All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S16E09.WEBRip.x264-BAE

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_

How I love the English countryside!

- Oh!
- Ah, yes, it's like a...

a Jane Austen novel with less corsets.

- And you are?
- Ah! Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree.

Ah, yes, our newlyweds!

I hope your ride in was satisfactory?

Splendid. Are you Mr. Cornish?

Mr. Hathaway. I'll be looking after you.

Now, let's get you your keys.

Oh, George, look!

I can't wait to try
authentic English cuisine.

- "Welsh rabbit"?
- Rarebit! It's cheese.

- Mm.
- I think.

Well, we'll have to make dinner
reservations as soon as he's back.

Well, wouldn't you
like to eat in our room?

The Sunrise Suite is
the best in the hotel;

it's the only one with
a private bathroom.

Isn't that the one we
agreed was too expensive?

I've been corresponding with Mr. Cornish

and he agreed to offer it
to us at no extra charge.

The morning view is
supposedly spectacular.

Well, I hope we'll find something
better to do than watch the sunrise.

Here we are, then!

Zlata will lead you to your suite.

Oh my.

How kind of you.

Zlata does not speak English.

However, she is fluent in
the language of hospitality.

Enjoy your stay!

Oh! There seems to be some mistake.

I beg your pardon?

These keys are for the Garden Suite.

Mr. Cornish promised
us the Sunrise Suite.

Mr. Cornish is at a convention in Leeds,

but it is he who authorized the switch.

The Garden Suite is our top room,

with finer amenities and
a view of the rose garden.

I assure you your needs will be met.

You're welcome.

So was I supposed to give her a tip?

How many shillings in a farthing?

What's wrong?

This bed feels lumpy.

And those creatures are ghastly.

Well, you'll feel better once
you take in the rose garden.

Come on.

What do you think?

I think Mr. Hathaway
is pulling a fast one.

You may need to let this go, Effie.

I mean, somebody else must
have booked the Sunrise Suite.

There's not much we can do about it now.

I think it'll take more than a bottle
of wine to pull this off, Effie.

Don't be such a naysayer.

I'm sure they'll be happy to switch

once they learn we're on our honeymoon.

I don't know why you think this room
is gonna be any better than ours.

Well, you haven't seen it yet.

Faces the sunrise, which
is considered good luck.

Give it a proper policeman's knock.

George, he's dead.

Not so lucky after all.

_

Oh! Postcard from Effie and George.

Oh? Where are they now?

They've left Paris and they're
due to arrive in Hampshire today.

How thrilling it would be
to be on your honeymoon.

Certainly was for us.

Do you remember that
dinner in New York City?

How could I forget?

We couldn't keep our
eyes off each other.

So much so we almost didn't notice
the Oysters Rockefeller arriving.

I suppose it's hard to keep
that kind of passion alive,

what with Susannah and work.

Do you feel our relationship
is lacking passion?

Hello?

Yes it is.

I'll be right there.

Duty calls.

Hm.

Excuse me, Miss?

I'm looking for room 415.

- The man who died?
- Yes, you've heard?

I alerted the front desk when
he wouldn't answer the door.

None of us were surprised
when he took his own life.

- He was acting peculiar.
- It was a suicide?

As far as I know.

Straight down the hall,
second door to your left.

Thank you.

This one seems rather obvious.

An overdosing?

Based on the empty bottle of laudanum

and excess fluid in
his throat, I'd say yes.

Do we have a name?

Nathan Cumberland, sir.

He arrived last week from Thunder Bay.

Told everyone in the hotel that
his ship had finally come in.

Meaning?

Some real estate deal, sir.

Poor man thought he
had tripled his money.

He was buying his fellow
guests drinks all week

and boasting about finally
making his wife and child proud.

And his arrangement soured?

Apparently the cheque he
received was fraudulent

and his "investor" flew the coop.

The other guests noted a concerning
change in his demeanor after that.

Henry,

does this man look familiar to you?

No. Should he?

I don't know.

Uh, sir, this is Dr. Bellows.

He was with the victim when he perished.

- You're a doctor?
- Yes.

Yes, I'm staying at the hotel.

They knocked on my door
when they found him.

I did everything I could.

- Was he conscious when you arrived?
- Barely.

But he did seem to understand me.

He willingly took the ipecac
I gave him to expel the drugs.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

People often have a change of
heart when committing self-murder...

assuming that's what this was.

It's likely, sir. He also left this.

It appears to be a suicide note.

"I am leaving a world
I am not fit to live in.

I have failed you as
a husband, as a father

and as a fellow human being."

It's tragic.

Is there anything else you need from me?

I'm afraid I have an appointment.

No. Thank you.

Constable Higgins has all
my information. Good day.

Seems fairly open-and-shut,
sir. Shall I write it up?

Not quite yet, Henry.

There's something I'd
like you to do for me.

I trust this will not impact my
eight o'clock dinner reservations.

Not if I can help it.

Good evening, my lovelies!

I'm sure we've all
heard about the incident,

but I can assure you everything is fine.

His name was Arthur Furlong,
a regular at this hotel.

It appears he died in his sleep.

And his family has been informed.

Please enjoy some of
our famous house sherry,

compliments of the hotel.

And please, let's relax
and put this mess behind us.

Good gracious! People
drink this of their choice?

Do you think there's a killer among us?

A killer?

Effie, did you not just
hear what the man said?

Oh, come now! You really
believe he died in his sleep?

He couldn't have been a day over 50.

People can die at any age.

Mr. Hathaway is clearly in on it.

In fact, now that everyone's
mingling, it's a perfect time.

- Perfect time for what?
- To sneak into the room and poke around.

- Effie, I'm an officer of the law.
- Exactly! All the more reason!

If there is a cover-up afoot,

it's your duty, as an
investigator, to follow up.

People do seem distracted.

Did I mention that
danger makes me amorous?

- I'll need your, ah, hair pin.
- Hm.

Never seen him before.

- Are you certain?
- Yes!

Why not just close the
file and be done with it?

Poor bugger clearly offed himself.

He was supposedly swindled by an
investor in a real estate scam,

but I found no paperwork on his person,

or any sign of the investor.

You think there was no investor?

Or perhaps there was, but he removed
any evidence to cover his tracks.

Sirs.

I've searched our files and
found no Nathan Cumberland.

In fact, there's no
record of him anywhere.

But, in good news,

there's a new meat
pie shop on Colbourne.

May I break for lunch?

Actually, I need you to pay a
visit to Mrs. Hart at the morgue.

Uh... the meat pie shop's in
the opposite direction, sir.

You might want to hold off on lunch.

I need you to lift
fingermarks off a corpse.

Oh.

Oh, my. They have a love seat.

And a piano!

Are you crazy?

There is no chance the Garden Suite
is the top suite in this hotel.

Wait a minute...

are we doing all this so
you could compare suites?

Oh, come on, George.
You were curious, too.

I don't believe it.

Do you even think
this chap was murdered?

Lavender!

It smells like the fields of Somerset.

Effie! The door! Get under the bed.

- Henry? Did you get the fingermarks?
- Ah, yes, sir, and you were right.

Nathan Cumberland is
actually Harvey Knowles

and we do have a file on
him. Guess who opened it?

Afternoon, Detective.

You know perfectly well
I'm no longer a detective.

I do, indeed.

But I'm hoping I can
convince you to play one,

at least for an afternoon.

I'm looking into a man's death.

- Well, you certainly are consistent.
- His name is, uh...

Harvey Knowles.

That was close!

Who was that chap?
Why did he have a gun?

What was he doing in here?

George, look!

The lavender soap... it's gone.

I suppose even murderers want
a supple scent to their skin.

Oh my God.

This is so exciting.

Feel my heart, it's pounding!

Wait a minute!

- A man died on this bed!
- Who cares?

Ah! George!

That wasn't there before!

It's still warm.

Well, mice don't just die like that.

Could it have eaten something?

Wait a minute.

Effie, look at this.

- That doesn't look right.
- This hose has been disconnected.

Do you feel a little nauseous?

Oh, my God.

It's gas.

That was on purpose, wasn't it?

Someone was venting carbon
monoxide into the room.

Does this mean what I think it means?

It means you were right the first time.

Mr. Furlong didn't
die of natural causes.

He was murdered.

I can't believe it.

There really is a killer among us.

And it's too late to
alert the authorities.

And we're a half-day from civilization,

thanks to your insistence on
booking the most remote hotel

- in the Western Hemisphere.
- You're not really still on

about that inn in Marseille
you were pushing for?

No, I'm sorry! Look,
we should work together.

Agreed. We're the
only ones we can trust.

Someone's gone to great lengths

to make Mr. Furlong's
death look accidental.

The Sunrise Suite is the only
one with a private bathroom.

Which means it's the only one that
could be rigged to emit carbon monoxide.

Ergo whoever arranged the
switch must be in on it.

Mr. Hathaway.

I knew there was
something off about him.

He must have made the switch
when Mr. Cornish left for Leeds.

And then pretended the idea
came from Mr. Cornish himself.

How do we prove it?

I saw a ledger behind the desk.

It should tell us everything.

How do we get it
without Hathaway seeing?

I have an idea.

- Mrs. Crabtree!
- Ah!

Are you enjoying the
splendors of the Garden Suite?

Oh, indeed, indeed.

Now who's this?

- That's Mr. Cornish.
- Hm.

There seem to be many photos
of him and none of you.

Not all of us are as vain as he.

You don't like him, do you?

Are you jealous that he's been
invited to a convention in Leeds

- while you're stuck here?
- I wouldn't wish Leeds on anyone,

least of all myself.

Besides, Mr. Cornish
has seniority over me,

thus it was the logical choice.

Yes, that's one theory.

Allow me to posit another:

Mr. Cornish was chosen over
you because, as a manager,

he would never have put up with this!

We found this in our room!

Is this the type of service
becoming of your supposed top suite?

- Please keep your voice down!
- I will not be silenced!

Not until you tell me how
a mouse got into my suite!

How about a fruit plate?!

A lovely selection of fruits
will be on the way to your room,

- compliments of the house.
- And a cheese plate?

Yes, of course. Also complimentary.

And a bottle of Armagnac.

I can arrange for some
of our fine house sherry.

Armagnac, take or leave.

Twenty years, minimum.

Perhaps I can rustle up a ten.

That may suffice.

And you need to promise to keep
this little incident under wraps.

That'll depend on how
quickly we get the goods.

Chop-chop!

I employed Harvey Knowles
on occasion as an informant.

He used to run swindles.

- Knowles was a con artist?
- Hm. Charming one at that.

Surprised to see him die this way.

You don't believe
Knowles took his own life?

I don't believe Knowles would
have fallen for a real estate scam.

- What makes you so sure?
- Well, he would have known

what a fraudulent cheque looked like

because he ended up running a
fraudulent cheque scheme himself,

which was rather out of character.

How so?

Knowles and his former
partner-in-crime, Bernadette Childs,

had a code in which they only
swindled those they felt deserved it.

And they parted ways years earlier.

Did he find another partner?

If he did, that's news to me.

Knowles was a solitary
figure who kept to himself

and I haven't seen him in over a year.

Well, surely he must have a more

current acquaintance that could help us?

No one I know.

Although I do recall a
wealthy woman he was courting.

What was her name?

I'm sure I wrote it down somewhere,

though she'd be of little use.

Little is all we have.

I cannot believe it.

My beloved Harvey, taking his own life.

Did he strike you as depressed?

Oh, heavens, no.

But he did strike me as passionate.

I can only assume he was burdened

by the passing of his
beloved Aunt Esther.

- Which aunt was this again?
- Oh, h... his favourite, of course.

The one who raised him after
his parents died in that fire.

Did you know this woman?

We corresponded often by mail.

We never did meet in person,

but I suppose it's for the
best, given her condition.

Mm-mm.

Refresh my memory.

Oh, the poor woman
suffered from tuberculosis.

She was given months to live,

but then Harvey found a
revolutionary clinic in New York.

New York?

That sounds like a costly undertaking.

Oh, it was, but it was worth it.

The clinic prolonged her life by years.

I was happy to chip in,

buoyed by her lovely thank you letters.

Uh, these letters she sent.

Do you by chance still have them?

- Good Lord. I knew it!
- What is it?

The Sunrise Suite, not the
Garden Suite, is the top suite!

That's all well and good, but perhaps

we should focus on
who switched the rooms?

Right, Constable. We are
solving a murder here.

This is curious.

George, it wasn't Mr.
Furlong who took our room.

- Who did?
- A man named Mr. Castle.

And the switch was authorized
by Mr. Hathaway, not Mr. Cornish!

Castle. Isn't he's the chap with
the 8 p.m. dinner reservation?

So how did Mr. Castle and Mr.
Furlong end up switching rooms?

If Castle was in the Sunrise
Suite, where was Furlong?

Arthur Furlong, the Oak Suite.

Does that mean Castle's
in the Oak Suite now?

Perhaps Mr. Castle rigged his
room to emit carbon monoxide

and then convinced
Mr. Furlong to switch.

Hell of a way to commit
a discreet murder.

Do you think Mr. Castle and Mr.
Hathaway could be working together?

I think we need to get into that
Oak Suite and see what we can find.

You said he had 8 p.m.
dinner reservations?

It's quarter past eight now.
That room should be empty

- for another hour at least.
- What if we get caught?

Then we pretend we're
lost and tip immediately.

A shilling. Now is that
more or less than a farthing?

I don't think anybody
knows. Let's get on with it.

Parents who died in a
fire. That's quite the yarn.

Sometimes the bigger the
lie the easier it is to tell.

Well, just as I suspected,

the handwriting in Aunt
Esther's thank-you letters

matches that of Harvey
Knowles' suicide note.

He was posing as the grateful
aunt to keep those cheques coming.

Something tells me it isn't the
first time he's pulled this scheme.

Leaving a number of potential
victims with motive for murder.

The question is where
did he send these from?

Certainly not New York,
given the Ontario stamp.

Aha!

Our Miss Alcock is not the
sharpest tool in the shed.

- What's that?
- A mistake?

Mm. Seems oddly placed for a mistake.

Is that some sort of flower?

A lily.

Did I not see that on the
sign at Hotel Florentine?

I'll have Henry connect
with the concierge.

Oh, that is so not fair.

This room has a chaise lounge!

Effie, focus!

Right.

Do you see anything unusual?

Only that Mr. Castle has
exceptional taste in clothes.

This is one of the most
finely tailored shirts

I've ever seen. Feel this.

"G.R." Hardly stands for Ernest Castle.

Oh, my.

Good Lord! His soap collection
costs more than my entire wardrobe.

Is that a gun case?

Where's the gun?

What a tragedy.

Poor Granville!

- Granville?
- Granville?

Oh! Uh, Granville Barrington.

- Uh-huh.
- Uh, he was a... a favourite guest

at the Florentine.

Every guest was charmed
and delighted by him.

He was quite a character.

When did he stay there?

It must have been, uh, two months ago?

He... he came in to cash
in on a real estate deal,

but, unfortunately, the
investor bamboozled him.

Let me guess. He gave Granville
a fraudulent cheque and left town.

Why, yes.

- He took it very hard.
- Uh-huh.

Uh, he tried to end his own life.

We were all very grateful there
happened to be a doctor at the hotel.

Who administered ipecac in order
to expel the laudanum he'd ingested?

Right again.

It was quite the scene, ah,

everyone was grateful
to see Granville survive.

Uh, the doctor even
spearheaded a charity drive

to get him back on his feet

and, uh, everyone chipped in.

The doctor who gave him the
ipecac, do you remember his name?

Ah... Bellows. Dr. Gordon Bellows.

What's your business with Mr. Castle?

Well, you know, really,
we were just, uh,

interested in the layout
of the room and, uh...

Oh, you should see the soap!

- George!
- What?

Back! Get back here. Get back!

Now I'm gonna ask you one last time.

What exactly is your
business with Mr. Castle?

You're not Mr. Castle.

You're George V, the King of England.

G.R. George Rex, for the king!

That's why you had those
initials in your undergarments!

You saw my undergarments?

I can't believe we're sitting
here with the King of England!

Keep your voice down!

He is the king and he could
have you charged with treason.

So what are you doing in Hampshire?

I am much more interested in
why the two of you are here.

Well, we came for the lovely
foliage and the world-class buffet.

I mean, why you are here in my room.

Your Majesty, please
accept our humble apologies.

I'm George Crabtree with
the Toronto Constabulary

and I'm here on honeymoon
with my wife Effie.

- You're a police officer?
- Uh, in Canada. That's right.

Police or no police, you still need
to explain why you are in my room.

Well, the truth is, Your Majesty,

we found evidence that Arthur Furlong,

the man staying in the
Sunrise Suite, was murdered.

Carbon monoxide. Somebody
tampered with the gas heater

- in his ensuite bathroom.
- We were curious only because

we were initially assigned that room.

If this is true, Your Majesty,
our worst fears are confirmed.

What you're about to hear must be
kept in the strictest of confidence

by order of the Crown.

Yes, yes, Your Majesty.

The reason my valet Wadsworth
and I are traveling incognito

is to visit my troubled son, Edward,

who is honing his academics at
a special school in Portsmouth.

It was a risk I was willing to take,

even given the presence
of the Black Chalice.

The Black Chalice is a
secretive organization

pushing back on my plans to
reform the hereditary peerage.

We've long suspected that there
might be members in these parts

and, evidently, we were right.

You see, Wadsworth secured
me the hotel's top suite,

which we must have
unknowingly taken from you.

I was unable to take my afternoon nap

on account of my grievous musophobia.

Musophob...

Is that a British affliction?

- His Majesty is fearful of mice.
- Ah!

- So I fled my suite.
- And neglected to inform me.

And happened upon Mr. Furlong
enjoying a cigar in the garden.

I explained my situation

and he offered to switch, since
my room was clearly superior.

Now that we know the room
had been tampered with,

the only conclusion is
that we were the target.

- We?
- His Majesty is using the royal "we."

- Uh.
- So what is your... our... our plan?

- We will do nothing.
- But there's a murderer out there!

Given that their first
attempt was a failure,

they're unlikely to strike again tonight

so long as they assume
we're not onto them.

Now, please, return to your room
and pretend you know nothing.

I will arrange for His Majesty
to be escorted to safety at dawn.

You will remember me
only as Ernest Castle.

And you will never speak of this again.

I checked with the
Canadian Medical Registry.

Dr. Gordon Bellows has
been dead for five years.

Person posing as him has procured
a pretty penny off his name.

It's quite the brilliant scheme he
and his partner, Knowles, had going.

Knowles would check into a hotel

posing as a man whose ship had come in.

And his partner-in-crime,
posing as Dr. Bellows,

would show up several days later.

Then Knowles would reveal
that his windfall had backfired

and made clear that he
intended to take his own life,

going so far as to ingest laudanum.

Dr. Bellows would be called in and
use ipecac to expel the laudanum,

creating a scene so authentic
no one would dare question it.

The perfect opening to mount an
appeal for money in Knowles' name

and then milking the hotel guests
for everything they're worth.

He probably volunteered a
large portion of his own money

from the very first time
they pulled this con.

Well, Harvey Knowles' murder seems
to be coming into sharper focus.

Apparently the swindler got swindled.

His partner likely offed
him to keep all the money.

Let's get a sketch of this
medical imposter straight away.

I'll connect with our sketch artist

and make sure Henry
distributes it all over town.

One thing that bothers me:

hotel guests saw the doctor
give the victim ipecac.

Why didn't it work?

- Hm.
- Once I deliver the sketch,

I'll drop in on Mrs. Hart at the morgue.

Do you mind if I tag along?

You're not getting paid.

Uh-huh.

The King of England!

Can you believe that just happened?

No, nor will anyone else.

- No one will believe this happened to us!
- George,

if Mr. Hathaway is a
member of the Black Chalice,

- do you think he's working alone, or is he...
- Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh!

We need to keep our voices down.
We made a promise to the Crown.

Then I suppose we have
no choice but to get back

- to why we came here in the first place.
- Ah. Oh!

Oh, my!

As suspected, his blood was
saturated with opium and alcohol,

the main ingredients in laudanum.

Why wasn't it expelled?

Uh, witnesses saw Knowles
be administered ipecac.

They might have seen him
take some kind of syrup,

but it wasn't ipecac.

I found traces of starches
and sugars, nothing else.

Could our fake doctor have switched
the ipecac for a placebo syrup?

If he did, he's guilty of murder.

You're welcome.

- Oh!
- Uh...

Hathaway can't be working
alone. I bet she's in on it.

Maybe they're all in on it?

Should we follow her?

Julia?

Hello, stranger.

What's all this?

Do you recognize this dress?

It's lovely. Should I?

I wore it on our honeymoon.

- Ah!
- The night we couldn't take our eyes off each other.

Oh.

The nanny has taken
Susannah to the park.

We have some time to kill.

Ooh. Ah, Julia,

I must admit you've caught me off guard.

Uh...

Hello?

Yes. Which intersection?

I'll be right there.

Julia, a man matching Doctor
Bellows' description has been spotted.

We'll have to delay our
date, but only a little.

It was there, in the ruins of Thebes,

where we found the
lost tomb of Asclepius

and discovered the healing
properties of its sands!

Sprinkle a few grains in your bed

and watch as back pain, rheumatism
and arthritis disappear overnight!

This Miracle of the East

can be yours for less
than the cost of...

Terribly sorry, ladies and gentleman.

We've just run out!

We shall go upstairs in a moment, dear.

You're on the wrong floor, darling.

Seems curious that they
need to lock the coal room.

Unless it serves some other purpose.

Like secret meetings
for the Black Chalice.

Yes, I... I've engaged in
a swindle or two in my time

to make ends meet,
but I'm not a murderer.

You gave your partner a benign syrup

when he was expecting ipecac.

Harvey was like a brother to me.

Why would I want him dead?

To reap his half of the
profits, for starters.

We were going to pull our hotel
con in every province in the country

and we hadn't even finished Ontario yet.

Yes, Detective, Harvey was
a financial windfall to me,

but, more important,

he was my best friend.

I am as devastated and confused
by his death as everyone else is.

May I please leave now?

Thank you, gentlemen. I
think I can take it from here.

- Off he goes to swindle again.
- Most likely.

You have to admit his story rings true.

I don't disagree.

Why go through lengths
to switch the ipecac

when he could have ignored
the call in the first place?

Unless someone else switched
it without his knowledge.

But who would have access to his room?

Friend?

Perhaps this warrants
another visit to the hotel?

Well, I don't think the Black Chalice
are holding any meetings in here.

Let's just pretend to get some
coal and go back to our room.

Well, we could if we had a coal shovel.

- You lost it, remember?
- No, dear, you lost it.

In any case, I'll get some firewood.

Georgie, I hate to bring this up,
but it was you who lost the shovel.

No, Effie, I clearly remember you had it

when you were saying it felt drafty.

No, I distinct... Ah! Oh my God!

Oh my God! It's Mr. Cornish!

I guess he didn't make it to that
convention in Leeds after all.

- Your Majesty.
- Ah, Mr. Castle, we hate to bother you,

but we've got a bit of a situation!

This had better be good.

We were collecting firewood.

My wife and I discovered
the body of Mr. Cornish!

The day manager? No! He's
at a convention in Leeds.

No, he's in the coal
room. He's been garroted.

Proof positive that Mr. Hathaway
is a member of the Black Chalice.

And Zlata, too, no doubt.
She had a key to the room.

I reckon the whole hotel is in on it.

Oh, this changes everything.

The assailants are gonna
know that we're onto them;

this may trigger a response.

We need to leave now.

Agreed.

But Mr. Hathaway is
likely to be Black Chalice.

You two newlyweds are gonna need
to help us by creating a distraction

- so that we can slip away to the stables.
- How are we supposed to do that?

A petty hotel squabble
should do the trick.

Ten minutes, tops, is all we need.

But it'll need to feel authentic.

Can we count on you two?

I don't understand. I thought
Mr. Cumberland took his own life.

His name was Harvey Knowles
and all is not what it seems.

We need to know who among your staff

would have access to room 415.

This is a small, private hotel
and I run a very tight ship.

The only ones with access would
be myself and my cleaner, Mabel.

And I, for one, never left my desk.

Well, then, we'll need to
speak with your cleaner.

I ran into her the morning that
Mr. Knowles' body was found.

Of course. She's right over there.

Mabel!

A word?

Oh-ho-ho. This is not
the woman that I met.

Do you employ a different cleaner?

Not for the last 20 years.

The Crabtrees!

How delightful.

- Did you enjoy the Armagnac?
- Oh, do not play nice with us, Hathaway.

We were shocked to learn that
the Garden Suite is not, in fact,

your top suite and we demand to know why

- you gave it away to Mr. Castle!
- Yes. We're oh so upset!

And when I say "we,"
I of course mean her.

Are we not a unified front on this?

- Unified?
- Oh, good Lord, George!

Why did I ever marry you?

Oh, I don't know!
That's a good question!

If you love the Sunrise Suite so
much, perhaps you should marry it!

- Nothing to see here. Nothing to see.
- Have you lost your mind

- like you lost our little shovel?
- Carry on!

- A loser that lost a shovel. I'm the...
- Yes!

- Yes, I'm the loser of all things, aren't I?
- Yes, you lose things, George!

You're about to lose the best
thing that ever happened to you.

Oh, well, maybe that wouldn't be
such a bad thing to lose after all!

I didn't mean that last part.

Urgent message for Mr. Castle.

Wadsworth is compro...

It wasn't supposed to
get messy like this.

All I had to do was
authorize a room change

and they would do the dirty work.

Oh, well!

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Found the shovel!

Effie, a telegram came through.

Wadsworth is in on it.
We need to warn the King!

Yes, a much more delicate nose.

How's this?

That's it.

Let's get this picture up
all over town straight away.

That may not be necessary.

That's Bernadette Childs.

- Harvey Knowles' former partner?
- Yes.

And I know where I might find her.

Your Majesty?

Your Majesty?

You won't be needing this anymore.

Old habits die hard, huh, Bernadette?

Hello, Llewellyn.

How'd you find me?

Every creature has a modus operandi.

Even a rat.

Is that all I am to you? A rat?

I was your most valuable informant.

We had interesting
conversations, back in the day,

me and you.

And Harvey Knowles.

Fellow con you once called a friend.

Why did you do it?

Harvey broke the Golden Rule.

A con capitalizes on greed, lust,

vanity, but never human kindness.

I couldn't sit by while
he and his new partner

swindled hotel guests who
were only trying to be kind.

You speaking of rules is
the very definition of irony.

Come on, Llewellyn,

you once agreed with me on this.

And it wasn't just the
hotel guests Harvey swindled.

It was his lover, his family... even me.

A new partner of his must
have rotted his brain.

So, that's why you switched the syrup?

So Harvey would rot in a casket

while his partner-in-crime
rotted in jail?

I was protecting our livelihood.

He crossed the line.

There's a code.

There is, indeed.

Which is why you need to come with me.

Thank you for the gun, Mr. Crabtree.

I'm so sorry you're about to use it

to unknowingly assassinate the King.

You know, I wasn't sure what
to do with you two at first

and then the perfect
narrative presented itself:

an epic fight over the Sunrise Suite.

That'll never work. You'd
have to kill us, too!

- Precisely.
- Uh!

Your authentic bickering is going to
lend credence to my upcoming report

and it's gonna confirm that
you knocked Mr. Hathaway out,

you stole his gun

and then you went after the man who
unjustly took your honeymoon suite.

Thanks to His Majesty's
famous lust for guns,

it is the only logical explanation

as to why I found three dead bodies

in the unfortunate
aftermath of this shootout.

You're welcome.

I owe the both of you
my eternal gratitude.

I'd knight you, if I could,

but, unfortunately, I think
this must be kept under wraps.

We understand, Your Majesty.

I know it's not much, but, uh,

please accept this small token
as a measure of my appreciation.

- Oh my goodness!
- Oh!

Your Majesty, thank you.

I've also secured you something else.

For your remaining time at this hotel,

the Sunrise Suite is yours.

Even better than knighthood!

I must say, Detective, solving a
case again was quite satisfying.

For me and you both.

Can I interest you in
a celebratory cocktail?

- Alas, other plans are afoot.
- Ah!

But I do hope we get
to do this again, Watts.

Soon.

Yes.

Told you this suite was lucky.

Julia?

William,

I'm glad to see you back.

Oh, it's good to be back.

I'm sorry about before.
I know how busy you are

and it was just a silly romantic notion.

I should know that we can't
just bring back the past.

Oh, I wouldn't exactly say that.

William!

Oysters Rockefeller!

Like our honeymoon dinner in New York.

Only this time we'll
definitely notice them arriving.

You even remembered our song.

Of course.

It was the greatest night of my life.

Well, the night is still young.

She'll be fine.

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