would have had to have removed
a blank casing.

I'm going to need to
search your pockets.

[ Chuckles ] You -- You really
think I did this?

Murdered someone
during my own play?

You watched it.
It is clear I abhor violence.

WOMAN: Mm-hmm.

Search him, George.

Mr. Finch, if you'd
come with me, please.

You know, Mr. Finch,

I have an idea for
a murder mystery of my own --

one where you would never
be able to guess the killer

or killers.

Mm.
How novel.

CRABTREE: Sirs?

No blank cartridge,

but Mr. Finch did have
a hole in his pants pocket.

I'm not prepared
to exonerate him --

although I doubt
he would have motive

to kill his leading lady during
the course of his own play.

Sirs, what if...

What if the bullet in the gun

was swapped out
after the play began?

While it was going on?

Maybe the one who shot her

put the bullet in
right before he fired.

Impossible.

He very clearly opened
the drawer with one hand

and took out the gun
with the other.

Sir, that's true.

But through
the duration of the play,

many of the actors
handled the weapon.

I mean, the elder gentleman,
Mr. Grayson,

he had it at the beginning
of the play.

-[ Bell clangs ]
-Dinner!

Will you join us for dinner,
Detective?

JUSTICE: Yes.

-[ Gasps ]
-Are you all right?

It's just that my mother
is dead.

That and...

It's nothing.

So he had time
to put in the real bullet.

I believe he did.

Not to mention there was
a-a moment with Miss Potter.

I love you!

Oh!
[ Gasps ]

BRACKENREID: Why would
she want to put in a bullet

that was meant for herself?

Well, perhaps, Inspector,
she was,

like her character,
lovelorn.

That's what spurred her
to such a visceral performance!

George,
who are you speaking to?

Oh.
Forgive me, sir.

She was a newlywed.

Although I suppose
we can't discount

the possibility entirely.

She didn't kill herself,
Murdoch.

And John didn't do it either.

Damn it, Lillian,
I can't leave you!

Not without solving the crime
of your mother's murder.

Ohh!

Technically,
he had opportunity.

But I would tend to agree
John could not have done it.

Course he didn't.

Too busy teaching the rest of
them how to act, for one thing.

-What about the old lady?
-Ada Cunningham?

Why, yes.
She put the gun in the drawer.

[ Sighs ]

Good Lord.

It could have been
any of our actors.

Along with the director
and the writer.

Well, that narrows it down.

It obscures your face.

-Mother!
-You're handsome.

People want to see you.
[ Sighs ]

I hope they're paying you well
to wear this awful thing.

-Pretty well. $20.
-Really?

For just three hours' work?

-Oh, no. For the whole run.
-Oh.

I'm gonna go
find something to eat.

[ Spritzing ]

[ Coughs ]

Madame, how are you faring?

Oh.
I'm -- I'm all right, thank you.

Grayson Howard, actor.

Oh.
Margaret Brackenreid, wife.

[ Both laugh ]

That is such a lovely dress.

Oh, thank you.

[ Wheezing ]
Such a lovely dress.

It brings out your eyes.

Thank you.

-[ Wheezing ] I beg your pardon.
-No, no.

[ Wheezing ] What has happened
to my voice?

-Grayson, what happened?
-[ Wheezing ] I don't know.

It must be
that blasted perfume.

It's ruined my voice!

-Go.
-Detective!

Oh, darling.

-No, no, no.
-This one here.

That's Annabeth's perfume.

She would perfume herself
every night before the show.

Is it something she kept here,
or did she bring it with her?

I saw her take it out of
her bag right before the show,

along with her other makeup.

Why would it affect Mr. Howard
and not her?

Clear the area, gentlemen.

-Oh!
-Ooh.

Pungent.

I suspect someone

has adulterated the rosewater
with an acid,

any number of which
could affect the vocal cords.

-MURDOCH: You suspect...
-Nitric acid.

But Annabeth
didn't smell like that.

Perhaps she used
her present instead.

"To my dearest Bethie.
Break a leg. Love, Felix."

Her husband.

Someone attempted to
sabotage Mrs. Potter

by putting nitric acid
in her perfume,

and yet she somehow
inadvertently

sidestepped the attempt
with this present.

Do you think it's possible
the same person

sabotaged the gun
in order to kill her?

It's possible.

Who would want to
ruin her performance?

There was an incident
some weeks ago.

Someone gave her
a fake script,

and she learned
all the wrong lines

before our first rehearsal.

They wanted her
to lose the part.

Who gave her the script?

It was her understudy.
Ada Cunningham.

I played one little joke
on the woman.

You attempted to sabotage
Mrs. Potter in rehearsals.

It wasn't sabotage.

And the perfume?

What perfume?

You've changed.

Is this what you were wearing
during the performance?

Yes. So?

An unspent blank round.

Someone must have put that blank
in my pocket.

And I had nothing to do with

putting acid
in Annabeth's perfume.

-I couldn't have.
-Why is that?

I have to arrive and get
dressed before everyone else.

I have the smallest role,

so I'm the one who has to
wait by the door

and take the tickets.

I was never in the dressing room
after she arrived.

And Annabeth brought
the perfume with her.

So Miss Cunningham admits
to replacing the script

but claims she didn't
tamper with the perfume?

Right. Whoever brought the acid
brought it in something.

Perhaps we could find
the bottle.

Well, nitric acid
is corrosive.

It would have to be
a glass bottle.

Right.

Mr. Finch.

I did have a couple
of questions about your play.

For instance, the leading lady
confused me somewhat.

You mean because she is
all wrong for the part?

Well, she kept saying
that she was innocent

and -- and -- and virginal,

but what she was conveying
was anything but.

I spoke to her and spoke to her
and spoke to her.

But would she listen?
No.

So who did you imagine
in the role?

A quiet, subtle beauty.

Dark hair.
Dark countenance.

Someone fierce and...

Someone real.

Ahh.

You know, the boy really is
a natural, Margaret.

Oh, shh, shh, shh.

You must rest your voice.

Do you really think
he's good?

When I see him on the stage,

I feel as though I'm looking at
a younger version of myself.

-Oh.
-[ Footsteps ]

-Margaret?
-Shh, shh.

He's resting.

What will your review
say of the performance?

Mm, I have a spot of
difficulty there, Detective.

You see, I'd intended
to be rather caustic,

with regards to one performance
in particular.

-The leading lady?
-Mm.

She was, if I may speak ill
of the dead,

an abomination.

How can I write such a thing?

The poor woman is gone.
Forever.

It would be cruel
to thusly savage her.

But anything else
would be a lie.

Indeed!

And honesty
is my guiding light.

Truth is the soul
of the critic.

Excuse me.

I need to find
the other detective.

MURDOCH:
The victim's missing earring.

WATTS: Meaning Annabeth Potter
was down here

sometime before
the show began.

But why?

And what happened down here to
cause her to lose an earring?

Ah. Detectives.
I have something.

-MURDOCH: The acid container?
-Uh, no.

Information.

It seems to me that our writer,
Barney Finch,

was very put out that his
leading lady was miscast.

He didn't want Annabeth Potter
in the role?

I fairly believe he wrote it
with Ada Cunningham in mind.

Mr. Finch?

Follow me, gentlemen.

Could you recount the opening
sequence once again, please?

I turned the lights down.

Mr. Finch emerged from here,

walked to the table
with the gun.

Wait.

Right at that moment,

there was a sound.

There was a sound,
and someone muttered something.

Yes, sir.
I heard it too.

I think it was a chap,
and I think he said, "Damn."

A sound?

What kind of sound?

It was a little, uh,
dink-di-dink or...

No, it was a sort of
a clink-cli-clink-clink.

-Something falling to the stage.
-CRABTREE: Yes.

Oh, yes, I think I noticed.

I assumed Finch had just knocked
into something on the set.

Or there could be
another explanation.

The nitric acid that harmed
Grayson Howard's voice

also has
destructive properties.

It can eat through cloth.

Oh.

Mr. Finch's trouser pocket.

As you can see, Mr. Finch,

the stopper on this vial
of nitric acid is loosely set.

Some of the liquid seeped out.

Enough to eat a hole
in a piece of fabric.

A pocket, for instance.

Nonsense.
Nonsense.

The vial fell through the hole
in your pocket

onto the stage floor.

You paused to pick it up --
causing the delay --

but then had to carry on
and begin the play

lest anyone suspect you.

Prove it.

Take off your trousers.

We can test the pocket
for residue.

[ Chuckles ]
Um, you -- you can do that?

Most certainly.

Mm, that's, uh --
that's quite good.

I'll have to use that
in my next play.

-Mr. Finch...
-Yes, fine!

I, um -- I did it.

I brought the acid
and put it in the perfume.

It was only going to
soften her voice,

and then Ada could step in

and the play
would be vastly improved.

But when your plan failed,
you set out to kill her

so that she could never perform
the role again.

I brought the acid
and a bullet as well?

I expected my plan to fail,
then?

And when it did, I resorted
to something far more drastic?

Something that wouldn't even
solve the problem.

The reviews are in
after opening night, Detective.

There's no benefit in replacing
the star

for the second performance.

-Well, I supp--
-Oh, but, no.

Even though I had just lost a
piece of incriminating evidence,

I went ahead
and murdered Annabeth

in the most complicated way
imaginable?

If I were to write
such a thing,

no audience
would believe it.

And yet you expected
the audience to believe

that a police detective
would allow every suspect

to handle the murder weapon

until one of them
finally killed him with it.

Well, um, it's a --
it's a metaphor.

I'm feeling a little better,

but I really should retire
to my bed.

Yes.
I think that would be best.

-Thomas.
-What?

Don't you think Mr. Howard
should go home?

The poor man has been through
a great deal.

I live just 'round the corner.

You can always summon me
if you need anything.

Fine. Write down your address,
and you can go.

Do you think
you could escort me?

MARGARET:
Yes, I would be honored! I --

-No, she bloody well can't!
-Thomas!

Get out
before I change my mind.

[ Gasps ]

[ Coughs ]

Ah! Thomas!

-What has gotten into you?!
-[ Door closes ]

The man was trying his luck
with you.

-He was?
-Yes!

Oh!

Mr. Finch
makes a convincing argument.

The version of events
in which he's the killer

is not quite right.

So who, then?

Well, prior to her death,

both the understudy
and the writer

tried to get rid of Annabeth.

Perhaps the murder had nothing
to do with the play at all.

That's possible. Perhaps there's
another reason altogether.

CUNNINGHAM: Hey!
You can't just leave.

HOWARD:
I'm ailing, dear girl.

So what? If we have to stay,
then so do you.

I am merely a witness.
You, my dear, are a suspect.

Of course you're a suspect.
You were here, weren't you?

I was poisoned.
You think I did this to myself?

I was the one who did
the perfume business.

It had nothing to do
with the murder.

You?!
I'll give you what for!

This is ridiculous.
Why does no one suspect you?

Me?

You're the one
who fired the gun.

You think I did this
on purpose?

Annabeth is my wife.
I could never -- I...

I di-- Someone made me shoot
my own wife!

We can fight all we want,

but why isn't anyone
pointing out

the most suspicious thing
about all of this?

What is he doing here?

Yes!
What are you doing here?

You weren't made to stay.

Moi? But I wasn't
anywhere near the stage.

Nor did he have any reason
to kill poor Annabeth.

Unlike someone we all know.

What exactly
are you implying?

Do you really
want me to say?

Ha!
There's nothing you could say

that would make
a whit of sense.

No? Do you know
what Annabeth told me?

She told me that you weren't
"born on Broadway" at all.

You're little Joanie Dell
from Huntsville.

The only reason
you get to be the director

is because your daddy pays
for the whole thing.

-[ Indistinct shouting ]
-You're a fraud. You're a fraud!

How dare you impersonate
a Broadway director?!

[ Shouting continues ]

MURDOCH: Enough!

All of you could have killed
Annabeth Potter.

All of you had motive
to kill her.

And all of you are staying here
until her murder is solved.

During the flurry
of accusations,

two compelling motives
emerged --

one for Mr. Howard...

BRACKENREID: Who lost the lead
role thanks to Mrs. Potter.

...and one for the director,
Miss Dalloway.

Who didn't want anyone knowing
about her real background.

I knew I recognized her
from somewhere.

My sister Ruby used to summer
with her in the Muskokas.

Oh, so you were raised rich?

Well, not rich rich...

With me, Doctor.

Perhaps you can open her up

with discussion of, uh, gems
or somesuch.

Uh...

BRACKENREID:
I was letting you leave

because you were getting cozy
with my wife.

No, never.
I? No.

The entire cast has confirmed

your previous conflict
with the victim.

Yes, it happened.

And you bloody well
killed her for it.

I did not.
I swear it.

You had opportunity
to exchange the bullet

during the dinner scene.

Did I? I suppose.
But I didn't.

And why should we believe that

when you've just lied about
putting your hands on my wife?

Those are fighting words,
young man.

-What?
-You want fisticuffs?

I'll give you a thrashing!

Is he joking?
Are you jo--

All right, Mr. Howard.

That's enough questions
for now.

Yes.
How is Ruby?

I haven't heard from her
in some time.

Off on another dramatic
adventure, I imagine.

All right.
That's enough chitchat.

So Annabeth Potter
knew about your past,

knew you were lying to
the papers, to your audience,

pretending to be something
you were not.

Yes.
She knew.

And yet you cast her
in the lead.

-Was she blackmailing you?
-Of course I cast her.

She had some of the best notices
in the city.

Really?

I don't know what that
Gould man was thinking.

Herbert Gould.
He's given her good reviews?

Glowing.
For every performance.

Glowing reviews.
Until tonight.

Suddenly your opinion changed.

Your notes, Mr. Gould,
are not merely critical.

They're downright cruel.

They betray an anger
toward the victim.

Oof. Why did you suddenly hate
Annabeth Potter?

I simply write what I see.

But you had seen her
in half a dozen other plays.

What exactly
are you accusing me of?

I had no opportunity
to touch that gun.

I didn't even arrive
until after the play began,

and the gun was on stage
the whole time.

-That is not true.
-Oh?

I saw you by the door
to the basement

10 minutes
before the show started.

No.

Well, uh,
I don't recall.

In spite of the fact
that you took your seat

five minutes
after the show began,

you were not late
to the theater tonight,

you were early,

but you were waiting
by the basement door

to receive payment.

Payment?

The $60
found on Annabeth Potter.

She was paying him
for positive notices --

selling out his profession,

betraying his
personal integrity.

Well...

WATTS: But you never received
that payment.

Why?

Had Annabeth Potter
reconsidered?

Did you demand more money?
I don't know.

But whatever happened,
an altercation ensued,

causing Mrs. Potter
to lose her earring.

Her -- Her earring.

You were angry,
and so you concocted a plan.

You knew the details of the
play from the dress rehearsal.

You knew there would be at
least 10 seconds of darkness

during which you could replace
the bullet in the gun.

You just had to get on stage.

-That's very good, Watts.
-Thank you.

But he wasn't on stage.

WATTS: Mm.

No.

No. No.

No, he wasn't.

Or was he?

The altercation downstairs
happened right beside the trap.

Mr. Gould awaited
the precise moment,

emerged under
cover of darkness,

replaced the bullet in the gun,
and vanished once again.

Aided by the delay caused by
Mr. Finch

dropping the acid vial.

Then he demanded
to stay afterwards

so he could plant the blank
cartridge on someone else.

On the most likely
of suspects -- the understudy.

[ Whispering ] I'm sure
he didn't do it...

Willam, look --
bullets.

In Mr. Gould's satchel.

[ Bullets clinking ]

Same color and caliber

as the bullet
that killed Mrs. Potter.

No!
It can't be!

Uh, Detective, Inspector,

I'm afraid Mr. Gould
is innocent.

What?
But we just proved he did it.

Certain aspects of my theory
have proved false, in fact.

What aspects?

Mr. Gould was not
under the stage,

and he was not the reason
Mrs. Potter lost her earring.

What about the other things?
Was he taking money for reviews?

I believe so, yes?

But if he wasn't under the
stage, he cannot be the killer.

Right, then.
What next?

Uh, Detective, just a moment.

How can you be so sure
of these things?

I am sure because the sounds
and the lost earring

were caused by something else.

What?

A tryst.
[ Clears throat ]

With whom was she having
a tryst? Her husband?

No.

Well, then, it could be relevant
to the investigation.

Oh, it's not.

Oh, I wonder...

I'll judge that for myself,
Detective.

[ Exhales slowly ]

[ Whispering ] It was, uh,
young Brackenreid.

Oh! Right!
Let's consider new theories.

What the bloody hell's
going on?

Oh, i-it's not important, sir.

Mr. Gould could not have been
under the stage.

Well, then, who was?

There's really no reason
to say.

Somebody bloody well tell me
what's going on.

[ Whispering ]

John!

You were having a bit of how's
your father with the victim?

-She was married!
-[ Gasping ]

Oh!

-DR. OGDEN: Oh! Margaret!
-Look what you've done.

-DR. OGDEN: Margaret?
-CRABTREE: Mrs. Brackenreid.

Margaret.
Are you all right?

I think so.

-What happened?
-You fainted.

Oh.

It must have been because
I've been so nervous

I haven't eaten anything.

Oh.
Yes, it -- it could be that.

It's so strange.

I think I had a dream.

A dream that John was carrying
on with a married woman.

[ Laughing ]

Thank the Lord
it was just a dream.

Now, where's my purse?

Really, son?
A married woman?

I know, Father.
But it wasn't a real marriage.

-How's that?
-Well, at least not yet.

She was frustrated.

You mean...

Apparently Felix had...

...trouble.

Couldn't rise
to the occasion.

[ Clears throat ] Why did you
not tell us this before, John?

I didn't want Felix to find out.
The poor man's wife just died.

Maybe he already knows,

in which case he becomes
a compelling suspect.

He doesn't know.

BRACKENREID:
How can you be sure?

Because it was the first time
it ever happened.

He was in the green room at
the time, putting on his makeup.

The first time was just before
the show started?

Under the bloody stage?

Look, I saw Annabeth
by the basement door,

and we exchanged some looks
during rehearsals, and, well...

She grabbed me,
and then she kissed me.

And then she dragged me
underneath the stage,

she kissed me again, and then
she grabbed hold of my belt...

All right, that's enough.
We get the picture.

Just exactly when did the
two of you exit the basement?

Annabeth left right away

and got in position
before the lights went down.

I couldn't find my badge, so I
was delayed a couple of minutes.

That must have been when Ada
heard that noise in the dark.

You believe
the husband didn't know?

He could have sensed
that something was up...

up during rehearsals.

No, sir. He never touched
the weapon until the finale.

There's no way he could have
put in the real bullet.

-[ Both snort ]
-MURDOCH: Oh...

What we haven't considered
amongst these revelations

is the bullets found
in Mr. Gould's satchel.

Since it's apparently impossible
for him to be guilty,

we have to assume
that they were placed there --

by the killer, presumably.

And the same killer put
the blank

in Miss Cunningham's pocket.

-Unless she's the killer.
-Precisely.

There are
two possibilities.

Miss Cunningham is the killer,

and the blank round
found in her pocket

is evidence of that.

Yes, but would
she really think

to put evidence
in Gould's satchel

and not think to get rid of
evidence in her own pocket?

MURDOCH:
Exactly, George.

That's why I believe the second
possibility to be the case.

The same killer attempted
to lay blame

on both Mr. Gould
and Miss Cunningham.

I had my hands in my pockets
during the final scene.

They were empty, so the blank
must have been put in

after the play had ended.

When did you get changed?

After that horrible incident
with Annabeth,

I wanted to get out of my
costume as quickly as possible.

I came straight back here
as soon as I could.

Could someone have slipped it in
your pocket before you changed?

I don't think so.

It must have been
after I hung it up here.

Did you see anybody else
back here

before or after you changed?

Grayson took Felix back here.

He was consoling him.

Which pocket
did you find them in?

This one here.

That's where I keep
my Waterman.

I'd opened that pocket
only 20 minutes

before you found
the bullets.

Who could have been near
your bag?

I put it down in the green room
for a few minutes.

Who was there at the time?

John Brackenreid,
his mother...

...and Felix Potter.

Their marriage
was never consummated.

If she had asked him
for a divorce,

the result would have been
an annulment.

CRABTREE:
What would he care about that?

Unless she had more money
than him.

Did he, uh, marry up?

Well, Mr. Potter
was a dedicated actor.

And from what I understand,

their wages
are ridiculously low.

Right, meanwhile, she has
enough money lying around

to pay for good reviews.

Hold on. I thought
he couldn't have done it.

MURDOCH:
That's right.

We all saw him take the revolver
out of the drawer.

Not even
a sleight-of-hand artist

could have replaced the bullet

in the split second
it took for him

to remove it from the drawer
and fire.

[ Snaps ]

I know how it was done.

With me!

What happened upon this stage
is precisely the premise

of my forthcoming
murder mystery,

which I based on an old case
Detective Murdoch and I solved,

and I shall call,
"The Convention of Inventors."

I don't see
the similarities, George.

Really, sir?
You know...

Well, in any case, uh, you're
standing in for Mr. Grayson.

Mr. Grayson held a grudge
against Mrs. Potter,

and it was he who,
during the dinner scene,

replaced the bullet.

And as he walked toward
the dining table...

he passed Ada Cunningham

and gave her
the blank cartridge.

So she took the bullet
and put it in her own pocket?

CRABTREE: Precisely.

Felix Potter fired upon
his own wife knowingly,

but he could not have done so
without the help of the others.

All of the others.

Each of the cast members
played their own part.

What a twist!
Terrific!

An ending like that would have
earned a rave from me,

I can tell you that much.

You didn't care for
my ending?

Ending? You just
arbitrarily killed everyone.

And I suppose you saw it coming,
did you?

Surprise is not the paramount
element of drama, my good man.

So George, you believe the
killer was, in fact, a group.

Yes, sir.

You remember that case
at the -- the -- the...

MURDOCH:
The invention convention.

Oh!
That's a better title.

Even though it turned out
none of them did it?

Well, sir, that's true,

but it would have been
a much better story had they.

What about the bullets
in the satchel?

Well, I suppose
that could have been John.

It wasn't bloody John.

All right, well, then it might
have been one of the others.

Sir, you don't like
my solution?

I will admit,
it does seem impossible

for one person to have committed
this murder.

Unless...

Unless the answer's been lying
in front of us the entire time.

The killer led us to believe
that the trick

was the exchange
of the bullet.

What if the trick
was the exchange of the gun?

What if the killer put in
a second gun to the same drawer?

And when the time was right,

he could have simply
reached for it.

-BRACKENREID: No gun, then?
-No.

Well, perhaps I'm right
after all.

Unless...

Unless the killer knew that
the drawer would be examined,

so he secreted the gun
i-in a hidden compartment.

-Oh.
-WATTS: No compartment.

No compartment.

But there is a hole
at the back of the drawer.

So the prop gun could have
fallen down to the drawer below.

Oh.

This is the prop gun,

identical to the murder weapon
in every way,

save for the unspent blanks.

The killer placed the gun
in the drawer

before the play
ever started.

And when the time was right,
he reached in,

took out the murder weapon,

allowing the prop gun
to fall to the drawer below.

Felix Potter
shot his own wife,

murdered her
in cold blood.

[ Woman gasps ]

Yes.
I did it.

She was gonna leave me.

Leave me and take everything.
Why?

Because she didn't think
I was a man.

Showed her, didn't I?

Showed you all.

You murdered her
in cold blood.

Oh, I did much, much more
than that.

I prepared.
I rehearsed.

And tonight I was a man.

And not only one man,
but three.

The doting husband.

The grieving widower.

And the vengeful killer.

And I had you all fooled

every step of the way.

MURDOCH:
Yes, Mr. Potter.

It certainly was
the performance of a lifetime.

You were the best thing
in it, son.

Of course we're gonna recast.
Do you want a third murder?

That was very clever discovering
the second gun, William.

All of this has me rather
intrigued by the theater.

Perhaps I'll take after Joan
and try my hand at drama.

-[ Chuckles ]
-You'd like to direct?

Why not?

How hard could it be?

Well, if it will make you happy,
I encourage it.

Perhaps we should start
right now.

Start what?

We have a whole theater
at our disposal.

And I have a scene in mind.

Oh?
But I may not know the lines.

This time
maybe we'll improvise.