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There's a Yank in town.

Photograph collector of some sort.

This here is Bushrad Whacker.

All right, Harry. I'll buy it.

Gentlemen, Molloy is one hell of a photographer,

and there's big money in ghost photography in America.

You can use one of my old cameras.

And I think I'll come along with you.

Eva Lambert, a very well-known medium.

To the dead.

Show yourself to us!

Make this stop, you witch!

We're frauds, Molloy.

Nancy, I saw...

You took their album.

What's this?

A black rose.

I think you may have caught my heart off guard, Nancy.

Can you see those faces?

All right, Roper.

What have we got?

A suicide.

And?

He's recently widowed,

can't go on without the missus.

So, he ends it.

It's tragic but it makes sense.

Strange of him not to put a bullet in his head.

Huh?

Considering the state of these walls.

Seems like they were in plentiful supply.

Oh, yeah.

They make you wonder all right.

Seems like a right little gathering they had here.

There was a man spotted running from here

shouting to himself, seems agitated.

Sounds like that American you had me tailing.

Why do you have Farrelly tailing some American?

Because I had a report

that an American called Whacker

was collared in Liverpool for trading

in obscene cabinet cards,

and I trust Farrelly to do a tolerable job,

if that's the real point of your question.

Whacker is a known associate

of both Cannon and Emil Czerny.

Oh, now, Harry, don't you be jumping

with the mad conclusions and all.

Can we not just work with what we have?

_

All I know is that a group of well-known associates

drop like flies, and I don't think it's a coincidence

that's dropping them.

Why are you both sleeping there?

Nothing untowards happened, Uncle.

Well, I'd assume so.

Wouldn't think you so stupid

as to vacate a comfortable bed.

Uh, yes.

How are you?

Well, generally worse.

I'm so sorry I stayed, sir.

I was in no fit state to walk home.

That's perfectly all right, my boy.

We were all incapacitated by those conwomen.

Uncle, your wall.

My wall?

Yeah, in your study.

Jeez, that was some job, Mr Blennerhasset.

You both saw it?

It's quite the collection, sir.

I'm sure it does look a little bit strange.

Yes.

Well, it is strange.

So strange.

Well, I can assure you, it's just a collection

of some of my favourite portraits.

Nothing untoward.

But they're facing your chair.

Yeah, like they're watching over you

with their dead eyes on you.

And you wanted us to bring you up there

to specifically look at it.

It's all right.

Enough now.

And you were talking to the wall...

Enough now, Nancy.

Please.

Now, let's get back to the grindstone.

Better hurry up or we'll be late for that appointment.

See you over there.

We all behaved so oddly, didn't we?

Yeah, just like we were raving mad.

Weren't we?

Well, have fun.

I'm going back to bed.

Hope you're fit for work today, Molloy.

We've got a long drive ahead of us.

Yeah, I'm grand.

Well, I'm glad to see you two are alive this morning

because there's one fellow who isn't.

Word on the street is Mr Cannon was found dead

by his own hand last night.

Oh, Jesus, your nephew's associates

certainly seem a doomed bunch, sir.

Well, if you lie with dogs.

We're running low.

Well, you may get more supplies before we go to Athlone.

Why do you never go out and get them?

Why's it always me traipsing about the place?

Because I'm the bleeding Ghost Queen, aren't I?

I have to keep a bit of mystery about me.

Punters don't know which one of us is which.

Daddy always said the way to keep the act fresh

was to alternate.

Yeah, well, Daddy's still stalking Mountjoy,

so what the fuck does he know?

One second!

Won't be another second now!

Now, look where your over-eagerness nearly got you.

Don't worry, Roper.

You fall for their shit once,

you won't fall for it again.

Believe me.

I do my research, girls.

You do too, I'm sure.

Digging deep into the background

of everyone that attends your séances.

Just handy to put names to faces.

I'm sure.

I read a report on this séance in Kilkenny

where every last person was plagued with visions

after drinking some sort of concoction.

Our line of business does attract

a few bon viveurs, it must be said.

And then there was the séance in Tullamore

last February, when people found themselves relieved

of their personal belongings.

And robbers, too.

Bon viveurs and robbers, yeah.

They love us.

I wouldn't be one known for coincidences, girls.

Detective, there are many things

far beyond your comprehension.

Doesn't mean they don't happen.

What I can't comprehend is

why this Whacker fellow shot up the room

for no reason.

Oh, no.

He had a reason.

He was seeing spirits, wasn't he?

Some fellow he murdered, he said.

He murdered a fellow?

Back in America.

And it was the ghost that this fellow tormenting him

on account of us summoning the ghost.

Oh, yeah. Course you did.

Yes, we did.

Like we said we would.

And then we escaped.

So, you leave.

Who's left?

The fellow who hired us.

Henry Vickers.

Then the host, the late Mr Cannon.

And then the photographers.

Photographers?

Oh, Jesus, here we go.

Yes, we've had a lot of bother

with poxy photographers of late.

A pain and a half.

Gee, not now, girls.

Sure everything you do is real?

Yes.

It is.

More so that they get in the way.

They're very welcome to photograph if they want.

We've nothing to hide.

Who were the photographers?

It was a young fellow. He was from Dublin.

And then an older man,

and a younger woman.

An uncle and sister to Mr Vickers.

Is that right, now?

At least have a drink.

- Uh... - No.

Got it, yeah.

Got it here, lad.

So, you don't think that there's something

quite dangerous that we've accidentally been caught up in?

Molloy, do not be foolhardy.

And before you deliver what I'm sure

is a tremendously passionate repost, don't.

We take photographs.

And you've been doing a very admirable job of it.

Despite the fact you didn't want me to take

a photograph of your mother.

No, you weren't my first choice, no.

You know, you should have just trusted me

with the information and been honest with me.

Stop making a fool out of me.

I think you misunderstood.

I just didn't want to subject a nice chap like you

to my wretched siblings.

That's reassuring.

Reason I'm the best at my job

is because I don't question tragedy.

The lack of bruising indicates

there wasn't a struggle.

More so, I reckon whatever Mr Cannon had imbibed

had him very relaxed altogether.

So, they're all polluted,

there's a bit of argy-bargy, and Mr Cannon is upset.

And then he kills himself?

Well, the throat was slit cleanly

and methodically from ear to ear.

What a bloody waste of time.

Hold on, Bill.

Ossie, the matter of the wound, though.

It'd be a hard job to pull off on himself?

Well, you'd be surprised.

Plenty of men done worse to themselves.

Shh!

Ossie, now what do you reckon?

The knife was in his right hand when it was found,

like you had noted, Ronnie.

The movement of the knife is consistent

with Mr Cannon cutting his own throat

from left to right.

But if he didn't do it...

Then who did it? Fred?

Well, he's gonna say the killer photographer.

Just wait for it.

Wait, and...

Well, no.

Well, stop now.

This is it, lads.

Dan, this was a very well-controlled cut,

and Mr Cannon was not only intoxicated,

he was left-handed.

I'm telling you, Bill.

Murders made to look like suicides.

If Mr Cannon cuts his own throat

that quick and that clean,

in the seated position he was found in,

there'd be a fair old spurt of blood

from the carotid artery.

And there was traces of blood nowhere on the floor,

only on himself.

This is what you think happened

up in Dublin Castle, too?

I am just focusing on Mr Cannon,

because I think we all agree

that there's something off with this one.

You think there's some sick bastard out there doing this?

If there is, he's right-handed,

tidy enough with a blade,

and wearing a coat he doesn't mind

getting a bit of blood on.

Right.

Find the American.

Bring him in.

Someone knows what happened in that house.

What's the matter?

He's still alive.

Yes.

That's why I asked you to come quickly.

Well, I do apologise.

A complete misunderstanding on my part.

Can we hurry?

Yes, yes, certainly. Molloy?

Does that happen often, sir?

Yeah, more than you might think.

Did you bring your new camera?

- Yeah. - Oh, great.

It's easy to make a mistake

considering the amount of poison

that's in you from last night.

The other camera box.

Where is it?

Well, it's,

it's in my study, I think.

I think I might have put something in there.

Something I found whenever I left the séance.

What did you find?

I just, I could've imagined it.

You know how you imagined seeing

your old assistant last night?

Yes.

It's a photo album.

What sort of photo album?

It's like death photography.

It's like your kind of photography.

My kind of photography?

Yeah, but it's a bit more, um...

Murderous?

Yes.

We need to hurry, Molloy.

Make haste, Carruthers.

Mr Blennerhasset?

It would be nice, I think,

to get a cabinet card done.

Yes, that'll be no work at all.

Something I can put on the mantelpiece

for when George has gone his way.

Oh, I know,

I know as well.

That'll be no problem at all, Mrs Harrison.

I'll get it all sent on to you.

Maybe you should spend some time with George

before he slips away.

Yeah.

Oh, there he is now.

George!

You shouldn't be out of bed.

Get back at once.

Quick as you like, Molloy?

In a hurry, sir?

Yes.

I feel like some trouble's coming our way.

We need to get home post-haste.

That tone was same as years ago.

Possibly.

And it feels like somebody's toying with me.

Now, Carruthers, I need you to be vigilant

until I figure out how to deal with this.

Now don't whisper to it to a soul.

Not a soul, sir.

I can't believe it.

Dreadful business.

Cannon was a decent skin.

Honestly, Percy.

They had us seeing all sorts.

Who knows what poor Louis saw before he ended it.

Well, he was a fiend for the old mind-altering substances.

You'd think he'd be well-abled for it.

And Henry too. Where is he?

Oh, some dive, I presume.

I don't know if he knows about Louis.

You've been getting yourself into a lot

of dangerous situations for a girl who's new to town.

I'm a grown woman, Percy.

That's very naive behaviour on these city streets, Nancy.

I can walk around perfectly fine,

unescorted, thank you.

Can you, though?

Getting kidnapped in whorehouses?

Shot at at a bloody séance?

Well, look at me now.

I seem somewhat alive, don't I?

Silly girl.

What did you say?

I said you're silly for putting yourself

in such danger, are you not?

Silly?

I suppose I'd have to be

hanging about with impotent wastrels like yourself.

Yes, I think I'm right bloody fool.

Mind your tone!

Apologies.

But no-one was answering the front door

and, well, it's a matter of some importance.

Oh, bollocks.

You're not the first woman to greet me like that,

Miss Vickers, and I know you won't be the last.

Sorry, Detective.

I've had a rough day full of vexing men.

I think it's time for you to disappear, Percy.

Write me an apology letter if you want.

I'll reply if I haven't been murdered.

Go easy on her, Detective.

She has a bit of a mood on her today.

Off you go now, Percy,

like a good little man.

Try not to hurry too much.

Seems like a lovely chap.

What do you want, Detective?

Were you in the late Mr Cannon's house last night?

Come on.

Might as well make a tea party out of this.

You do a decent scone up here.

Not as good as a Cork scone, though.

Right.

Miss Vickers.

You've been involved in a lot

of police business of late.

Well, Detective.

It just so happens that a lot of police businesses

involve death and photography of late.

Mm-hmm.

And was this studio hired to take photographs

at the séance?

Molloy was.

Henry and Louis hired him.

They wanted to get in on that spirit photography fad

with that American fellow.

Mr Whacker's been involved in a growing

black market of peculiar photography?

Your brother must have been trying to make

a handy few bob.

Where's he?

Not quite sure, Detective.

Suspicious timing, though.

All the same.

And where's Mr Molloy and your uncle?

Do you want our professional assistance

or do you suspect us of something?

I'm just trying to get their perspective

on what happened that night

at Mr Cannon's.

I see if their theories tie up with mine.

And how are those theories

going down in Dublin Castle?

Not great for the longest time,

but it's turning into something now.

Just not the whole picture.

No.

Not quite, not yet.

Well, tell me this.

Did you ever come across an example

of a black rose used in memorial photography?

As like some sort of a photographic prop?

No.

You wouldn't lie to me about any of this, would you?

No, I wouldn't.

Very well, Miss Vickers.

Thanks for your time, and the scone.

I may have to call back later

to chat to your uncle.

Of course.

Oh, and I want you to know

if any of this develops into something worse,

don't regret that you stood back

and watched it happen.

Go on.

Go on.

Your nephew told me that he found the album

from some secret society in the Wicklow Mountains.

Obviously not very secret if Henry's involved.

Then Whacker was keen on it, and bought it,

then I found it and pocketed it

like a fucking idiot.

And no-one's seen you take it from the séance?

I don't think so, no.

Well, if Regan's idea is right,

then hypothetically the person who killed Cannon

was looking for the album.

And he did the same thing to a man

being held in Dublin Castle.

Well, if they knew we were there,

then Nancy and your mother and your sister may not be safe.

Don't tell me that.

We're an hour from Dublin.

You're the idiot that left it in my house.

I know, but I didn't know I took it.

Honestly, look I was in such a bad way.

I'm sorry, sir.

Is it horrific?

Yeah, they don't look terribly fake Mr Blennerhasset.

Then we must destroy it.

Well, we have to take it to the police.

- No. - No?

No, Molloy.

There's a better way to deal with this.

But what if Regan's right, sir?

Why can't we give the album to them?

It's evidence, is it not?

These photographs.

Do they look like mine?

So, where is Henry?

He's hiding at an apartment in Queen Square.

Does he know that Louis is dead?

That's why he's hiding at the apartment in Queen Square.

What have they got themselves caught up in, Hanna?

Henry wouldn't say, exactly.

But he took something from some people

and the people are very keen to get it back.

Do you think Louis was killed?

But why?

I mean, I know they're all degenerates,

but essentially they're harmless.

Well, someone doesn't think so.

Those boys.

They can't do anything

without making a cock of bothers.

I wanted to live in town for a bit of excitement.

This is just too much.

Well, I've told you.

If you let men with horrible taste

dictate your social life,

then you'll end up in the worst situation.

Believe me, I woke up in hobbles

that were chilled to the bone.

That would suit me fine.

I just don't like murder.

Well, you're doing a good job of it so far.

No matter what Percy says.

Ugh, another feckless clown looking for a distraction.

Well, at least he's a bit of excitement you can do without.

Unlike me, I'm stuck with that bloody fool of a brother of yours.

Do you think it's all right if I visited him?

You'll be lucky if he opens the door to you.

Don't worry, I have my ways.

I fucking knew it was you all along, Abel White.

I know who was behind it.

No, hold on. Stop.

Don't ruin it for me, girl.

I'm warning you.

Hurry your arse up, so.

I want to read the next chapter.

I won't be reading it tonight,

so, you may hold your horses.

Is that a good yarn, Betty?

A bit too good, Farrelly, if you get me.

The housework has been neglected, to say the least.

I'm managing to keep the child alive, though.

Don't mind her, Farrelly.

She's only messing.

The housework was never up to much anyway.

Well, you're not just reading yourself, no?

We have a rule there.

We read one chapter each and then pass it over.

We tried reading pages at the same time

but I get very impatient waiting for him to catch up.

Give over.

I like to scan them for details.

Who solves them the most?

That's right, I solve them the most.

Only because you've been jumping on my leads.

He said you're the best detective he knows, ma'am.

Wasn't exactly an avenue opening itself up to me

but, look, I'll take it where I can get it.

Dublin Castle is not in our kitchen, boy.

Anyway, look, time is of the essence here,

so, will you make it back to it?

Where are we at?

Whacker is still managing to give us the slip.

Traced him back to his legends

but still no sign of him.

I thought there is a sign.

He's got something to hide.

No, something doesn't sit right though.

Why would a man waste all his bullets

shooting up the house

then turn around and murder a fellow with a knife?

Well, I'm afraid you might as well ask why a man

would make it look like a suicide

if he just wanted to murder a fellow.

Hmm.

Some years ago, I had trouble with an assistant

who subsequently committed suicide

after he'd sent a letter accusing me of things.

What kind of things?

It's not relevant.

What is relevant is when I was interviewed

by the police, they were so aggressive

that it's made me suspicious of them ever since.

What's that got to do with this?

This assistant, he, I allowed him to

introduce a motif into my work.

Black rose.

Who else knows about the rose?

No-one.

I don't know anyone else who uses this in their work.

Well, tell Regan that, then.

Do you honestly think that Regan's gonna believe

your story of how you found the album?

An assistant to a man who takes photographs

of dead people?

You think they're gonna suspect us?

Yes. I do.

And that's why no-one should ever see this album.

Look, whoever's using this,

they're attaching it to my work for some reason.

To frame you?

I don't know.

But, Molloy, this could ruin us.

We're implicated the longer we hold onto this album.

And the longer we hold onto this album,

our loved ones are in danger.

And that is why we must destroy it.

Morning, ma'am.

Nancy.

Yes, I knew it was you because of our knock.

It's our old knock, remember.

When we were children.

If you'd asked me to do it I wouldn't be able to

for the bloody life of me, but once I heard it

I knew it was you.

OK, come in.

Come in.

Oh, sausages.

Jeez, I'm a devil for a good sausage.

You're a saviour, Nancy.

Mother's looking for you.

She's worried.

Oh, don't worry about her.

She's always worried when we're out of her grasp.

Look at the two of us now,

living the great life in town, huh?

You'll have some sausages, you will?

Henry, what are you caught up in?

Some ketchup now would be the right sauce, huh?

- Henry. - Hmm?

You'll have a sausage, you will?

Yes, of course I'll have a sausage.

Now, are you going to tell me what's going on?

Some serious bloody shenanigans,

let me tell you Nancy.

We got in with Whacker, see.

That's where it all started.

He contacted Louis prior to coming here

about some publication man.

Anyway, turns out he was a devil

for the firewater, so, we all head out

on Monday night he says he's meeting an art collector

up in a house in the Wicklow Mountains,

and would we come?

So, I said why not?

We're all roaring drunk at this stage.

Where's the harm?

So, we all head up to the house in the Wicklow Mountains,

and it's a lively night.

Lively. You can imagine the scenes.

You might be able to refer it yourself

if you get a few more parties under your belt.

Henry, what did you do?

I stole a photograph album full of pictures

of people being tortured and murdered.

I know, I know.

I thought it was absolutely gas crack at the time.

Who are these people, Henry?

Who are they?

I don't know, some sort of secret society.

Nothing bloody secret about them,

unless bumbling in the front door

and then leaving these photographs

all over the blasted place.

They kick you out?

No, not at first, no.

They seemed quite pleasant at the start,

which was quite strange,

you know, maybe a bit theatrical

or sort of thing, and I just thought they were

being odd for the sake of being odd.

We shouldn't have been there, Nancy.

And all that probably would have been fine,

but then I went and made things worse.

It's always me making a bloody pig's ear of things.

You're being too hard on yourself, Henry.

No, Nancy, you don't understand.

Whacker told me that those pictures were real.

They weren't fake or manufactured.

These people had employed someone

to take pictures of people who had crossed them.

These are a very different breed of bad, Nancy.

They have influence.

I don't know how, but they have ways

of making people do things for them.

But why do something as grotesque as this?

Because it's something that's never been done before.

Because they can.

Look after yourself now, Nancy.

You too, Henry.

No, I really mean it though.

You have to look after yourself

till all this dies down.

Well, so do you.

Try to get back home as soon as you can.

Or go back to mother's for a few days.

A slightly safer way to live in dread.

Yes, but I've organised a meeting with Whacker later,

see if he can call off the dogs.

Be discrete.

You have a tendency to be very not discrete.

Don't worry about me.

I can be a devil when the fat's in the fire.

Farewell.

Violets and lilies of every sort.

Wildflowers!

Flowers.

Ah, an American.

Is it wallflowers you're looking for, sir?

Just give me the damn flowers, woman.

In there.

Did you tell Maud about the thing about the wallflowers.

I couldn't remember what flowers you told me.

Does it matter?

No, no. Not really, I suppose.

Were you followed?

I don't know.

It's one of those days where it seems

like everybody's watching you.

Where's the album?

What do you mean where's the album?

You have the album.

Oh, goddammit.

Well, somebody stole it at Cannon's house.

What about your uncle, your sister?

What would they want with it?

Those things are like Caravaggios of photography.

Very lucrative.

All you had to do is behave,

and, no, you're a goddamn amateur.

Obviously, yes.

But this got very serious all of a sudden, Whacker.

Could have made a fortune if you fuckers hadn't ruined me.

You shouldn't have bloody brought us, then.

Well, I don't know my way

around rural fucking Wicklow, do I?

Violets!

I'm finding that album.

Have you gone absolutely mad, man?

Leave well enough alone!

Violets, I said!

I'm getting the hell out of this godforsaken country.

Violets!

We have to let them know we don't have it!

Violets and roses!

How are you, Maud?

Oh, Harry.

My old segocia.

What can I do for you?

Suppose you didn't see an American

around these parts, did you?

Oh, yeah?

Older fellow?

Looked official?

I might have.

About gone a minute now, Harry.

Shouldn't be too hard to spot.

Whoa, stand, stand.

Whoa, stand.

Sir, do you want me to check inside?

No, Molloy, you go home.

Carruthers and I will deal with this.

What do you want me to do, sir?

Right, you come with me

and bring that stick you're fond of

and whistle if you see anything.

Nancy?

Nancy!

Carruthers, what's wrong?

Nothing.

Well, why did you whistle?

Because there's nothing wrong.

I told you to whistle if something was wrong.

Oh.

Sorry.

Bloody man.

Uncle?

How was your trip?

Oh, well enough.

Lilly!

Ma!

Lilly!

Oh, Jesus. Oh, thank Christ.

Where's Ma?

She's staying with Billy.

Was someone in here?

Yeah.

He's gone now.

You're taking fucking photographs.

How dangerous can it be?

Get your things.

How's Henry?

Henry's in rough shape.

How rough?

The same amount of drinking as usual,

it's just sad drinking.

Ah, Lilly.

You little dote.

Well, how are you, Violet?

I don't think our home's very safe.

Is it fine if we stay here tonight?

You can have my room.

Nancy.

I'll sleep down here.

We'll both share the same room, like.

Yeah, tops and tails.

It'll be grand.

Where's the kitchen?

Downstairs at the back.

Help yourself.

I will, thanks.

Home for waifs and strays, I see.

This photo album.

You know about it?

Who told you?

Henry.

He told me all about it, and its owner.

An organisation, he said.

A very ambitious one.

Look, whoever commissioned this album

are very sick, dangerous people.

Or very rich and very powerful,

which tends to be the case with secret societies.

Henry took it, but they thought Czerny had it.

Then they thought Cannon had it.

Who do they think has it now?

One of you has it?

Took it at the séance?

Christ, look, I stole it.

I accidentally stole it.

But it's destroyed, weren't it?

It's true, we did.

It should put an end to this unfortunate business.

Away with the fairies.

Properly poisoned.

Off our chops.

Lambert sisters.

Shifty whores.

You wouldn't be the first person to go wilding

that maggot juice.

Oh, I can only imagine.

So, you were all hallucinating,

all hell breaks loose,

and then this Whacker fellow pulls out a gun?

Yeah, I had to tackle him to the ground.

Then we pack up our equipment.

And left immediately.

You said you saw someone as we were leaving?

Oh, that was just Carruthers.

I was merely plagued with visions.

You all were.

That's why it's so hard to get

a clear picture of what happened.

I have an idea, Detective.

You do?

It's a theory.

These tots still aren't quite right

from last night's shenanigans.

We should let them sleep.

Then you and I can talk privately.

I'd be very grateful.

Are you going to your study, Uncle?

No, we'll go somewhere more appropriate, Nancy.

As I discovered,

my nephew has a little photography ring,

got in a little too deep with this Whacker fellow,

so, some sort of manner of quarrel broke out between them.

So, shenanigans really over a few distasteful photographs.

Two members of this photography ring

are now dead due to these shenanigans.

Oh.

Suicides, I thought.

No, not following that path anymore.

Oh.

Oh, I see.

Well, your theories

on the market for this sort of depraved photography

seem to be true.

That photograph I poached,

the subject had a black rose pinned on him.

Black rose is very common in memorial photography.

Is it?

Yes, a symbol of death.

Or lost love.

Yes.

Take a photograph for a reason, don't you?

To commemorate something.

Well, studying the likeness of death

gives us comfort, I suppose.

We can see what awaits us.

Do you feel that you capture the soul,

Mr Blennerhasset?

Yes, I do, in a way.

Yes, I preserve the essence of my subjects forever.

That killer.

He might have the same idea.

He might very well, you know.

The American, Mr Whacker, took a great interest

in photographing the dead.

In some of my work, he said, two tintypes.

How'd he get them?

That's what I found troubling.

He said he had ways.

Then he became all incensed

and started waving a gun around.

I think he's a man who's not really in control

of his emotions.

Ears are starting to listen to me down the Yard,

but I'm not sure I trust the ears.

I think Czerny's death was just too convenient.

Is that what you are, Detective?

Suspicious of your colleagues?

I just feel someone's trying to cover something up.

Just glad it's not you.

Why would it be me?

Just got the sense that you

weren't being too co-operative.

Oh, no.

Merely had nothing to offer you.

And now I see things as you see them,

I'm happy to be of assistance.

If it is this Whacker fellow,

murdering all these people and covering it up,

why would you want to commemorate that?

Detective, I think you sorely underestimate

the appeal of entertainment.

Is he gone?

Yes, and quite happily I might add

which makes a nice change

Did you tell him everything?

Yes, I did.

I told him of Henry's friends

and the little photography ring.

I told him.

And the photo album, did you tell him about that?

I told him everything.

I hope so, Uncle.

Because it's not a buzzing bee

you're trying to evade.

People are dying.

There'd be great public interest if this gets out,

that's for certain.

Regan will deal with this, as always.

I would just prefer to take photographs.

Did all right for yourselves, didn't you?

Henry.

They want it back.

I sold it to Whacker, I swear.

Where is he?

I don't know.

If Whacker doesn't have it.

Now you leave Nancy and Uncle alone.

They have nothing to do with this.

Liars, all of you.

No, no!

I don't want Nancy to see this.

Just don't worry.

I don't want anyone to know I've got it.

Just make sure it disappears.

And hopefully the rest of this will all disappear, too.

Yeah.

Hope so, soon.

Thank you, Molloy.

Our employers, sir.

Want us to stop looking.

It's getting too messy.

Said they'll take care of it themselves, now.

They said they won't be paying us.

It was them who lost the album.

I know, but I would hope, sir,

that this will be an end to it, now.

Not for me.

Good morning, Nancy.

Good morning, Uncle.

Molloy.

Morning, Nancy.

So, today's appointment, it's a young child,

little Grace McCalister.

Died of virulent diphtheria.

Jeez, the poor little thing.

Yes.

Her parents never had a chance to have her photograph

taken while she was alive.

So, Mr and Mrs McCalister are expecting us at nine.

Molloy, when you were outside did you see Carruthers?

Yes, just on the buggy.

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