All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S07E04.The.Return.Of.Sherlock.720p.WEB-DL.DD5.1.h264-jAh.eng

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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