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LOWTHER: Stop him!

Stop that man!

- Out of the way! - WOMAN: Oh!

[ Groans ]

LOWTHER: Down here! This way!

[ Door opens ]

Try the pub!

Please.

What are you doing, barging into my pub?

Did a man just come in here, miss?

He's a killer.

A killer?

Special agents from London.

We need to catch this man before he harms someone else.

I didn't see anyone.

You don't mind if I look around a bit?

Suit yourself.

[ Door opens ]

[ Door closes ]

[ Footsteps ]

He's not here.

Let's go.

Who are you?

Did I just help a murderer?

No.

- I don't think so. - You don't think so?!

No. Wait.

I don't know who those men are.

I don't know why they're after me, because...

...I don't know who I am.

I don't even know my own name.

[ Sighs ]

I believe someone sent for a detective.

BRACKENREID: Constable George Crabtree,

Detective Hamish Slorach from Station House Number Five.

Oh, yeah. Crabtree.

Yes, well...

There you have it.

Chief Constable Stockton feels that Detective Slorach

is just the man to take over for Murdoch.

Take over, sir?

Well, just until Murdoch is found

and returns to his duties, son.

Of course. Welcome, Detective Slorach.

Well, thank you, Inspector Brackenreid.

Now, then. Where shall I locate my receptacle?

[ Sighs ]

Ah, this will do.

Fair bit of clutter, I see.

Sir, where would you like me to locate your receptacle?

Here. Here we go. Just put it over here.

Just move some of this junk. It's not that difficult.

That's quite the blunderbuss you've got there, sir.

Mm. Old Betsy.

More reliable than any woman. I'll tell you that.

Uh, sir, we discourage pointing firearms at the inspector.

- Ah. - Right, then, gentlemen.

Our most pressing case --

Detective Murdoch's disappearance, obviously.

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

He's been gone a week, then?

When he didn't arrive 8:00 a.m. sharp Monday morning,

we knew that something was amiss.

- The detective is never tardy. - SLORACH: Oh.

He was last seen...

His landlady saw him going to church Sunday morning.

That was the last anyone saw of him.

And you've checked the, uh...

Sir, we've checked everywhere, twice.

Twice, well...

Well, gentlemen, it's been my experience,

when a man who chooses to disappear, he stays disappeared.

And your meaning, Detective?

He's off on a bender.

Oh, sir, Detective Murdoch is a teetotaler.

He practices teetotalism.

Well...

Then it's a woman. Vacation between the sheets!

You've got him all wrong, Slorach.

Detective Murdoch is probably

the most buttoned-down man you'll ever meet.

Seven days ago

I awoke to a railway guard hauling me out of a coal car.

I had no idea how I'd gotten there,

where I'd come from, nothing.

That was in Montreal, Canada.

How'd you end up in England, then?

The only thing I had on my person

was a steamer ticket to Bristol.

So you sailed the ocean on a guess and by golly?

Not exactly.

There was a name on the ticket. John Dawson.

[ Dog barks ]

There was an address written on the folder.

I thought maybe I was Dawson.

But you're not.

I went to the address.

One of those men answered the door.

I asked after Dawson.

And he told me he was dead.

Caught a glimpse of a weapon.

Told him I'd made a mistake.

I tried to leave, but they followed me out.

Hey!

I ran.

They followed, and here I am.

They said you might be a killer.

Is it possible you killed this Dawson?

I don't think that's something I would do.

But I keep having this nightmare

that I'm standing over a body.

There's blood on my hands.

Perhaps I should turn myself in.

Yeah, go to the cops with "I might be a killer."

What do you think they'll do? You don't even know who you are.

They might know my identity.

They'll throw you in the clink

and put the boots to you for good measure.

Besides, I've met killers.

Met two this evening.

And you don't have the look.

You've soft eyes.

Kind eyes.

You hungry?

I'll make you something to eat.

[ Laughs ]

[ Door opens ]

Constable.

Uh, Doctor, there's been a body found in a field

near Detective Murdoch's church.

And from the initial description...

There's a carriage waiting for you outside.

Dr. Ogden. I believe you've met Detective Slorach.

Of course. We've worked cases together.

I understand you've been assigned

to Station Four, Detective.

- Temporarily, of course. - Of course.

Shall we go?

[ Flies buzzing ]

All right, Crabtree.

It's not Murdoch.

That's a relief.

Not for him.

He's been shot clean through the temples.

The body appears to have been here

for several days, possibly a week.

That's one big bullet hole.

I'm done for now.

Ooh. [ Coughs ]

Uh, we try to avoid

directly touching items at the crime scene.

- Fingermarks. - [ Chuckles ] Fingermarks.

Yeah, I don't put much stock in those myself.

No identification.

Doctor.

Sirs!

Come take a look at this.

It looks to be bone fragment and brain matter.

What kind of bullet drives bone and brain matter

30 feet after impact?

Hey, I'd done my specials for tomorrow on that.

That's all right. I'll put it back as it was.

Oh, really? Your memory being so reliable.

Mutton stew, 3 pennies. Sardines on toast, 2 pennies.

Treacle tart, 1 1/2 pennies.

A bit dear, if you ask me.

I didn't.

I'm sorry.

It just felt like something I would do --

work out a problem on a blackboard.

Could it be you're a teacher?

Mm.

No. Not a teacher.

- Clean shirt. - Thank you.

So, what have you and my menu board figured out?

Well, when I woke up on that train in Montreal,

my head was injured.

Possibly from an altercation of some sort.

My left side was very bruised, suggesting a fall.

Perhaps from a railway bridge or somesuch.

A railway bridge where?

Well, it was early evening when I arrived in Montreal.

My watch had been broken. It had stopped at 11:14.

- Perhaps in the fall. - Mm.

Yes.

Accounting for a train's top speed of 47 miles per hour

and traveling for between eight and nine hours,

that means somewhere between 376 to 423 miles,

making me from New York City or Toronto.

[ Exhales sharply ] You've a head for numbers.

Perhaps you're an accountant.

Oh. I hope not.

Well, you've had quite a week, Mister...

I need a name to call you by.

Pick one.

Harry.

I've always liked Harry.

Good. Harry it is.

What's yours?

Anna. Anna Fulford.

Oh, that's -- that's lovely.

Your name.

I feel a bit light-headed.

That's only your second pint.

You're not much of a drinker, are you?

Perhaps I should rest my eyes.

Only for a minute.

Come on, Harry. You need to lie down.

CRABTREE: Excuse me, Doctor.

Do you mind if I take the victim's fingermarks?

Oh. Yes.

George, I'll do that.

Oh.

Doctor, I'm sure we will find him.

I hope you're right, Constable.

Well, look at this scar.

CRABTREE: It looks like an "S."

Completely symmetrical. How odd.

So the victim's unidentified.

There are no witnesses. No murder weapon.

Exactly.

Sirs, I checked the fingermarks on our victim's silver case

against our police files.

I found two matches, excluding the victim's own.

Now, one was yours, Detective.

But the others were Detective Murdoch's.

Murdoch?

Could he be the one who pulled the trigger?

No, sir.

Regardless, he left the scene of a crime.

Oh, well, sounds like a job for Betty.

Betty? Your rifle?

No, that's Betsy.

Betty's my hunting dog.

She smells something awful, but she has got a nose of gold.

All right.

We'll leave at first light.

What the bloody hell was Murdoch doing at the murder scene?

[ Train whistle blowing ]

Excuse me.

[ Train rumbles ]

- [ Grunting ] - [ Door thudding ]

LOWTHER: Open up in there!

[ Thudding continues ]

I said open up!

Harry, quick, get up.

Move and we'll shoot.

Now, both of you...

Let's go.

Move.

Down.

Anna!

Anna.

Get on.

ANNA: Hurry!

- Bloody hell, he's got me! - Hang on.

Hal

Sir, are you're sure this will work?

[ Laughs ] Not in the least.

No, Betty's desire to track is only exceeded

by her desire to sleep, isn't it?

She seems like a fine dog, sir.

Her gamy odor notwithstanding.

You're a dog lover, Constable?

Oh, indeed, sir.

Good man. All right, come on.

Let's go! Come on, Betty! Let's go. Find Murdoch.

What am I gonna do about the pub?

Anyone could walk in with that door busted.

You can't go back there now.

No, I can't, can I?

Anna, this is all my fault.

You need to find someplace safe

and lay low until this all blows over.

And what are you going to do?

I have to find out why those men are after me.

How do you propose to do that?

Harry?

I've seen this bridge before.

Of course you have. Clifton Suspension Bridge.

It's famous.

We need to find a safe place. A sanctuary.

SLORACH: All right, Betty. Come on.

Find that scent. Find it.

Good. Come on!

Ehhhh. Oh.

Betty, Betty, Betty. Where are the signs?

Where is he, huh? Where is that Murdoch?

Where is he? Where is he, Betty?

CRABTREE: Sir, look here.

Blood.

There seems to be some sort of, uh...

um...

- Altercation? - Altercation.

Yeah.

Oh, that's a way down, that.

Sir, do you think Murdoch could have gone over here?

I mean, is that why Betty lost the scent?

ANNA: We really need a place to stay, Father.

He's really a decent chap. Perfectly harmless, Father.

He's been injured. Yes.

I promise we'll be no trouble, Father.

He's a good person. Just for one night.

It's all right. Yeah.

Hi. Harry.

Nothing. Like he vanished into thin air.

Detective.

Which, you know, there is some good news in that.

Sir, I found several more items here.

An empty whiskey bottle.

A biscuit wrapper.

A photograph of a bridge.

Sir, it's a hotel key.

From the Gladstone.

ANNA: All those years attending Mass,

I never thought I'd get any use out of them.

But the Father couldn't refuse the request

of a good Catholic girl.

Are you Catholic?

I believe I am.

I felt at home in the church.

You're not a priest, I hope.

Are you worried I took a vow of celibacy?

Aren't you brash?

That train you fell into must have come from New York City.

They come brash from New York?

Ones I've met.

I've always wanted to live in New York.

Be nice if I knew someone there.

What about your pub?

It was my dear dad's.

It's not where my heart is.

Nothing left for me in Bristol.

Thank you.

For what?

Fixing your bandage or saving your life?

For both.

For everything.

[ Clears throat ]

[ Sighs ] So, what now, Harry?

I go back to the house where I encountered those men.

I should slap you for that. You're gonna get killed.

I'll be careful.

It's the only way I'll find out what they're after.

Sirs, the victim's personal effects

from the Gladstone Hotel.

His name is John Dawson.

He was a guest at the Gladstone

on and off for the last six months.

A week ago he disappeared.

Ah.

One of those newfangled matchbooks.

- DR. OGDEN: Gentlemen. - Dr. Ogden. Postmortem complete?

No surprises.

Though I must say I've never seen a bullet wound

so wide and clean.

The bullet all but cauterized the surrounding tissue.

- We need to find that bullet. - Mm.

Sirs, there are some numbers inscribed here in the matchbook.

- An equation of some sort? - Buggered if I know.

I've seen numbers like this.

I believe these are lens specifications.

What kind of lenses? Eyeglasses?

Actually it seems to be something much more powerful.

A glass grinder would know.

Yeah, a glass grinder would know.

You and I need to find out who he is and what he knows.

Keating's afraid that he may be working for Treadstone.

Putting the whole plan in jeopardy.

So we damn well have to find the slippery bugger

and find him fast

'cause Keating will be here inside three hours.

Bloody Treadstone.

The only good news is Charlie's watching the girl's pub,

and if the bugger goes back there, we'll have him.

[ Train whistle blowing ]

Excuse me.

[ Train rumbles ]

[ Door opens ]

Don't move.

What do you know about me?

Nothing.

Who is John Dawson?

- You tell me. - I will Kill you.

All I know is Dawson went soft, couldn't be trusted.

Why all the pictures of Clifton Bridge?

I tell you and I'm dead anyway.

[ Door closes ]

[ Footsteps ]

- [ Thud ] - [ Groans ]

Sir, we've walked hundreds of feet.

There's no way the bullet could have traveled this distance.

Well, I don't know about that, Constable...

Crabtree.

No, I think that's an elm.

Ah. There it is.

- Isn't that a beauty? - Whew.

.60 caliber.

Pointed, lead core,

copper-iron jacket to withstand the friction.

Three inches long when fired, at least.

Oh, the casing must have been, you know...

- Big. - Yes, right.

No question it was specially made.

Oh, as was the rifle that fired this, you can be sure.

Sirs, I've been to the glass grinder.

He recognized the figures from the matchbook.

He said a man came in claiming they were for a telescope.

Telescope?

Yes, sir. It's for scanning long distances.

I know what it is, Crabtree. How does it relate to the case?

Inspector, we are talking about a weapon of considerable range.

Bloody hell. It's for the gun.

Crabtree, this customer...

The glass grinder said he gave the name Quinn,

and I have an address.

Well, if Quinn has a gun

that can shoot a bullet that size that far,

we're going to need some ammunition ourselves.

Crabtree...

- Break out the armory. - Break out the...armory.

Anna?

Anna!

Harry!

Anna.

- You're safe. - Where did you get to?

Well, I went to the pub to block up the door.

I couldn't afford to lose everything.

Yes, but they'll be watching the pub.

Well, nobody saw me. I was careful.

I was worried about you.

Were you?

I -- I brought you something back.

It was my father's.

I thought we should even out the odds.

MURDOCH: Right.

Let's get inside.

Higgins, Fisher, on the left.

Morris, Graham, right.

[ Blows whistle ]

We need him alive, Slorach.

Hold your fire, you lot.

That was a decent shot.

Well, a slow bugger like that.

Sirs. Look at this.

There's our murder weapon.

SLORACH: Now, that's some rifle.

Well, you know your way around a gun.

Seem to.

You are not an accountant, Harry.

Those men seem to think I'm affiliated

with someone named Treadstone.

- Lord Treadstone? - You know him?

Well, he's some high-up government type.

We need to find out all we can about Treadstone.

Harry, don't you ever relax?

We're safe here.

William.

MURDOCH: Oh, Julia.

Julia? Who's Julia?

[ Banging ]

[ Gun cocks ]

Don't move a bloody muscle.

Anna, run!

Leave her!

[ Door slams ]

Leave him to me, boys.

[ Door opens ]

I believe we've met.

[ Door closes ]

Excuse me.

[ Train whistle blowing ]

LOWTHER: Keating will be here inside three hours.

Aah!

You're Keating.

Edmund Keating. Yes.

Well, you know me, but I don't know you.

There's an imbalance we must rectify.

So...

Let's you and I have a little chat.

I'll give you credit. You're a tough bastard.

I had you for dead when you tumbled into that coal car.

So let's start with introductions.

Who are you?

I don't know.

The fall must have jarred my brain.

I have no memory of anything.

Mm.

Well, we both know you were following Dawson.

So I want to know what you know and whom you've told.

Or there will be unpleasant consequences.

QUINN: It's a gun.

BRACKENREID: Hmm. I can see it's a gun, can't I?

Now what's a bloke from the Dales doing in Canada

building a gun that can shoot as far as a mile?

That's my own business, isn't it?

Not when it puts a bullet through someone's head.

Now, what have you done with Murdoch?

- Who? - He was at the murder scene.

I don't know what you're on about, mate.

Oh, yes, you do.

You don't think I'll break you?

You know who I am.

You know my reputation.

Last chance.

Who are you working for?

LOWTHER: Keating's afraid that he may be

working for Treadstone.

Treadstone.

He's hiring colonials now.

Typical.

I was hired to follow Dawson.

Why?

We'd heard he'd gone soft on the plan.

You thought you could turn him?

What did Dawson tell you?

He knew about Clifton Bridge.

What about it?

The assassination.

That bullet could only have been fired from your gun.

But you didn't fire it, did you?

You didn't know Dawson was dead.

Who are you working with?

I don't remember.

Aah!

CRABTREE: The scar on Quinn's hand is the exact same shape

and in the exact same place as Dawson's.

BRACKENREID: It's not just a scar.

When I was on the Khyber campaign,

there were elite-corps chaps who had this sort of thing.

The whole thing stinks of military intelligence.

Oh, great, uh...

- Scott, sir. - Yeah.

I've got a contact at the British consulate.

- I'll make a call. - Sirs!

Detective Murdoch is alive!

Canadian Pacific sent a telegram.

One of their guards pulled him off a coal car

in Montreal last week.

I knew it!

I had his photo distributed to each station on the line.

Bloody good work, Crabtree.

Higgins, contact Montreal police.

See if they know where Murdoch went from there.

But the question remains --

Why hasn't he contacted the station?

It is puzzling, sir.

I'm sure he had one hell of a good reason, Slorach.

KEATING: You've heard of Quinn, of course.

This is his work.

.60 caliber.

1in 10 twist.

I dropped Dawson from 500 yards.

Did you even hear the shot?

Not that I recall.

Of course neither did he.

It's a shame he had to die.

It's a shame you have to die.

But such is war.

I'll be in position in exactly one hour.

But, sir, who knows who he's told.

He knows everything.

KEATING: No. He doesn't.

Kill him.

If you could just give me an idea of what it was about.

I've got an unsolved murder

and a missing police officer down here.

Fine. Thank you very much.

And I'm sorry to have woke you.

Bloody diplomatic tossers.

- Mm. - What's the news, sir?

He would only give me part of it.

Dawson and Quinn were agents

at the War Office intelligence branch.

They were banished to Canada about six months ago

after an internal shake-up

that my contact was not at liberty to discuss.

There was a third agent sent here about the same time.

An Edmund Keating.

The three were associates.

Ah, could this Keating be our shooter?

What if that's why Detective Murdoch

was on that train?

Well, what if Keating was on his way back to England?

- With the gun? - Yes, Sir.

Detective Murdoch jumps on the train to follow him.

Crabtree, there's only one way to travel to Britain.

I'll check with the steamship companies.

[ Knock on door ]

Well, if it isn't your pretty little sidekick.

Anna.

Now, careful, dear. You wouldn't want to do anything foolish.

Your boyfriend's in a rather awkward position.

Now, give me the gun.

Aah!

[ Men groaning ]

Thank you very much.

Inspector.

Last Monday evening

a man traveling by the name John Dawson

boarded a steamer in Montreal.

Dawson was already dead by then.

- Was it Edmund Keating? - No.

Edmund Keating was booked on a ship

setting sail from Halifax the same day.

Both ships bound for Bristol.

We'll have to get a telegraph to the Bristol police.

Tell them there's one hell of a big gun heading their way.

Who's traveling as Dawson?

Well, perhaps Detective Murdoch.

I mean, if he had seen Dawson getting killed...

He'd track the bastard down who'd done it.

Even if it led him all the way to Britain.

Why hasn't Murdoch contacted the station?

Slorach! We don't know.

Perfectly reasonable question.

Constable!

There's to be an assassination at Clifton Bridge

in the next hour.

I don't know who I am, Chief,

but I can tell you what I do know.

And how did you know the queen

would be traveling through Bristol?

It was a closely guarded secret.

I didn't mention the queen --

only that there's to be an assassination.

CONSTABLE: Sir.

Telegram from Toronto police.

Toronto?

That's Canada, sir.

They say there's a sniper on the S.S. Mayfair bound for Bristol.

The Mayfair docked earlier today.

They also want to know if we've been contacted

by a Detective William Murdoch.

BRACKENREID: Murdoch!

Murdoch.

Murdoch!

Bloody hell, Murdoch!

William.

William.

William.

Harry?

Chief.

I am Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary.

And I implore you to listen to what I have to say.

CHIEF: The queen is on her way

to a private conference at Ashton Court.

She'll be passing over the bridge in 25 minutes.

You're sure that's where

the assassination attempt will take place?

Yes, sir. I've seen maps and photographs.

The best vantage point is either of the two support towers.

CHIEF: Ah. A perfect line of sight.

No. The shot won't come from there.

All of the images of the bridge that I saw

were from the side and from a much greater distance.

What's this here?

CONSTABLE: It's the observatory, sir.

Then that's the spot.

[ Scoffs ] Impossible. That's over half a mile off.

Well, sir, they have a very special rifle.

There's no rifle that special.

I want all available men now.

I want those towers secure.

But, sir, can't you delay the procession?

You obviously do not know your queen.

After four assassination attempts,

she thinks she's invincible.

Besides, the secretary of war will be with her.

And Lord Treadstone always travels with tight security.

Lord Treadstone? Sir.

He's the intended target.

- What? - Yes.

It's Lord Treadstone they're after, not the queen.

Sir? Carriages are ready, sir.

- Let's go. - But, sir, it's Lord Treadstone.

Go and do what you've got to do. William.

Go.

Who the hell are you?

Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

A bloody copper?

That's right, sir. A bloody copper.

And you are under arrest.

[ Groans ]

Britain owes you a great debt, Detective.

And you too, Miss Fulford.

I must admit, Chief, I am perplexed.

If Keating sought to destabilize the British Empire,

why not simply choose the queen as his target?

Because he was after more than simple disruption.

Keating and his people wanted to control

a more aggressive, expansive military.

And Lord Treadstone stood in their way.

Oh, one can only imagine the consequences --

and not only for Britain -- had Lord Treadstone been killed.

Mm.

Her Majesty was informed

of the role you played in averting this situation.

This contains a letter of thanks and a modest recompense.

Oh, sir, I was simply doing my duty as a police officer.

I couldn't possibly accept payment.

Although I believe Miss Fulford could.

Thank you.

I suppose this is goodbye.

Anna, I have obligations in Toronto.

My position, my men.

And Julia.

It's all right, William. I understand.

And I admire your loyalty.

I want to thank you.

Thank me?

If it weren't for you, I'd have spent my life in that pub.

And the queen just bought me a ticket to New York.

If I like it, I'll sell the pub.

Well, you'll have to watch out for those brash New Yorkers.

They'll pale in comparison to my Harry.

[ Bell tolling ]

I'd best be headed to the harbor.

Come and visit sometime.

Right, Crabtree. I want it level and taut.

Taut!

Higgins, up -- up at your end.

No. No, no, no. Not down. Up!

Oh, for God sakes. What a pair of bollock-brains.

Murdoch! [ Laughs ]

[ Cheering ]

Welcome back!

It's about time you turned up for work.

We hear you had quite an adventure over there.

Uh, sir, perhaps what transpired in England

should remain in England.

You saved the queen's life.

Oh. Oh, that.

- Sir! - [ Gasps ]

- Good to see you, sir. - [ Coughs ]

Good to see you too, George.

You know Detective Slorach, of course.

He was instrumental, sir,

in discovering where you'd gotten to.

Well, don't forget Betty, Constable, uh...

- Crabtree. - Crabtree. Crabtree.

You got a good team here, Detective.

Thank you.

I'm almost sorry you're back.

[ Door closes ]

Oh, William!

[ Cheers and applause ]

Welcome home, Detective.

Thank you, Doctor.

[ Cheering ]

How have you been?

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