Original subtitles

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 do 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 16th 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 this mean?

Written in code, Detective.

The same code used by the villains in "The Adventures 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 two 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 postmortem.

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. A 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 two 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's 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 residence 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 caliber is looking for her.

You're 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 Bird,"

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.

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 have not lost your touch.

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

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 acknowledgment 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's 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 Queens 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 Allan 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 two fine ladies notwithstanding,

we must state our true purpose.

We seek your friend, Nora Webb.

Any information you 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?

Things will 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.

Is something wrong, is there?

A visitor?

My brother.

What? There a crime in that?

No, but it is to harbor a suspect.

Consider yourself warned, Mr. Skinner.

He was expecting someone, but not his brother.

He'd 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.

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.

Well, 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 was 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 girl's 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're 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 three 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's 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 it?

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 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'll 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 honor 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 enamored with this Holmes fellow.

We're 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.

Picture your nanny and the man.

Where were they?

Be precise in your observation.

Which direction were they going?

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's 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 doctors are reconstructing the skull.

Yes sir. I'm hoping the break in this case lies in this mystery woman's identity.

What is the connection between the disappearance of Nanny Webb,

the murders of two 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.

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've determined the average depth of the victim's soft tissue

from remnants still on the skull.

And now we contour modeling 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?

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 of 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.

A 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?

That particular train isn't running anymore.

There's no way Mr. Burns could've 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 will do my best.

Nanny?

She wore earrings.

Like this?

That's hers.

Whose, Ben?

Nanny Jess.

Another nanny?

What if Ben had two nannies?

He witnesses the sudden disappearance of the first one,

Nanny Jess, when he's very young.

He buries the traumatic memory.

Then the memory resurfaces on some level

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

He's conflated two events into one.

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 five years ago.

Among the fatalities

were a Mr. and Mrs. Donald Parker.

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

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 five 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 disappear with some tale of 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.

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."

East End lowlife.

I'll take your word for it, sir.

The reference to the 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 are 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.

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