All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S07E04 (EN)

- synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -

I said stand back, sir. Who
the devil do you think...

You have no right to touch the...

You are?

Detective Murdoch, Toronto
Constabulary. You telephoned?

Thank God you're here. Herbert
Greaves. I manage this place.

I tried my damnedest to stop
this man from touching the body,

- but he insists on...
- We meet again, Detective.

You know this... person?

Our paths have crossed.
Good day, Mr. Holmes.

My commiserations, sir.
He's an rude, interfering,

- altogether...
- The hotel guest you see

before you is Mr. Wallace Burns,

- now very much deceased.
- How did you know his name

When did Mr. Burns check in, Mr. Greaves?

- It was...
- Thursday this week.

- Thursday.
- And you only discovered him today, Saturday?

- Actually I was...
- I made the discovery, Detective.

You?

I'm on a case. A matter of some urgency.

- A case?
- I was hired last evening

to find a Miss Webb. Red-haired woman...

A red-haired woman, yes!
Detective, I saw such a person

leaving the hotel last night.
I was drawing the curtains

against the chill and I
saw her through the window.

That's the woman I was instructed to find.

Instructed by whom?

I believe my client was
this poor unfortunate.

Perhaps Miss Webb found Wallace Burns.

Before Mr. Burns was able to find her.

How did Mr. Burns hire you, Holmes?

I received an anonymous note at my lodgings

requesting my services
in finding Miss Webb.

Enclosed was a one-pound note;
newly minted, Bank of Scotland,

a fine institution despite
its Jacobite sympathies.

My client was clearly a
recent arrival to Toronto.

And you set out to find him.

Of course. I do not work for phantoms.

- Go on.
- A one-pound note

not being an insubstantial amount,
I inquired at the better hotels

regarding recent arrivals
from the British Isles.

I narrowed my search down to 34 people.

Mr. Burns was my sixteenth call.

- And?
- As soon as I entered this room,

I was certain he was my client.

How so?

This is the anonymous note.

"Dear Mr. Holmes, unforeseen circumstances

find we will miss seeing Captain
Webb. In the red by a hair.

He often frequents the bookstore
Allan and Montague Gar... "

What does it mean?

Written in code, Detective.

The same code used by the
villains in "The Adventure

of the 'Gloria Scott'", a
case I solved some years ago.

- Read every third word.
- Every third word.

"Holmes. Find Miss Webb. Red
hair. Frequents Allan Gardens."

Whoever hired you, Mr. Holmes,

- is familiar with your work.
- Exactly.

The book is well read. Mr.
Burns was clearly a devotee.

If you examine the gentleman's clothing,

made by an Edinburgh bespoke tailor,

and remove his wallet, you'll no doubt
find similar Bank of Scotland notes.

I'll take your word for it, Mr. Holmes.

- Detective.
- What have you, Doctor?

The empty bottle, the smell
and stains on his clothing...

it looks like our victim
consumed a great deal

of alcohol... whiskey, to be precise.

In his drunken stupor,

he may have fallen against
something hard, possibly

the wooden bed frame. The
blow likely killed him.

This man was no drunkard.

Not a drop of alcohol
passed through his lips.

- Mr. Holmes, please...
- His bookmark.

Membership card of the
Scottish Prohibition Party.

Wallace Burns was a
dyed-in-the-wool teetotaler.

A less obvious explanation
is no doubt at hand

- for the whiskey, Doctor.
- Thank you, sir.

I will continue my work in
the privacy of the morgue.

- Detective.
- Of course, Doctor.

As you wish. Shall we, Detective?

So, Mr. Holmes, you've
hung out your shingle.

With remarkably disappointing results.

My advertisement in the
Toronto Gazette garnered

2 cheating husbands and a lost dog.

Hardly the challenges my skills warrant.

Hardly. You must truly welcome a real case.

Welcome? I feel rejuvenated!

Nothing like a missing woman

and a fresh corpse to get the
blood flowing into the brain.

- Indeed.
- Now to find the elusive Miss Webb.

Mr. Holmes,

- where are you going?
- Fear not, Detective.

I will be in touch as
soon as I have Miss Webb.

Though it pains me to admit,
Mr. Holmes may well be right.

Not a drop of alcohol passed Burns' lips?

It passed his lips, but he didn't taste it.

- How do you mean?
- Mr. Burns

had a great deal of whiskey in his stomach,

yet none in his bloodstream.

It's possible the alcohol was
poured into him post mortem.

So, someone feigned his
death to make it appear

- like a drunken accident.
- It could be.

- Well, then how did he die?
- A blow to the head.

If I can give you anything
more declarative, I will.

In the meantime...

- about his clothing...
- Let me guess:

bespoke Edinburgh tailor.

Thank you.

Sherlock bloody Holmes!

Give me strength. What's
he doing back here?

It appears he has set himself
up as a consulting detective.

Consulting... My Aunt Fanny!

There are people daft enough to hire him?

So far he has found 2 cheating
husbands and a lost dog.

It's not funny, Doctor.

Do they think Sherlock
Holmes is a real person?

I suspect they do.

Well, then they're as crackers as he is.

He's not bloody Sherlock;
he's David Kingsley.

We're encouraging an unhealthy delusion.

Not necessarily unhealthy.

David witnessed the murder of his father

when he was a boy. He sought a safe
haven, a psychic refuge, if you like,

in the alter ego of
this fictional detective.

An alter ego wearing
fancy dress on my manor!

As irritating as he might be,

I advise we treat him as Sherlock Holmes

In his apparent manic state,

it could be harmful to
suggest he is anyone else.

Do you think I should go
along with this malarkey?

Oh, it's for the best, I'd say.

Just keep him away from me.

What about the dead man
and this missing woman

he's been gallivanting
after? Is there a connection?

According to the hotel
manager, a woman matching

Miss Webb's description was seen
leaving the hotel last night.

So, where is she now?

Gentlemen, Doctor,

I have ascertained the
address of the missing woman.

That was bloody quick.

- You went to Allan Gardens?
- Where I met a motley crew of denizens,

several of whom claimed a red-haired woman

frequented the park with a young boy.

A woman with a perambulator
directed me to the greenhouse.

There the curator recalled
the same boy's curious inquiry

about snakes... swamp adders in particular.

I then went to the public library...

not so many withdrawals on
books on exotic snakes...

one, in fact.

And what has this got to
do with the missing woman?

As she was reported wearing a uniform,

I deduced that she was the boy's nanny.

I ascertained her address,
the of Mr. and Mrs. McQueen.

However, I failed to gain
admission into the residence.

- They wouldn't let you in?
- They would not.

Perhaps that's because you're
dressed as Sherlock bloody Holmes!

Thank you, thank you.
Excellent work, Mr. Holmes.

Thank you.

Honestly, Detective,
why is the constabulary

encouraging such a deranged soul?

Mr. Holmes is assisting
me in an investigation.

I assure you, he is quite harmless.

We would like to speak
to your nanny, Miss Webb.

She's not here.

And yet to return after her half-day off.

- Does her failure to return concern you?
- Not at all, Detective.

My wife and I are sure Miss Webb will
surface with a suitable explanation.

- I see. And how long has Miss Webb worked for you?
- Five years.

She's cared for our son Ben
since we moved here from England.

She came highly recommended.

Why does the constabulary
want to talk to her?

Your nanny may be able to
assist us in our inquiry

into a suspicious death.

Nora... involved in...

I hardly think that possible.

- I would like to see Miss Webb's room.
- I have no intention of allowing...

Mr. McQueen, if you please.

Very well.

The elusive Miss Webb indeed
vanished in her civvies.

Something untoward has happened.

Why do you say that?

Miss Webb would not leave
without saying goodbye.

The famous Sherlock Holmes.

I'm Benjamin McQueen.

Everyone calls me Ben.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

- Miss Webb was your nanny?
- Yes.

I'm pleased that a detective of
your calibre is looking for her.

You are familiar with
Mr. Holmes' adventures,

- are you, Ben.
- Yes.

I have a question for you, Mr. Holmes.

I found a small discrepancy in
one of your cases. Follow me.

Indeed.

In "The Adventures of the Speckled Band",

you deduced a swamp
adder killed the victims.

But according to my research,
swamp adders don't exist.

In fact, there are no adders

in India where the murders happened.

How do you explain that, Mr. Holmes?

You've done your research. I'm impressed.

Thank you.

"The Adventure of the 'Gloria Scott'."

What of it?

Wallace Burns did not hire you
to find Nora Webb, Mr. Holmes.

- What do you mean?
- The paper is a match,

as is the type font.

And the code is the one
from the Gloria Scott.

I believe young Master
McQueen here is your client.

You?

Yes.

Well, then why not sign the letter?

Would you take a case if you
knew your client was a child?

A case is a case, young man.

And a pound note a pound note.

Where did you get that kind of money?

From my godfather, for my birthday.

Adroit powers of observation, Detective.

You've not lost your touch.

If Wallace Burns was not
looking for Nora Webb...

Then what is the connection between
our dead man and Ben's missing nanny?

We must find the connection
between the missing nanny

and Wallace Burns, Detective.

I suggest that we begin
by examining what I missed.

How did Ben's note take
us to Burns' hotel room?

How did I get it so wrong?
It cannot be coincidence.

We found the same book
in Wallace Burns' room.

"I pray for our sakes, Ben,

please withdraw from all your games

"in loving acknowledgement of God, country,

- and father."
- If I may.

"For Ben, from your loving godfather."

Detective, do you have Wallace
Burns' wallet on your person?

Yes, I do. What do you
have in mind, Holmes?

The solution to the
puzzle. Remove the bills.

Both from the Bank of Scotland.

Very similar serial numbers.

One conclusion can be
drawn from this evidence:

Wallace Burns is Ben's godfather.

Agreed.

Excellent work, Mr. Holmes.

- A simple deduction.
- But why

do you have my godfather's
wallet? Is he here?

Is he dead?

I'm afraid so.

That's terrible. Are you
investigating what happened?

Yes. Ben, what can you tell us

about your godfather?

He is a friend of my father
who lived in Scotland.

He loved Sherlock Holmes
and sent me his stories.

What does he look like?

I don't know. I never met him.

No question.

That is Ben's godfather.
Where did you find him?

- The Queen's Hotel.
- How dreadful.

Were you expecting a visit from him?

Yes, but he was not due until next week.

He clearly took an earlier boat.

Why would anyone want to
harm Wallace Burns, Detective?

I intend to find out. Does
Miss Webb know Mr. Burns?

Not that I know of. This
was his first trip to Canada.

Do you think she had
something to do with it?

Possibly. I'll need a
photograph of Miss Webb.

That's her, all right.

That's the red-haired woman
I saw at the hotel last night.

Just a wee slip of a lass.

Easy on the eyes, mind you.

- Thank you, Mr. Greaves.
- Yes.

So,

all roads lead to this Nanny Webb.

I'll check out her background.

Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Holmes.

- Who are you?
- Ben McQueen, sir.

My client, Inspector.

Right. Carry on, then.

That's all we need... a
miniature bloody Sherlock.

Mr. Holmes, I may have a clue.

Nanny went missing on her afternoon off.

Sometimes she met other
nannies at a tearoom.

I observed she would often come home

from these gatherings in need of a snooze.

A snooze after tea.

I may know the place she frequented.

Mr. Holmes! Over here!

Fellow nannies of Miss Webb.
We met at Helen Gardens.

Let's play this one
incognito, shall we, Detective?

Miss Naughton, Miss Selby,

charming to see you again.

Please meet my good friend,

Mr. William Murdoch. Pleasure.

Good day, Mr. Murdoch. You must join us.

Two more cups here. Hot
or cold tea, gentlemen?

- Thank you.
- Thank you.

Mm, a distinctive blend of tea

but not, I suspect,

from the plantations of India.

It's quite potent. Where is it brewed?

It comes straight from the distillery.

Ellie, please. Excuse her, sir.

She's had a cup too many.

In the company of 2 fine
ladies notwithstanding,

we must state our true purpose.

We seek your friend, Nora Webb.

Any information you would
have would be most helpful.

Fear not, Miss Selby.

We are only interested in Miss Webb,

not the origin of your "tea".

All I can say is

Nora would not up and
leave, would she, Ann?

She's too attached to that
young boy. Something is amiss.

Does she have any other
friends? A young man perhaps?

- Yes, she has a steady.
- Ellie! Hold your counsel.

- His name?
- Gregory Skinner.

Gregory Skinner.

Thank you, Miss Naughton.

- Mr. Skinner?
- You brought what I asked?

It'll go bad for you if you didn't.

Who the hell are you?

- Toronto Constabulary.
- What do you want?

Were you expecting someone else?

Have you seen Nora Webb?

Nora? Not for days. Why?

When exactly did you last see Miss Webb?

Couple of weeks past, on her afternoon off.

Something wrong, is there?

A visitor?

My brother.

- What? There a crime in that?
- No. But it is to harbour a suspect.

Consider yourself warned, Mr. Skinner.

He was expecting someone,
but not his brother.

He had cleaned himself up, but only
from his neck up to his hands down.

Rings of dirt were clearly
visible under his cuffs and collar.

So not someone with whom
he had amorous intentions.

And Miss Webb may still be hiding now too.

I noted a spoon placed correctly

on the right side of each soup bowl,

laid by somebody taught to set a table.

Like the nanny of a wealthy family.

Good manners, terrible taste in suitors.

Mrs. McQueen, were you aware

that Miss Webb had a gentleman caller?

Miss Webb is an attractive young woman.

Her svelte figure has not escaped
the attentions of certain gentlemen.

Is there something you're not telling me?

Mrs. McQueen, am I to
understand that your husband...

Attentions she reciprocated.

I see.

Which prompted me to check
Miss Webb's references.

They were fabricated.

I had no choice but to give her notice.

- You spoke with her the day that she disappeared?
- Yes.

She was not pleased to be
let go. She left right away,

her possessions to be sent on
once she found another position.

Mrs. McQueen, you chose not
to tell me of this earlier.

Why?

I chose not to air the sordid truth
in front of my husband, Detective.

Of course.

Nanny brought me here since I was a baby.

She says a daily constitutional
is good for the mind and the body.

- Excellent. A woman who thinks like a man.
- Benjamin.

Time for your tutor.

Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. Good luck.

Ben, come along. We're already late.

Yes, Mother.

It seems the boy's attachment to his nanny

is far greater than to his mother.

Not uncommon in wealthy families

where the raising of children
is left to the nannies.

Dr. Grace, how can I be of assistance?

Now that rigor mortis has dissipated,

I can ascertain how an
entire bottle of whiskey was

poured into Mr. Burns' corpse.

Perhaps the perpetrator used a tube?

There were no abrasions in
his throat to suggest that.

Now, his head would have to be tilted back

to allow the liquid to flow
unimpeded down his esophagus.

Emily, perhaps if he were sitting up.

This is somewhat awkward.

Whoa!

- The liquid would inevitably spill.
- Yes, it would.

There was whiskey on the carpet

in the hotel room, but not the chair.

- He had to be lying down.
- Right.

Perhaps if I supported him.

Oh, oh...

Now I can easily pour the
liquid into his stomach.

I've been doing some
homework on our missing nanny,

and it's quite a tale.

Nora Webb was brought up in a girls' home

after she was abandoned by her parents.

She came to the attention
of the constabulary

when she was arrested on
suspicion of soliciting.

Which explains why she
fabricated references

for the McQueens. Yet the boy trusts her.

Strange.

Sirs. Dr. Grace has news.

- Gentlemen.
- Doctor.

I believe, should Miss Webb be

our murderer, she may
have had an accomplice.

I concur, sirs. We conducted
an experiment to that end.

- Mr. Skinner.
- Bring him in, Murdoch.

- Sir.
- Sir, you're needed.

Gregory Skinner.

Distinct smell of alcohol.

His clothing is drenched in it.

Another "accidental death", it would seem.

Whoever killed Mr. Burns
has claimed another victim.

Mr. Skinner was killed

in the same manner as our first victim.

- Alcohol was once again...
- Used to disguise the murder as an accident.

We've been over this. We
are wasting valuable time.

Apologies for boring you, Mr. Holmes.

If Miss Webb is our murderer and Mr.
Skinner her accomplice, why kill him?

- Covering her tracks.
- We are yet to make a connection

between the nanny and the godfather.

Except for the boy.

Go over anything we may have missed.

You too, Mr. Holmes. Have
another word with young Ben.

I need no reminder, Inspector.

Mr. Burns used a travel agency, sir.

He's noted a train number here.

Mr. Burns arrived in Toronto
a week before he was expected.

This may explain his itinerary.

I'll look into it.

Any further information

you can provide the constabulary...

I gather you and my wife
have spoken, Detective.

- Yes, we have.
- So you are fully apprised

of the rather sensitive circumstances

- of Miss Webb's sudden departure.
- I am.

We've told you all we
know about this matter.

We are missing something.

Tell me again when you last saw Nanny Webb.

I was right here.

She told me to stay in my
room until she returned.

I saw her leave from the window.

She was hurrying.

What else? Think.

The wind catching the cape of her uniform.

Her cape? You are sure?

She looked like a blackbird.

The key to the mystery
is held by young Ben.

He recalled Nora Webb wearing her
black cape the day she disappeared.

But her uniform was hanging in her closet.

Odd, don't you think?

Memory can be extremely faulty, especially

in a young child. My dear woman,

we are not talking about months or years;

Miss Webb vanished just 3 days ago.

It could be that he's remembering
the day she disappeared,

or perhaps the day before,
or even the day before that.

- We can never know.
- I think he is very observant.

He reminds me of myself at that age.

He is not mistaken about Miss
Webb wearing her cape. Mr. Holmes,

- you're being illogical.
- We are finished here, Detective.

Might I suggest we try hypnosis on the boy?

You're very relaxed, Ben.

Your eyes are heavy,

but you're awake.

Can you hear my voice?

- Yes.
- Good.

We're going to talk about your nanny.

- You like her, don't you?
- Yes.

You miss her?

She looks after me. She is kind.

Where were you when you saw her last, Ben?

In my room,

at the window.

She is walking away from the house.

Where exactly?

Through the garden, towards the back gate.

You see her plainly?

Her cape is fluttering in the wind.

You remember that?

Yes.

What else do you see, Ben?

There's a man, walking towards her.

- Who is he?
- I can't see his face.

They are near some trees.

- What are they doing?
- Talking.

Then Nanny faints.

The man... catches her,

carries her into the trees.

What are they doing now, Ben?

They have gone. I... I
can't see them anymore.

Nanny! Don't leave!

Don't leave me!

Ben, you're safe.

You will wake up to find
you are with friends.

You will remember what you saw,

but you'll know that you're safe.

Mr. Holmes.

Ben.

Could you show us

where you last saw Miss Webb and this man?

Maybe.

You are now recruited to "The
Case of the Missing Nanny."

Thank you. It's an honour
to be working with you.

But, Mr. Holmes, you have
yet to explain the snake

in "The Mystery of the Speckled Bird."

I am aware of that, Master McQueen.

Is this exercise really
necessary, Detective?

My son is rather prone to the fantastical,

and he's clearly enamoured
with this Holmes fellow.

We are simply following every lead.

- Feel free to wait inside, Mr. McQueen.
- As you wish.

She walked this way.

Those trees,

they look so much bigger up close.

I'm not sure now.

Ben.

Close your eyes.

And picture your nanny and the man.

Where were they?

But be precise in your observation.

Which direction were they going?

- This way, let's go.
- Where are we going?

Come on, let's go. This way, through there.

The leaning tree! They went in there!

Detective.

- Keep an eye on things, George.
- Sir.

Master McQueen. Let's go back to the house.

Detective.

The vegetation in this
area is quite different.

Hedera helix, not native to Canada.

Yet the surrounding growth is still
natural flora of the forest floor.

It has been planted deliberately.

- Perhaps to hide something.
- My curiosity is piqued.

Let us dig.

Sir.

Here.

At first glance, I would guess a woman.

She's been down there for some time, sir.

Stating the obvious, I know,
but this cannot be Nora Webb.

Her corpse would be at a much
earlier stage of decomposition.

Sir.

Look at this.

She likely died from a blow to the head.

But who is "she"?

We have a technique that
might prove useful, sir.

- Indeed we do, George.
- Then what are we waiting for?

So our lady doctor is
reconstructing the skull.

Yes, sir. I'm hoping the break in this case

lies in this mystery woman's identity.

And what is the connection
between the disappearance

of Nanny Webb, the murders
of 2 men, and an old corpse?

Mr. Holmes, I now share your opinion

that Ben is the key to this mystery.

I only hope that he recognizes
the reconstructed face.

You cannot do that to the boy.
We've pushed him too far as it is.

We've pushed him too far as it is.

Ben has keen powers of observation.

- Not unlike yourself, as you pointed out.
- Murdoch...

I will not allow my client to
be subjected to possible trauma!

- He seems little traumatized to me. In fact...
- Mr. Holmes.

- Do you not have a missing nanny to find?
- What?

The case you're working on. Miss Webb.

Oh, yes. The nanny.

I suggest starting with Mr. Skinner.

I'll wager he was up
to his neck in all this.

Her paramour. Of course.

I have yet to ascertain his
connection. I must see his room.

You carry on, Murdoch.

- I'll keep an eye on Sherlock.
- We shall leave this instant, Inspector.

- This better be bloody worth it.
- Thank you, sir.

I have determined the average
depth of the victim's soft tissue

from remnants still on the skull.

And now we contour
modelling clay to the height

of the markers to ascertain
the shape of the face.

Exactly. Shall we begin?

I do so enjoy working together, Dr. Ogden.

As do I, Dr. Grace.

Not much evidence of a woman's touch.

Keep looking, Inspector.

A woman was here. Of that I'm quite sure.

Why? Because of a few soup spoons? Hm!

Maybe Skinner was reading
the etiquette column, eh?

Aye, aye, Mr. Holmes.

This technique was
developed by Wilhelm His,

an anatomist. But adapted
for crime-solving purposes

by yourself and Detective Murdoch.

I suppose it was.

Fermented mash of cereal grain.

Skinner worked at a distillery.

Very good, Mr. Holmes,

But how does that help us find our nanny?

Every piece is part of a
larger puzzle, Inspector.

When you met, was it love at first sight?

Not expressed as such.

But surely...

Yes, there was an attraction.

But the detective lived and
breathed his work, as did I.

That's what did it... working together.

I suppose.

A romance blossomed.

Yes. It was so lovely.

So fresh and... undiscovered.

But the excitement hasn't left, has it?

Sometimes I feel that.

But in a lot ways, we've barely begun.

Mr. Holmes, give me a hand with this.

What have we... here?

Whiskey.

Pilfered from the distillery.

Bet Skinner was selling it on the side.

No wonder he didn't want
the coppers snooping around.

The distillery. Part of a
puzzle, Mr. Holmes, just not

- the right one.
- Don't be so hasty, Inspector.

Steady on.

- I distinctive blend of tea.
- What?

No time for explanations, Inspector.

Sir, I looked into the
train number that we found.

- It's very unusual.
- How so?

Well, that particular
train isn't running anymore.

There's no way Mr. Burns
could have been a passenger.

I wonder why he made
note of the number, then?

I could continue to look into it.

Thank you, George.

Doctor. Good day, Ben.

Good day, Detective.

Mr. Holmes is not here?

No. No, he leaves this to you.

Please.

I wonder if you might
recognize this person.

I I will do my best.

Nanny?

She wore earrings.

Like this?

That's hers.

Whose, Ben?

Nanny Jess.

Another nanny?

What if Ben had 2 nannies?

He witnesses the sudden
disappearance of the first one,

Nanny Jess, when he's very young

and he buries the traumatic memory.

Then the memory resurfaces on some level

when his second nanny, Miss
Webb, also goes missing.

He's conflated 2 events into 1.

But who killed the first nanny?

Back for another cuppa,

- Mr. Holmes?
- Another time, Miss Naughton.

You!

What have we here?

Nora Webb, I'm arresting
you for the murders

of Wallace Burns and Gregory Skinner.

- Good work, Inspector.
- Thank you, Mr. Holmes.

I have no idea who this is.

Mrs. McQueen?

I am sorry, Detective.

We should take Ben home now.

We have last-minute preparations
to make for our trip, Ben.

Mr. McQueen, you are both to
remain here at the station-house

- for further questioning.
- Constable.

Quite impossible. We have passages booked.

Please escort Mr. and Mrs.
McQueen to the interview room,

and post a guard.

How do you explain Ben's
recollection of another nanny,

a Nanny Jess?

As I told you before, Detective,

my son lives in a fantasy world.

That skeleton was likely in the
ground long before we arrived.

You both know far more about
this than you're letting on.

I intend to find out what.

Sir. That train that's
no longer in service...

I've discovered why. It was involved

in a serious collision coming
from Montreal to Toronto

about 5 years ago.

Among the fatalities were a
Mr. and Mrs. Donald Parker.

- George, what does this have to do with our case?
- Well, sir,

the McQueens were on the same
train, in the same compartment.

The McQueens? Any mention of a son?

No, but I suppose Ben and the nanny
could have taken an earlier train.

- It's possible. Anything else?
- Well, sir,

it turns out that the
Parkers were a pair of English

confidence tricksters
recently arrived in Canada.

George, I believe the McQueens are dead

and Mr. and Mrs. Parker
are still very much alive.

The Parkers took advantage
of the train wreck

and assumed the real McQueens' identity,

knowing that they were also new to Canada.

So, they arrive in Toronto
as their new identities,

and discover Ben and
Nanny Jess at the house.

Knowing that she will
expose them, they murder her.

Why not kill the boy?

He's only 3.

They assume he won't
remember his real parents.

Right, so 5 years later,

Wallace Burns decides to visit
Toronto to see his godson.

The impostors know he'll unmask them.

So, then... Nanny Webb
is sent to kill Mr. Burns

and then disappear with some
tale about being dismissed?

Miss Webb is not our murderer, Detective.

Where are the McQueens?

- In the lockup.
- What about Ben?

With the constable out for an ice cream.

Oh.

- Thank you.
- Miss Webb overheard

the McQueens plotting
to take care of Burns.

She went to his hotel to warn him.

- But he was already dead.
- Exactly.

Fearing for her own life,

she went into hiding... in
plain sight, as it happens.

At the tearoom.

I should have seen through her
disguise on our first visit.

Distracted by the pretty nannies, perhaps?

Perhaps.

There's hope for you yet, Mr. Holmes.

Nanny!

- Hello, Ben.
- Are you all right?

Yes, I am.

But things may have been different
without your quick thinking.

Elementary. I just hired
the right man for the job.

- Ah, a team effort, I would say.
- Indeed.

Master McQueen. A pleasure to work for you.

I will settle my fee at a later time.

About that snake, Mr. Holmes...

This is what comes of
you being soft-hearted.

I never thought the boy would remember.

- You should've taken care of him when you had the chance.
- So you keep saying.

Charming pair.

But why kill Gregory Skinner?

Nora Webb told him everything.
Mr. Skinner mistakenly tried

to extort money from the "McQueens".

Eastend lowlife.

I'll take your word for it, sir.

The reference to a swamp
adder was one of my good friend

Dr. Watson's unfortunate inaccuracies.

I did not say "swamp adder,

the deadliest snake in all India";

on the contrary, I said, "the samp-aderm,

the deadliest skink in all India".

- A skink?
- A skink.

A swift-moving lizard from
the family of the Scincidae,

snakelike in form.

Master McQueen,

I'm giving you this correction to my story

despite my loyalty to
my faithful associate.

But you have your great
name to protect, Mr. Holmes.

Indeed I do.

Miss Webb, we are going
back to the library.

- Our research must begin anew.
- All right, then.

I will be in touch, Mr. Holmes.

Master McQueen.

Good day, Mr. Holmes. And thank you.

Thank you.

- Good day, Ben.
- Good day, Detective.

Such an annoying child.

- I've taken quite a shine to him.
- And as you suspected,

he was the key to solving
the crime. Kudos, Mr. Holmes.

- Thank you for all your help, Doctor.
- It was my pleasure.

You're fortunate to have such
an able right hand, Detective.

I should consider acquiring
a female assistant.

To aid you in your
consulting detective work?

- Exactly. I plan to build on this success.
- Mr. Holmes,

should you like to talk at any time,

- my office is always open.
- No, thank you, Doctor.

I'm quite partial to the hat.

Until next time.

He is a remarkably good detective.

Remarkably good?

Well...

almost as good as the
great Detective Murdoch.

Dr. Ogden, shall I escort you home?

It would be my pleasure.

Next Monday, the number one
Canadian murder mystery...

That man is not my 'Pa.

It looks like him, it's not him.

Like a different person
got inside him, somehow.

Murdoch Mysteries,

next Monday at 8:00 on CBC.

- synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -