All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries s14e08 The Dominion of New South Mimico.eng

Murdoch. Where's Higgins?

Uh, we... I haven't seen
him in a day or two, sir.

- Suffering an illness, I believe.
- Still?

I'll tell you what:

he'd better be knocking
on Heaven's bloody door!

Gentlemen, I beg your pardon.

My name is Roderick H. Roderick.

I've been sent to collect a detective
from Station House Number Four.

- Ah, we are they.
- That is us.

- What's this about?
- Uh, I cannot disclose any details. Please,

your help is needed most urgently.

For what, exactly?

There's been a murder.

Henry?

Oh. Detective!

Ah, Detective.

What is going on?

Isn't this the old Newsome estate?

Ah, it is! Ah, they bought it back.

I'll need to see your papers.

What papers?

Your visas?

Your permission into the country?

What country?

Their presence has been
requested by the King.

Let's see here.

Ah, sir! You're really not... Ah, sir!

I... I'm, you know, I'm
sure it's all in order.

I...

Rupert Newsome.

King Rupert The First.

Thank you for coming, Detective.

A great tragedy has befallen our nation.

What nation?

This one. Newsome-Mimico.

New South Mimico.

Ah, it's pronounced Newsome-Mimico.

You elide the "th".

I know.

It leaves one lacking
the capacity for speech.

Something like that.

Why is there music?

Oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh! Our national anthem.

It is that time.

This will only take a moment.

? Over great Mimico ?

? With our heads high we go ?

? I am the King ?

? Tall strong and handsome King ?

? Noble and valiant King ?

? We all adore the King ?

? I am the King! ?

Long live The King!

Mr. Newsome, you can't just
simply make your own nation.

Why not?

We have our own constitution.

We have a border,

enforced by our department
of justice and security.

- Henry Higgins?
- Mm-hm!

We have a currency.

Oh, and soon we will
have our own postage

featuring the visage of the Queen.

Uh, dearest?

Your hand.

- Oh. Bother.
- Oops.

Mr. Newsome, what makes
a nation is recognition.

By other nations.

I highly doubt any
nation will ever recognize

New South Mimico. Therefore,
it is not a nation.

Allow me to introduce

Agnessa Vrioni,

visiting dignitary from Albania.

Miss Vrioni.

Do you recognize Newsome-Mimico
as a sovereign nation?

I do.

Well, borders aren't real.

They're arbitrary divisors of people,

but insomuch as we acknowledge them,

we may as well
acknowledge Mr. Newsome's.

Watts, he can't make his own country.

It seems he already has.

Now, was there not some
mention of a murder?

His name was Dickie Fanshaw.

He was my friend.

A close friend?

Bosom.

When was his body found?

Uh...

Few hours ago.

I preserved the crime scene
and sent for you immediately.

Bashed with a heavy object.

Scratches on his neck.

It's signs of a fight.

- Mr. Newsome...
- Ah, ah, ah!

King Rupert the First.

Mr. Newsome.

- Did Mr. Fanshaw have any enemies?
- Of course.

In Canada.

- We're in Canada.
- No. We're not.

Our borders with Canada
were closed all night.

That's why I called you!

I believe the killer is
right here in Newsome-Mimico.

We sat for a nightcap at 9 pm.

It was myself, dearest departed
Dickie and Courtney here.

Courtney van Doren,
Minister of the Interior.

It was just the three of you?

No, Lucy was here.

Lucinda Helmsworthy-Newsome.

- The Queen.
- Oh, yes.

But she was knackered, so
she went to bed at 9:30.

After that, it was just the three of us,

our double malts and
our plans for the dock.

- The dock?
- Yes.

Those half-witted gargoyles
down at Mimico City Council

wouldn't let me build
a simple yacht dock!

One of them couldn't
even say yacht dock.

So, Dickie thought pffft.

Let's secede.

And thusly Newsome-Mimico was birthed.

Mr. Newsome, do you recognize this?

Of course I recognize
it, whoever you are.

It's a feather.

Ah, yes.

Do you have any idea why
it might have been stuck

to Mr. Fanshaw's waistcoat?

His "wescut"? No.

It could belong to McGeorge.

Oh, yes.

- McGeorge?
- Yes. Dickie's pet goose.

Little critter went missing
yesterday, come to think of it.

Gentlemen, last night,

when did you last see Mr. Fanshaw?

I retired to my rooms
at 10 pm on the dot,

but I believe Dickie said
he was going for a stroll.

Yes. It was 10 pm.

He went out that door and...

That's the song he was whistling
as he strode into the night.

Not a care in the world.

So, what are you all doing here?

William asked us to come.

Per orders of the King.

He is not a King. He is my idiot cousin.

Per orders of Effie's idiot cousin.

- Henry, what are you wearing?
- What?

- It's my uniform.
- You look like a feathered beefeater.

Ruth designed it.

On your way.

- Roderick.
- Fiona.

What... What are you doing here?

I came to see this madhouse for myself.

And you are?

George, this is Roderick
H. Roderick, my ex-husband.

Roderick, this is George.

My lover.

Hm.

A copper?

And you're a citizen
of New South Mimico?

Yes. Chief legal counsel.

Then you actually believe
this is a real country?

I do, it is.

Would you like to see proof?

Certainly. I could use a good laugh.

Dearest, I am supposed to be in charge.

I know that, Henny. Say,
I'm not showing, am I?

No. You're as sleek
as an antelope, dear.

I am Chief of Justice and
Security for Newsome-Mimico.

Yes. I know that, Henny. Grape!

But all I get to do is sit at the border

and turn away undesirables.

When a murder happens,
they call someone else in.

I've solved murders before, you know?

Really?

I've been involved in solving murders.

Oh, well. So have I. Scads of them.

Cantaloupe! But, Henny,

this is Dickie we're talking about.

It's all rather remarkable, isn't it?

They really made their own country.

You're impressed by this?

I suppose I am. Did you see the flag?

And the coat of arms?

This place is the manifestation
of a lunatic's untethered vanity.

Thank you, Detective.

Well, I'll examine the body.

- Thank you.
- I've confirmed everyone else was in bed

for the evening before 10 pm.

The last Mr. Fanshaw was seen.

The victim's guest room
was in the east wing.

No one heard anything. All
the other sleeping quarters

are in other parts of the building.

Yes, I searched his room. Found this.

A daily journal.

This looks interesting.

Watts!

Last journal entry was yesterday.

"One, select pajamas.

Two, pack pajamas.

Three, tell secret,"

with a question mark.

Where is it?

Dickie was Newsome-Mimico's
Secretary of State.

He handled all the
files and administration.

Why are there files and administration?

Rupert Newsome didn't
just say he had a country

and everyone just went along with it.

Well, I think he did.

I don't see how any paper
you show me will prove

- that New South Mimico is real.
- It will.

They don't teach you
everything at Osgoode, Fiona.

As a lawyer, I have significantly
more experience than you.

Oh, Roderick. There is lunch.

The Albanian woman has made lunch.

Ah. Yes. All right.

Um, just a moment.

Oh, hello.

Hello.

Hm.

Who's that?

- How am I supposed to know?
- Huh!

Ha. Here it is.

The Founding Documents. Proof
that New South Mimico is real.

This is nonsense.

It simply refers to Canadian treaties

that harken back to Confederation.

One could simply pop
'round Queen's Park,

glance at the copies and
prove once and for all

that there's no such
thing as Newsome-Mimico.

Yes.

No one has ever accused you
of not being sure of yourself,

have they Fiona?

George.

I shall be back in the wink of an eye.

And when I return,

New South Mimico will be no more.

Tell secret?

Dickie wrote that?

I haven't the foggiest.

What about these symbols?

Ah! This is a note.

Those colours and symbols
are, in fact, a language...

Solresol.

Solresol? What is Solresol?

The official language of Newsome-Mimico.

An international tongue that allows

for communication through
letters, numbers, music, or colour.

Is this language a product
of your own imagination?

"La langue universelle."

It was invented by a
Frenchman, although it's more

theoretical than practical, I believe.

Well, Dickie went to
pastry school in Paris

and said it was all the rage.

I find that hard to believe.

But what does this say?

It says...

"Best friend."

"Best friend, Rupert and Dickie,

Dickie and Rupert, best friends are we."

- Huh.
- My God!

What is it?

It's a bloody axe.

Uh, pool of blood, partially congealed.

I believe this axe was
used in the last day.

Well, we know an axe wasn't
used in committing the murder

and we believe that to have occurred

at the door to the East Wing.

What brings you out here,
Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome?

I was...

taking a walk to...

I... I can't remember
where. I just wanted a walk.

Detective. Look at this.

Another feather.

Mm!

My goodness.

That is transcendent!

I'm sorry. What is it?

This is goose.

- A family recipe.
- Mm.

- I'm sorry. Did you say goose?
- Mm.

Where did you procure this goose?

Miss Vrioni, I'm afraid I
must press you for an answer.

The victim's goose disappeared
shortly before he was murdered.

Murder?

No. I am not a killer.

William?

I found this in the victim's clothing.

Broken fingernail.

Presumably broken whilst leaving

those nasty scratches on his neck.

Ah, sir.

Miss Vrioni. May I see your right hand?

- No.
- Uh, Miss Vrioni. Please.

A broken fingernail.

Thank you.

You're coming with me.

Watts!

What happened?

I see the goose.

I take the axe. I
kill the goose. Normal.

This man? He is crazy.

So angry, yelling, attacking.

I defend myself. Hm?

Ah, yes. Ah, what time was this?

10 o'clock.

I already hung the goose
and was on my way to my room.

You didn't hit Mr. Fanshaw
on the back of the head?

No!

Right. What happened after
the two of you fought?

Nothing. He screams, "Ahhhhh!"

Then he runs to the house. This way.

Toward the East Wing. Very good.

Thank you, Miss Vrioni.

Dr. Ogden confirms that he died
between 10 and 11 pm last night.

That seems to line up
with Miss Vrioni's story.

If she's telling the truth,
he would have come this way and

entered through this door here.

It's curious, given that he died
at the other end of the wing.

- What is this?
- Blood.

? Do fa sol mi si fa ?

? Do mi fa sol do mi
fa sol do mi fa sol. ?

So what does that mean?

Oh! "Lovely little baby."

Yes, our child is going to be the
first native speaker of Solresol.

- Isn't that wonderful, Henry?
- Mm. It is wonderful.

So is the entire language musical?

Oh, doesn't have to be.
I suppose you could say,

"do mi fa sol,"

but what fun's the fun in that?

? Do mi fa sol. ?

Yeah. Incredible. Do you
mind if I have a look?

Certainly.

- So it's true, is it, Higgins?
- Sir?

Well, that you thought
you could call in sick

and that I wouldn't find out
you're working another job?

No. Sir, I... I...

Oh, spit it out, Higgins!

I'm actually looking forward to hear you

try and worm your way out of this one.

Well, I had no choice. It pays more.

Then be a man, be upfront
and hand me your resignation.

Ah, sir.

You can understand why
I might want to not tie

my entire career to Rupert Newsome.

I suppose so.

This new country business
can't actually last.

Just trying to make a little
extra money while I can.

I promise, after today,
no more taking off work.

Mm.

- Oi, Bugalugs!
- Oh! Sir!

- Are you getting paid to read?
- Sir, this is evidence.

What have you got, gentlemen?

The victim is a Mr. Fanshaw.

We believe he was in this
hallway shortly before his death,

- likely headed to his room.
- Oh, oh, oh. Look at this.

- Blood.
- And it leads here.

There's some on the door, Watts.

Uh, is this Mr. Fanshaw's room?

No. His room is that way.

I've already inspected
it... no blood there.

So what's in there?

What are you doing in my study?

Mr. Fanshaw came here
directly before being killed.

Why would he do that?

That's what we're asking you.

Well, I just asked
you. Why would I know?

What was the question?

Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome,

last night you had drinks in the
sitting room with your husband,

the victim and Mr. Van Doren, correct?

Yes.

You then left their
company at 9:30 p.m.,

according to their recollection.

Where did you go after?

I...

I can't remember.

Did you come here, to your study?

Did you see Mr. Fanshaw at or
just after 10 pm last night?

No. Of course not.

She's bloody lying.

Inspector, Detective.

- What have you?
- Letters.

And I believe they may
explain why Mr. Fanshaw

came to this room last night.

Ah, no, no, no.

You must hold the final syllable.

- "Solremi-i-i."
- Solremi-i-i.

Fabulous! That's it.

I do adore you, Courtney.

Whyever did you break
things off with Lucinda?

Don't answer. It's obvious.

You have quite the sharp tongue, Ruthie.

That's Princess Higgins-Newsome, sir.

Yes, of course. My apologies, Princess.

Oh, thank you.

Courtney, we must find
someone in the family

for you to marry so you can
be a proper royal, like us.

Who is that tall woman?
The one without any hair.

Oh, Effie! Oh, yes! Oh, she's perfect!

- You must marry her straightaway.
- Scrumptious!

Effie's with George.

- Still?
- Hang on.

What's this?

Oh my.

I've got to find the detectives.

Miss Helmsworthy-Newsome,
these are love letters.

Written to you by the victim.

What?

That's absurd.

They're quite passionate.

In this one, he says he's going to
reveal your affair "to the world".

Well, I've never seen those
letters before in my life.

Young Detective Watts
found them right here

in your study just moments ago.

Mr. Fanshaw was injured after
his argument with Miss Vrioni.

He went not to his room,

but came here, perhaps to
seek solace in your arms.

But you then argued,
possibly about this letter.

And shortly after that
Mr. Fanshaw was dead.

No. No.

- I...
- Where were you last night at 10 pm?

I can't remember.

No, no. I do. I do remember. I...

I took a walk.

In the rose garden.

- And from there I went straight to bed.
- Sirs?

- I found something.
- What is it, Higgins?

I was walking outside
with Ruth and Courtney.

I spotted this on the ground.

- There's dried blood on it.
- Mm-hm.

Oh.

Based on the wound, this
could be the murder weapon.

Oh, it's the other
bookend from this shelf.

Oh! Very good.

- Where did you find this, Henry?
- In the rose garden.

No, no. No, I didn't
kill him. I swear! I...

I just can't remember anything!

Perhaps she really doesn't remember.

It's possible she killed him and
the experience was so traumatic

that her mind just blocked it out.

Unfortunately, there are no
fingermarks on the murder weapon.

Detective, I understand my wife
has murdered my best friend.

The evidence strongly
suggests that's the case.

- However, we...
- The King, me, is despondent.

But there's nothing to be done. Henry,

arrest the Queen on
the charge of murder.

Really? But she's your wife.

And she murdered my best friend.

No man has known true friendship

until he has known the friendship
of Dickie D. Fanshaw, Esquire.

Mr. Newsome, at the conclusion

- of our investigation, we will arrest...
- No!

This is Newsome-Mimico.

Henry, arrest the Queen.

He has a guillotine?

It's in the constitution.

I'm not actually allowed
to cut her head off?

- Absolutely not.
- Oh, thank God.

Might as well have a little
fun with it, then, huh?

Ladies and gents, in
accordance with my duties

as Chief of Justice and
Security for Newsome-Mimico,

I shall now execute the Queen!

Just let me put her in the thingamajig

before you put a stop to all this.

Come on. What's wrong? On your feet.

I did nothing wrong. Stop this!

Perty! I'm your wife, how could you?

Your hands are stained
with the blood of Dickie.

I can't say I'm surprised to find
out that you're a murderer, Lucinda.

- I... I'm not...
- Henry,

are you really going
to chop off her head?

- 'Tis my noble duty.
- Oh!

All right, Higgins. That's
enough. Hand her over.

Yes. The Queen is coming with us

until we complete our investigation.

Well, I object!

But in the name of peace,
I offer full compliance.

Henry! You're supposed to...

Detectives? Inspector?

It's about this whole
sovereignty business.

Ah-ah-ah, don't listen to her.
She's just a foolish woman.

Henry, do not unhand my wife.

We're taking her.

Meanwhile, Miss Newsome
here can explain to you

why you're not the king
of your own country.

The thing is,

the founding documents
of New South Mimico

refer to a federal waterway treaty,

- which was revised only this year.
- All right.

The treaty defines Canada's
borders with America.

It's signed off by
officials from Canada,

the US and Great Britain.

And there's one article, which
must have just slipped in.

- The officials have no idea.
- No idea of what?

Once they're alerted, I'm sure
they'll re-write it immediately.

Go on, Miss Newsome.
What are you getting at?

According to the government of Canada,

New South Mimico is real.

You're trying to tell us that

Rupert Newsome really is
the King of his own country?

Well, of course I am.

Henry? Off with her head.

Yay.

Even if he is some sort of king,

- we can't let him kill his wife.
- Hm,

yes. This may call for a coup d'�tat.

I'll handle this.

Right, Higgins. You're
not killing anyone.

- Gosh, fine!
- Take her inside.

She can wait there until we decide
whether to take her to the cells.

- Thank you, Inspector.
- You can't do this. This is my country.

Effie just proved it.

I don't give a toss
whose country this is.

And if anyone cares to disagree with me,

they can do it right
bloody well now! Get it?

Got it? Good!

Lucinda Helmsworthy-Newsome
said she was in the rose garden

last night, but within 20
minutes she was back in bed

with her husband for the night.

So, she placed it here in the
morning after the blood had dried?

Why? Why not clean it off
and put it back in her study?

And why feign to not remember
where she was last night,

only to eventually volunteer

being in the very place where
the murder weapon was discarded?

Ah!

Someone may be trying
to cast suspicion on her.

Hm.

Think about it.

Who could have possibly slipped
that article into the treaty?

One three, one four five three.

- What?
- That means, "You are lovely".

I thought it was a musical language?

Yeah, well it can be. But you could
also use numbers, symbols, ah...

Colours, even. Invented
by a French chap,

Fran�ois Sudre, to allow
a truly universal language.

Effie, if everybody learned this,

we could communicate with
people from China, Russia...

- Here we go.
- Mars, Venus, Quebec!

Perhaps it was Dickie Fanshaw
who altered the treaty?

Ah, we should refer to Mr. Fanshaw as...

Six five four seven seven. "The victim".

Six five four seven seven handled
all the Newsome-Mimico paperwork.

But six five four seven
seven was a wealthy layabout.

He wouldn't have known to
do this, even if he could.

Hm.

Well, if it wasn't six
five four seven seven,

perhaps it was...

Six seven seven four one.

Precisely what I was thinking.

Assuming six seven seven
four one means "the lawyer,"

or "my ex-husband".

Indeed, it does.

There are inconsistencies
in the evidence against you,

so, at this time you
are not under arrest.

You see? I told you I didn't do
it and you sentenced me to death!

I thought you killed Dickie.

You can imagine how distraught I was.

I don't care how distraught you were.

How could you believe
such a thing of me?

You're right.

I am so stupid.

I'm a weak fool.

Please, show mercy on
this insufferable twit.

And, also, it was mostly Henry's fault.

He found that evidence
and said it was you.

It was not only Henry.

And you are not yet cleared of
suspicion, Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome.

What?

Right.

It was Henry Higgins.

He tried to have me killed.

You accused the Queen of murder.

- That is treason.
- I was only doing as I was told.

- Your husband...
- Do not speak ill of the King!

Now, put yourself in the stocks.

You are hereby sentenced to death.

- Henny!
- Don't worry, Ruthie.

They can't let this happen. Right, sir?

Oh, you want my help
now, do you, Higgins?

Sir, she is going to kill me.

She's serious. Look at her eyes.

Oh. Is Henry to be executed?

- Yes.
- No!

I'm sorry, Ruthie, Ruthie's baby.

But we must abide by the
laws of Newsome-Mimico.

Well... Yes, of course you're right.

- What?
- What? Oh, no. Wait!

No! No, Rupert, no, no!
You have to save him.

Oh, well, given Henry's the
one who does the executions,

who's going to chop
off his head, anyway?

He can scarcely do it himself.

Well, it says here

that if the chief of justice
cannot perform his duties,

his responsibilities fall to the King.

- Ah, well.
- Thank you.

Oh! Inspector!

How would you feel about a new title?

Chief of Justice and Security.

What, so, uh, I'm the one who
gets to chop off Higgins' head?

Worth considering, I suppose.

Enough chatter. Why
is this taking so long?

- Behead this simpleton, Perty.
- But Lucy, it's Henry.

You know? Henry.

- Can you really imagine him without a head?
- Yes!

Now you do as I say
right now and chop...

off... his...

I've been so unwell lately.

Can't imagine why.

Can you describe exactly
what you've been feeling?

Untethered, I suppose.

And my body...

Pain?

Feels like I don't have control.

I can barely feel it at all.

Nothing in his briefcase
that would explain his motives

for helping to make New
South Mimico a reality.

It's essentially using
numbers one through seven.

You could assign anything you like.

Musical notes, colours of the rainbow.

If I had seven different beans, Effie,

I could display them variously
and communicate with people!

I can't believe this hasn't caught on.

Now this is interesting.

"Dearest Lilith, from my
heart to yours, Roderick".

He moved on quickly.

Uh, so have you, dear.

Well, we're not going to prove
his guilt sitting around here.

We need to get back into that office.

- But the office is locked.
- Well, we'll need to convince the King

to let us back in.

Or perhaps another member
of the royal family.

Based on Lucinda's symptoms,
I'd say it's neurological.

When we arrived, she cut
herself and hardly noticed.

That's right.

And when Henry was marching
her to the guillotine,

she could barely walk. It was as
though she'd lost all coordination.

Interesting.

Plus, the loss of memory.

And the general madness.

Well, that may just be her.

I have to say, these are all
effects of mercury poisoning.

Then someone wants the Queen dead.

And if that someone also
targeted Mr. Fanshaw,

then perhaps he wants both of them dead

for the same reason.

And we do have a strong motive.

Dickie Fanshaw was
carrying on with the Queen.

The killer could be the man
most aggrieved by the affair.

The man who counts them as
his wife and best friend.

The mad King who thinks
himself above the law.

You learned of the
affair between your wife

and your best friend and then
set out to murder them both.

Poisoned your wife, murdered Mr. Fanshaw

and then framed her for
it and tried to execute her

when the poison didn't do the trick.

You thought yourself above the law.

Perhaps that's why
you pushed to have this

country of your own so that
you could murder with impunity.

I did all that.

I found out about the affair yesterday.

My honour was at stake.

A king cannot be made a
cuckold in his own country.

But, as you say, I am above the law.

This isn't a real country, Rupert.

Yes, it is. Effie proved it!

And she will prove it again
to the Canadian government.

And then they will undo it.

And then you will be
arrested and hanged.

I should like to see you try.

I am banishing you.

You are banished.

And if you try to get back
in, you will regret it.

I could make one phone
call to the Chief Constable

and have a hundred men here this
afternoon to take you by force.

Are you threatening
to invade my country?

It's not a bloody country!

You won't take us over.
We'll take you over.

You're going to take over Canada?

I was thinking Mimico, but yes.

If you so much as step
foot over our borders...

We're already across your borders.

We're not leaving here
without you in shackles.

You leave me no choice then.

I declare war.

War!

I boiled off one of
Lucinda's daily tinctures

and it was laced with mercury.

So, this wasn't a one-time occurrence.

She's been slowly poisoned
for a week or more.

Then Rupert Newsome lied.

He said he found out about
the affair only yesterday.

If there's one thing
we know about Rupert

is that he'd rather confess to a
murder than suffer embarrassment.

Sons of Newsome-Mimico,

I am your King, Rupert the First.

The Canadians are coming.

They will outnumber us.

They will be armed.

And, most likely, they
will slaughter us all.

But I stand before you today to tell you

they may take our riches.

They may take our country.

They may take your lives.

But they will never take our freedom!

Mr. Newsome, you are not
going to war with Canada.

Because you didn't actually
kill anyone, did you?

Of course I did.

I've already explained that.

If you are the killer
of your own best friend,

why did you call in
detectives from outside

your little fiefdom
here to solve the murder?

And why did you begin
to poison your wife

at least one week prior
to learning of the affair?

Yes. We already know of the affair.

Everyone will learn of it.

Can whatever you're
hiding be that much worse?

You have no idea.

It's much, much, much worse. You see...

There was no affair.

Wh... what on earth
are you talking about?

The note that Dickie wrote
to me, with the colours.

It is not about our friendship at all.

It isn't? Well, what did it say?

It says, "I put the
letters in the study.

Now you can expose
the fake love affair."

Why would you fake a love affair

between your wife and your best friend?

I wanted an excuse to leave her.

In a dignified manner.

All while making it your wife's fault.

Precisely. You understand.

- No, I don't believe I do.
- Please. Detectives.

Lucinda cannot find out about this.

Do not proceed with this investigation.

I beg of you.

Hang me and be done with it.

What did you find?

Roderick H. Roderick is
being paid by the Government

of New South Mimico in at least
a dozen different positions.

Legal advice...
departmental oversight...

currency advisor.

He's paying himself thousands a week.

He's fleecing these idiots.

Well, perhaps he just
does a lot of work?

Ah, "exotic fruit procurement"?

Well, that's ridiculous.
Anyone can procure fruit.

You just ask the servants.

What are you doing?

- You can't be here.
- I beg your pardon?

Have you forgotten my title?

No, Your Ladyship.

You're behind all of
this, aren't you, Roderick?

You've been stealing from the Newsomes

- in the form of all these payments.
- I beg your pardon.

Perhaps Dickie Fanshaw found out.

He's the one who keeps
all these records.

Maybe you killed him to silence him?

Mr. Newsome wanted a country.

I helped him achieve
this unprecedented feat

and, yes, was compensated generously.

No matter how delighted you might be

to find me guilty of murder,

I think you know in your heart I'm not.

Perhaps this wasn't Mr.
Fanshaw's secret, then.

Secret?

Yes. Well, apparently he
was considering divulging

some sort of secret just
before he was killed.

You know... There was something
he referred to last week.

He was finishing the portfolios on
all the members of the Royal Family.

He had just discovered
something down at the courthouse.

- What?
- All he said was

it was a threat to the monarchy.

A threat to the monarchy?

That was Mr. Fanshaw's secret?

Well, I can't be certain, sir,
but it seems a possibility.

What could he have come
across at the courthouse?

Property records, maybe?

Wouldn't be the first time the
Newsomes learned they were paupers.

Sirs, that tune?

Oh, yes. Apparently, Mr. Fanshaw was

whistling that shortly before he died.

Well, that's no tune, sirs.

That's a message.

- Solresol.
- Sol-what?

Uh, the official language
of New South Mimico.

Ah, ah, Rupert!

Whistle that tune again!

Whistle what? Was I whistling? Ugh.

- Yes! That tune!
- The one Dickie was whistling.

Oh, ah... yes. Right.

Um... Mm...

Uh. Oh, yeah.

Wait, wait, wait.

? Do-do-re-mi-fa. ?

? Do-fa. ?

? Fa-fa-so-la-la-so. ?

? Fa si-mi. ?

?
Si-re-mi-mi. ?

Sirs! It is a message!

"He never divorced the physicist."

The physicist?

- What bloody physicist?
- I don't know any physicist.

Ah, Rupert,

is it possible you were
mistaken about the last note?

I... I mean, could it be...

? So-re-mi-sol? ?

And what would that mean?

"He never divorced the queen."

- Oh.
- Ah, no, no, no. Definitely not.

So, who's this physicist?

No, no. There is no physicist.

He was sending you a
message about your wife.

Now, unless she has another ex-husband,

I believe he was trying to tell you that

Mr. van Doren never divorced Lucinda.

He could have found that
out from the courthouse,

which means your marriage to
your wife never happened, Newsome.

You don't say?

Well, that's why Courtney
was trying to poison Lucinda.

With her dead, this entire
estate would become his.

That would certainly be
a threat to the monarchy.

What's does one rich toff
want with another fortune?

Oh, I might know.

What is it, Henry?

Well, I've been manning the border

and turning away undesirables
for the last week or two.

There have been more than a few
debt collectors looking for Courtney.

- And you never thought to mention this?
- Of course not.

It's rude to talk about money.

Then Courtney van Doren is broke

and tried to kill Lucinda for her money.

Dickie Fanshaw found out...

He then tried to warn Rupert,
but Rupert didn't understand.

Unfortunately, Mr. Van Doren did.

So, he had to kill Dickie.

- Let's go and get the little bugger.
- Sirs?

Wasn't Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome
just sitting right there?

Ah, you go that way.

Oh!

He fell.

These trousers were from Antwerp.

I suppose I'm under arrest.

The national borders will
be redrafted on Monday,

with all mention of New
South Mimico excised.

I'm sorry your dream
won't be coming true.

Well, to be perfectly honest, it
was becoming a little stressful

being a monarch.

I'm much more heartbroken
that, tragically, sadly,

our marriage seems never
to have existed at all.

I don't understand it.

- I signed the divorce papers.
- He never filed them.

Must have been planning to
come after my money all along.

Yes. What a horrible man.

- Well, I suppose I shall pack my things.
- Oh!

You don't mind if I make use of the
lake house for a time, do you, dear?

Oh, you needn't worry,
Rupert. I've taken care of it.

I beg your pardon?

Roderick and I spoke to a judge.

He'll validate the
un-filed divorce papers

and ensure that your
current marriage stands.

Oh, thank heavens!

How wonderful. Thank you, Effie.

I do have one question, though.

Why would Dickie want to
pretend we were having an affair?

Oh!

- It was likely one of his hilarious jokes.
- What's the joke?

I'm not sure, but I think,
out of respect for the dead,

we'd best never speak of it again.

As in many cases, some questions

never come to be answered.

And that whole business with the, um...

scimitar in Courtney's leg. No,

uh, charges to be laid there, huh?

No.

Given that Mrs. Helmsworthy-Newsome

was likely acting under
influence of poisoning,

the constabulary will look upon
it as a self-inflicted wound.

Right.

Everything's back to normal then.

Aren't we so wonderfully lucky, Perty?

- Yes, dear.
- Shall we have a tussle?

Yes, dear.

Okay. Oh, that's good.

I've been thinking about
the idea of building a nation

- around science and universal truths.
- Have you, now?

A country whose every
citizen would commit

all of their resources
toward progressive,

technological innovation.

The result would be a nation

where everyone would have enough wealth

that his or her every need would be met.

Is productivity your first concern
when building a new society?

Productivity that leads
to greater social good.

Such a nation would require
impressive leadership.

William Murdoch, you fancy
yourself a king, don't you?

- What? I nev...
- You called Rupert Newsome mad,

but, secretly, you'd love
to rule your own country.

King William the First of Murdochonia.

Doesn't have a bad ring to it.

And, as king, I will be free to choose

whomever I wish to be my queen.

Oh, well, yes, I would
quite like to be queen.

I'll think about it.