Original subtitles

What did you think?

- Even better than the last chapter. You? - Underwhelming.

Uh, they left her hanging at the edge of a cliff!

Mm. Bit of a cliché, no?

I can't wait to see what happens next.

I'll be re-reading this one all week.

What a brilliant idea to publish the story

in the papers alongside the serials in the cinema.

I had that idea ages ago.

But they beat me to the punch,

and now, the sales of The Gazette have doubled.

Why don't you run your own in The Sentinel?

The script is already written. I just need a star.

And I aim to get one.

I was walking down Yonge Street

and this man stopped me in the middle of the sidewalk

and he said, "You must,

you simply must be in the moving pictures."

And the next thing you know, well, you know. Here we are.

I also do all of my own stunts.

Would you like to ask me about doing my own stunts?

I think we have all that we need.

But there is one other thing.

Any idea what the next serial will be?

I can't comment.

Promised my manager my lips are locked.

Well, it just so happens The Sentinel

is planning to make its own serial.

And I don't mind saying

that the script outshines any other Action Girl serials.

I don't read scripts written by non-scenarists.

Ah.

I've written a feature film,

not to mention a best-selling book and countless news stories.

Ah, serial is a unique format.

Why don't we discuss this over lunch?

- I just don't thi... - Tomeo's?

Tomeo's?

You got a table at Tomeo's?

I happen to have dirt on the maître d'.

We'll take my new automobile.

Oh, Cal. How are the interviews going?

Oh, you know, grist for the mill, chum for the waters.

- I don't have to tell you. - I presume you've met Miss Cherry?

Charmed. I assume you'd like to profile me next?

Actually, we're off to lunch. Perhaps another time.

Miss Newsome!

Uh, could I perhaps bother you for an autograph?

Oh, huh, yes.

Never a moment's peace.

You're welcome. Bye now.

Huh.

Won't start.

How annoying.

It is brand-new, you know.

Oh! Yoo-hoo. Bellman!

Find a mechanic and see if he can fix this scrap heap, will you?

- Yes, ma'am! - Hm.

- Shall we walk? - Let's.

Ah.

Dear God!

Do you think he's all right?

Ladies. What's happened?

Well, I, I tried to start the ignition, nothing happened.

Then, and then... Boom.

And you drove the automobile here

earlier today without incident?

That's right.

So whoever did this

intended for you to be the victim of the explosion.

Obviously.

Who else here is important enough to try and kill?

Tell him about chapter two.

Chapter two?

From Agnes.

The Adventures of Agnes?

The sensational serial of which I am the star?

I'm not familiar. What of it?

How odd. Uh, well, in chapter two,

Agnes - moi - enters into an auto race.

The villain tries to do away with her

by placing an explosive in the back of the car.

I, of course, find it, throw it into a lake

and nobody gets hurt,

which I would have done today if I had known it.

Just don't really expect to get bombed on your way to Tomeo's.

- Indeed. - Ruth?

- Hm. - Are you all right? What happened?

Oh! Someone tried to explode me.

- What? - Well, it didn't succeed.

Fat chance.

A star like mine doesn't just up and die that easily.

I knew something like this would happen.

I beg your pardon?

I told you no good can come from working in the pictures.

Henry, what do you mean you knew something like this would happen?

Were you aware that Ruth was in danger?

No.

I never really approved of her working in the serials, sir.

She's always spending time with these unsavoury types

that hang around moving picture sets.

- Unsavoury and debonair. - Mm.

You saying I'm jealous?

Well, maybe I am.

But forget about the pictures. Ruth shouldn't be working at all.

It's not how things are done, sir.

I'm the man of the house.

She should be at home with Jordan.

I don't know, Henry.

Julia's always been able to balance work and home life.

How did that work out for you?

She moved halfway around the world!

Sheesh.

Miss Hart.

What have you?

Is that Cal Whitman?

It is indeed.

Constable Higgins-Newsome seems to be very threatened by him.

As he should be.

You are familiar with Mr. Whitman, I take it?

I wish.

The bellman.

Right. He died in the blast.

The impact came from behind.

No remnants of the bomb.

Oh, what's this?

It's a wire of some sort.

Ah, yes.

Method of detonation?

Indeed. It's attached to the ignition.

That is ingenious.

Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.

Mm.

Detective, that man has been staring at me since I arrived.

He seems... odd.

Excuse me.

What are you doing here?

Just minding my own beeswax.

- Beeswax? - I was in the area

purchasing a tin of beeswax down the way.

I'm a cobbler, you see. I need it for my awls.

In any event, I saw the explosion and was intrigued.

Did you see anything of interest?

Only Ruth.

She's magnificent, isn't she?

She is something.

So dynamic and brave and brilliant.

This is bad.

Already headline news across every paper in the city.

Toronto is in love with Ruth Newsome.

I don't get it.

Nor do I, sir.

I don't care much for moving pictures.

Really? I love them.

But I don't care for these new serials.

One little scenario a week. And then what? I have to wait.

I'd rather watch them all at once.

Perhaps people enjoy delaying gratification.

And every chapter leaves you wanting more.

She's hanging on a cliff, but they won't tell you how it ends.

You have to pay another nickel the following week

just to find out. It's a swindle.

What I don't understand is the fanaticism.

Why do people admire actors?

Ah, well, they're charming, funny, exciting.

They don't actually do what their characters do.

They just stand in front of a camera.

Detective, are you jealous of actors?

I'll have you know I was cast

in a moving picture once.

I didn't care much for it.

A lot of people standing around complaining.

Hm. You think you deserve more attention than actors

because you're the one really stopping the villains out there.

- Of course not. - Of course not.

So what have you found out?

No suspects in custody, as yet.

Judging by the state of the wreckage,

I would say the bomb was comprised of TNT.

I've been informed that this bombing

may mirror one of the installments of the serial

in which Ruth Newsome stars.

Well, then. Why would someone watch

a moving picture, then decide to kill the star?

Perhaps someone at the moving picture studio

- can tell us something. - Hm.

You're Detective Murdoch.

- Do we know one another? - Ah, no.

Your reputation precedes you, sir.

Andrew Deverill-Deverill.

I am Miss Newsome's manager

and the producer of her cinematic oeuvre.

Oh, you mean Mrs. Higgins-Newsome.

Yes, yes.

I'm in the habit of discussing her with la presse,

for whom we cultivate a certain image.

Have you apprehended the culprit in this dastardly scheme?

Not yet.

Hm, well, then you may find these très intéressantes.

Peut-être. De quoi s'agit-il ?

Oui. Letters... from viewers of Agnes.

Fanatics, one might say, but not of the typical ilk.

"You are a sinner.

May the Lord punish you unless you stop showing these films.

I hope you lead a miserable,

sickness-filled life and die lonely and alone."

- Who would write such things to an actor? - I don't know.

But it seems some of our viewers

feel that Ruth Newsome's gender does not conform

to their image of an appropriate hero.

Perhaps the killer is amongst their number.

Mm-hmm. What have you, Miss Hart?

Found a piece of shrapnel partially lodged in his body.

Appears to be a lock mechanism of some sort.

There's leather here.

It's not very badly burned.

Must have lodged in his body before the flames could get to it.

I examined the leather under the microscope.

It appears to be reptilian.

- Alligator? - Could be.

This is from a suitcase.

Ya-ha-ha, ya. Ha, ha, ha.

Does Jordan always act out like this?

What do you mean?

- Isadora? Isadora! - Yes, Miss Newsome?

Jordan! Jordan, ah, calm down, please!

- You can't catch me! - Get back here!

I believe the bomb was secured inside of a suitcase.

Does this look familiar?

Of course. That's from my alligator-skin valise.

Ah. So it belonged to you and it was in the automobile?

Oh, yes, always.

It was gifted to me by lovely Andrew.

- Ruth's manager. - We've met.

Andrew advised me to always keep the essentials close at hand:

Clothing, cosmetics, shoes,

autographed portraits for my "admires".

"Admirerers."

- Admirers. - Admi... Admi...

"Admirererrrs."

Ah. So, you were aware that it was in the automobile.

Ah, when was the last time you looked inside of it?

This morning.

Ah, yes, I put a new lipstick into my reticule.

Did you see anything out of the ordinary?

Like a bomb, dear.

I think I would notice a bomb, Henry. I'm not a child.

In my last picture, I threw one into the lake, remember?

How many people were aware of this valise of yours?

I don't know. But what does it matter?

No one could have put a bomb into that valise.

- Why not? - It's always locked.

I have the only key.

And no one has access to where it's hidden.

Except for Henny Penny.

Ah.

I've gone over all of the letters

provided by Mr. Deverill-Deverill.

And?

- They are disturbing. - Mm.

One even seems to presage the bombing itself.

The author most definitely wants to stop the continuation

- of Miss Newsome's serial. - Why?

They have a moral objection to a female heroine.

It's one man?

Or a woman, I suppose.

Ah, all of the letters appear to be written in the same hand,

but they are from different postmarks throughout the city.

Uh, what exactly are you doing?

Well, if Ruth Newsome's suitcase was locked

and the key never left her possession,

then it's safe to assume that someone picked the lock.

I'm trying to establish how long that would actually take.

Hm. To establish how long the culprit needed to plant the bomb.

Yes. At first, I believed that the wiring to the ignition

was a complex mechanism.

But I'm now of the opinion that it was quite rudimentary.

As is... this lock.

It would've taken no time at all.

What's this?

Appears to be some sticky residue

inside of the lock cylinder.

- What is it? - Beeswax.

Mr. Quint.

We'd like a word.

I don't understand.

You think I wanted to hurt Ruth?

You were seen near the hotel

both before and after the detonation.

But more importantly, we know you picked the lock on her suitcase.

How did you know that?

We found beeswax inside of the lock mechanism.

Perhaps from an awl?

But what does that have to do with the bomb?

- You put it in the case. - No.

No, I did pick the lock last week,

but I never put any bomb inside.

Then why did you do it?

I just wanted something of hers.

I adore her so.

I know everyone does, but... I'm so very alone.

No one understands me and I know no one ever will, but

sometimes I dream that someone,

someone wonderful, might love me.

You stole something from her.

I just wanted to feel close to her.

I'm sorry.

So, what did you think?

I... liked it.

Oh! Good.

It's just that it's not really a Ruth Newsome, is it?

The character's tall, blonde and fearless.

- You'd be perfect. - Oh, of course,

I would do my best to bring the role to life,

but for it to really be a Ruth Newsome picture,

it needs a few changes. Uh, teensy things.

Such as?

Well, here on page one. What is this?

We meet her and then she just doesn't do anything.

The characters need to be introduced.

Well, I just... Needs more depth, you know?

What if... Oh!

I save the prime minister from being eaten by a lion. Something like that.

- On page one? - Well, not that, obviously.

But something like that. Do you know what I mean?

It's just sort of food for thought.

But, overall, I um, I... I loved it.

- Monsieur ! - Yes, ma'am?

What do you have in the way of gin?

We have a wonderful selection. I can bring you the gin menu.

Oh, ah, no. Never mind. Champagne!

Ruth Higgins-Newsome stated that she did have

a pair of shoes go missing last week.

So that part of Mr. Quint's story appears to be true.

That doesn't mean he didn't plant the bomb.

If he picked the lock once, he could've done it again.

Yes, but why kill someone that he holds in such high esteem?

Love can turn to obsession and obsession to violence.

True. But something about this case

just doesn't sit right with me.

He seems genuinely concerned for her well-being

and his handwriting is not a match for those letters.

Hardly exculpatory.

If you don't think the cobbler did it, then who?

Perhaps the man who gave her the suitcase in question.

Apparently, he was lunching with an ingenue at the time

and she believes that she could be the next Agnes.

Hm. To have a new star,

he would have to get rid of the old one.

Expendable? Miss Newsome is a star, man.

Her success is my success.

Then why seek out a replacement?

A star that burns as brightly as Ruth Newsome cannot be tamed.

I must anticipate the inevitable:

that soon she will leave us behind

for the bright lights of Los Angeles.

Hollywood, they call it. The big time.

We believe the bomb was placed inside of a suitcase

that you gifted to Mrs. Higgins-Newsome.

- It was? - Mm.

And you advised her to keep it on hand at all times.

Yes, what of it?

Well, whoever placed the bomb was aware of the case

and that it would be consistently

in the proximity of Mrs. Higgins-Newsome.

Everybody in our little troupe knew about the case.

It was a very unique piece I purchased for her in New York.

She showed it off to all around her.

Ah, one of my other clients was terribly jealous.

Oh? Who? Oh, just the man whose stalled career

is the bane of my existence.

Ruth's costar, Cal Whitman.

Oh, Henry,

- I'm going to the hair salon. - All right. I'll go with you.

No, there's really no need.

Uh, someone just tried to kill you and they're still out there.

Are you forgetting that your own brother died

while escaping my care to get a haircut?

- This is completely different. - How?

I'm not getting a haircut.

Uh, you're not going. I forbid it.

You forbid it?

Yes, I forbid it.

If it were up to you, I would never leave this house.

You, you want me to be a prisoner in my own home!

See, dear, please... Oh, Jordan.

Jordan, no!

Oh, pish.

I merely pretended to be jealous of that hideous valise.

I wouldn't be caught dead with that reptilian monstrosity.

So why pretend?

I'm an actor.

An actor's job is to give gifts to all around him.

Every scene, every action is a gift.

I hold Agnes in my arms and with my performance

I give the audience the gift of love.

Real life is not a moving picture, Mr. Whitman.

It is not different from one.

I see Ruth with a new valise.

I pretend to covet it and with my performance

I give her the gift of pride.

So you lie to her to make her feel better.

You misunderstand what it is to be an actor.

It is a part of our vocation.

Take Ruth. She claims in the press that she performs her own stunts

because her public wants to believe that to be true.

In the hands of an actor, a lie is not a lie.

- It's a gift. - Precisely.

Mrs. Higgins-Newsome does not perform her own stunts?

She's a woman, Detective.

Don't be ridiculous.

That's a big part of her persona.

At least, that's how it's reported in the newspapers.

And the man who performs them for her has his feathers ruffled

each and every time a story like that appears.

She takes all the credit and he is left to suffer

Obscurity.

Henry, I'm going to the hair salon.

Bye.

Hello?

What can I do you for?

You're the man who performs all of Ruth Newsome's stunts

- for the screen? - That's right. Hooter McCoy.

Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

You'll have to forgive me,

but you don't strike much of a resemblance.

Ah! We all look the same in a dress and a wig.

Is that so?

Folks who watch these serials

ain't exactly the keenest spurs on the ranch.

Your colleagues who worked on The Adventures of Agnes

with you have stated that you don't much care

for Mrs. Higgins-Newsome and that, uh,

you resent her for taking credit for all of your performances.

Don't much care for a liar.

And, well,

it's hard to respect someone who has no respect to offer in return.

Ruth Newsome doesn't respect you?

No.

We made eighteen chapters of that serial,

worked on every one together.

I don't believe she even knows my Christian name.

Truth is, nobody that worked on that picture show liked her.

And you feel you can speak for everyone on the set?

'Course I can. Ruth Newsome keeps food on the table.

We all know that we could make those serials

easier without the stars, but then who would watch 'em?

Nobody's gonna pay a nickel to see an old chunk of coal

like yours truly hanging off the side of a cliff.

Uh, Mr. McCoy, did you know that the bomb that was used

in the attempt on Mrs. Newsome's life

was comprised of TNT and a long metal ignition wire?

Can't say I was.

It was a device exactly like the one I see there on your shelf.

Mr. McCoy, you are under arrest.

So, they decided they wanted to take a holiday,

but they couldn't agree on where.

So, my brother, dear heart, he spins a globe,

closes his eyes, points his finger

and do you know where it landed?

Some place in Africa, but that seemed terribly gloomy, so...

You know, they spun it again!

This time it landed Southampton,

which I had never heard of before.

Ruth?

Ruth?

Isadora, I've got to go.

Look out for Jordan!

Anyway, he and Lucinda have been there for a month.

Can't say that I miss them.

Least not her, anyway. Did you know,

she grew up next door to us,

and one summer, her brother threw a brick over a shrub,

hit her square in the back of the head?

She couldn't do anything but cluck like a chicken for a whole year.

That's what I heard, anyway.

But I don't think someone recovers from something like that, do you?

Celeste?

Oh! Oh, my.

Oh!

Oh, oh.

Uh... Oh, my.

Oh! Oh.

Oh. Oh my God.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

Just when you need help!

Okay...

Help!

- That's Ruth Newsome! - Help!

Could somebody help, please?!

I bet she's making a moving picture.

Ruth! Excuse me, excuse me, please, please, please.

- Thank you. - Ruth!

Oh my God. What happened? I told you to stay in the house!

Henry Higgins-Newsome, I just saved the lives

of five people and that's how you greet me?

If you would just listen to me...

Say one more word, I'm gonna scream.

Ruth...

Now if you'll excuse me,

I need to tend to these poor women.

Oh, you're fine.

All right.

The employees and customers of the salon

are all recovering in hospital.

It seems they owe their lives to Ruth Newsome.

Hm. So, she's earned her headlines after all?

She has.

The gas used in the attack was a simple combination

of bleach and ammonia, but it could have killed them all.

- How was it released? - A device was placed

inside of the air vent of the salon.

So, whoever did this must have seen Ruth Newsome

enter the salon and then deployed the gas.

So it would seem.

Sir, this also mirrors a scene from The Adventures of Agnes.

Of course!

The gas in the mayor's office in chapter six.

So you do watch them.

We all have our vices, Detective.

One could be a coincidence,

but both attempts mirroring the serial?

He seems intent on killing Ruth

using one of the methods depicted in her moving pictures.

Oh, and, uh, he's sent another letter.

- Same handwriting? - Indeed.

It implies that there will be another attempt

unless The Adventures of Agnes

is completely removed from the cinemas.

And yet our prime suspect has been sitting

in our cells all the while.

Hm.

We know you could not have executed the gas attack

on Ruth Newsome earlier this afternoon.

But there is still compelling evidence that you built the bomb

that caused the explosion she narrowly escaped.

I didn't build this to hurt Ruth Newsome, nor anybody else.

Any time a picture show wants a fire, a conflagration,

explosion, they come to Hooter.

You built this for a moving picture?

Naturally. And I built plenty like it.

We used one in Agnes in chapter two.

And I will say I showed every soul

working on that picture show exactly how it worked.

Just because you showed people how it worked,

doesn't mean someone had the expertise to recreate it.

- Or the supplies to do so. - True enough.

Thing is,

I had some items stolen from myself last week,

including a device just like this one here.

- Believe his story? - Not particularly.

But he didn't release the gas and even if he is involved,

someone trying to kill Ruth Newsome is still out there.

And you'll find him.

But you'll have to do it while taking on another job.

- What? - Guarding Ruth Newsome.

'Round the clock until the killer is caught.

- But, sir... - No objections.

Her safety is our top priority.

We'll look like fools if Toronto's sweetheart dies on our watch.

Oh!

Detective. I understand you're to be my bodyguard.

- Apparently so. - Hm, well,

can't have you guarding my body in this, uh, dreary place.

Come.

Your house is all clear. Good night.

Where are you going?

Uh, to review some of these witness statements

and afterward to sleep.

Um... Oh, I, I was curious:

Are you at all concerned that Mr. Deverill-Deverill

is searching for a new starlet to put in his serials?

Of course not. Andrew adores me.

Anyway, he couldn't replace me even if he wanted to.

My contract's ironclad.

Oh, Henry, you won't be needed.

The detective'll guard me tonight.

- Ruru? - You can sleep in the guest room.

Close the door, would you?

Sir.

Henry, I don't want to be involved.

Obviously, I'll be spending the night on the chaise longue.

But...

Uh, Ruru?

Ah, Louise. Look at this.

It's the serial I wrote Ruth Newsome.

It's scribbled with a thousand comments.

How can an actress think she knows more about writing than I do?

She may know more about serials.

How... I've written stories in installments.

Not to mention a book and a film.

A serial's barely even writing compared to those.

It says here Eleanor is a brilliant reporter

with a sharp tongue and effortless beauty?

Yes.

Are you perhaps writing yourself?

Of course not.

So either I change my story, which is brilliant, to suit her,

or she refuses to play in my serial,

in which case my brilliant script never gets made.

Can't you just change the character and keep the story?

They're one and the same.

Piece of advice.

About once a month, the bass player comes in with new ideas for the band.

He and the piano player argue for days;

the band nearly breaks up.

They call it creative differences.

- How do they resolve them? - It's simple.

The bass player does what the piano player says.

People come to see the piano; they don't come to see the bass.

They come to see the piano.

So I need to convince Ruth to do what I say.

Louise, you are not the piano player.

Ruth is.

But I came up with everything.

That doesn't matter.

You got it.

What was that?

I have no idea.

Thank you.

- Henry? - Sir!

Someone was trying to break into the house.

- Oh! - But, never fear.

I wrestled the knife away from him and I've scared him off.

- Oh! - Did you see who it was?

- He was wearing a mask. - Oh, Henry.

Henry, Henry, Henry, you are so brave!

You know that all I want in this life

is for you to be safe, my darling, dimpled dumpling.

Henry, may I have a word?

It's all right.

Is there something you'd like to tell me, Henry?

Um... no?

The broken glass landed outside of the house,

which tells me you broke it from inside.

And that knife appears to be from your set in the kitchen.

I swear I was going to tell you, sir.

I would never have let you pursue all this as actual evidence.

I-I swear.

Even if I believed you, it wouldn't make things any better.

What were you thinking?

I had to do something, sir, don't you see?

I had to impress Ruth somehow.

- I feel like I'm losing her. - Oh!

I'm sure that's not true.

It is true, sir.

It all started when that producer discovered her.

I don't actually want her to stay in the house all the time.

I love her pictures!

I love her.

But ever since she's been working all the time,

she doesn't need me for anything anymore.

Please don't tell her.

Henry, isn't this our knife?

Um...

No?

Why does Henry have a suitcase?

I threw them out.

Where are we going?

To the station house.

I've asked Mr. Deverill-Deverill to come in

- for further questioning. - I scarcely see the point.

Ooh.

This isn't the way to the station house.

Driver!

Driver!

- Oh! - Oh!

I'm not going anywhere.

I live here!

Isadora!

Isadora, call the police!

It's him.

The doors are locked.

What do you, what do you mean they're locked?

We're trapped.

What do you mean we're trapped?

You're, you're, you're the great detective so just un-trap us!

Uh...

It must be Deverill-Deverill.

He subdued the carriage driver, and he intends to kill you.

Lord. Oh, my Lord.

Uh...

eally, Detective? Now is not the time.

Detective?

Ah! Ooh.

That won't work.

Right.

Oh, oh. Maybe now is the time.

- Purse. - Ah.

Oh! Ah-ha.

You, uh, you know how to handle yourself.

All right.

Are you ready?

Oh, wh-wh-what do we, what do we do now?

We jump.

I have a confession to make.

- I don't actually do my own stunts. - I know.

But now's an excellent time to start.

- Are you ready? - Mm-hmm.

One, two, three.

Sorry.

Sir!

Where's Ruth?

Henry, we need to catch that carriage

before Deverill kills Ruth.

Ah, but sir, the killer is not Deverill-Deverill.

Look.

It's Whitman.

I found the carriage driver tied up.

Whitman must have dropped it, sir.

- I've got to find Ruth. - Wait, wait, wait! If it's Whitman...

- Yes, that, that all makes sense. - What?

The automobile bomb, the gas attack...

In the moving pictures,

both were instances where Agnes herself was not in danger.

- No, Whitman was in danger. - And Agnes saved him.

Those letters? They were written by him.

His career has stalled and he's embittered

because she's become the hero and he is the helpless victim.

So where is he taking her now?

Let me think.

He wants to make her death meaningful.

Um, what are some other ways

that Agnes saved him in the films?

Ah, from pirates, from a mountain lion, sir.

From her own evil twin, sir. That was a great one.

Railway tracks.

I know exactly where they are.

- Give me the bicycle. - What?

- Why? - Henry,

he took the carriage that way.

It takes exactly ten minutes to the Lakeshore line by carriage,

even longer by bicycle.

But if you run straight south from here,

you'll be there in five minutes. I can't.

All right, sir.

Ah, stop it!

- What do you think you're doing?! - Oh, quiet down, woman!

- Do not tell me what to do! - No?

I am the one who tells you exactly what to do.

You have no say in the matter.

And I've decided that you are going to die.

Wh-wh-why are you doing this?

- Cal, you adore me. - Oh, I detest you, Ruth Newsome.

You make a fool of me in every chapter of that damned serial.

- What? In the serial? - Yes, the serial.

The serial that was meant to be The Adventures of Arthur

starring Cal Whitman until you stole it from me.

Oh, I didn't do anything.

I wrote those letters.

I thought it would talk some sense into you.

It's not a woman's place to star in the pictures,

much less in a role meant for a man.

But no! Your insidious ambition could not be curtailed.

Cal, please, just... untie me?

No longer will I sit helplessly by whilst a woman saves me.

Now I am in control of my own fate.

And yours.

Please, just untie me.

Please, Cal!

Help!

- Help me! - Ruth!

- Henry! - Ruth!

Ruth, I'm coming!

No, no!

- Henry! - Time to join your insufferable wife.

- Henry, you came for me. - Well, of course.

- Now we're both going to die. - Ruth, we are not going to die.

Listen to me: There is a knife in my pocket.

- You just have to reach for it. - I can't see anything.

Feel for it. It's right by your hands.

No, Henry, I can't! I'm, I'm...

- I'm not a real heroine. - Ah, I don't believe that.

You're a hero to me.

You're brave and you're courageous

and I've seen you accomplish everything you ever set your mind to.

You're incredible, Ruth.

So incredible that you don't even need me anymore.

Oh my God! Oh God!

Hurry! Get the knife!

Stop, police!

Sorry, Detective.

This is my story.

Unfortunately, Mr. Whitman,

your story will not be ending the way you'd hoped.

Just a little more. You can do this!

Oh, Henry, Henry, we're going to die.

No, no, no! Focus on the knife. It's almost there!

All right. Ah! Oh, yes!

No, Henry, Henry, Henry,

- you need to save yourself! Please. - I'm not leaving you!

- Please get off the track! - No!

Oh, my God! It wasn't even going to hit us!

Henry, you saved me.

Well, I would have, I suppose.

What was that all nonsense about me not needing you?

Of course I need you. You're my hero, Henry Higgins.

- Ruth. - Oh!

Congratulations, Detective. You got your man.

Yes. Although actually it was Constable Higgins-Newsome

who discovered the true identity of the killer.

Oh! So, you didn't solve the case.

And you didn't successfully guard

Toronto's sweetheart, either.

- She's an onerous charge, sir. - Mm.

That train was scheduled to run her over

and no one seems to know how

the train ended up going down the other track.

Divine intervention, perhaps.

Or someone was familiar with that stretch of track,

knew the schedule of the train

and deduced the location of the switch which, when thrown,

would send the train off its course.

Anything is possible, I suppose.

Step right there.

I'm all right. I'm all right.

Thank you, everyone. Thank you.

I think they're applauding me.

- Hm? - Never mind. It's all right.

Where exactly were you?

What kind of a bodyguard goes missing in action

at the most important moment?

I could have been killed.

Thankfully, Henry was there to save me.

Well, not everyone can be the hero.

- All right. - Oh.

Oh!

You were right.

- About everything. - What's this?

The script. For my serial.

I've completely rewritten it. You're going to love it.

Oh. I don't want to tell that story anymore.

- Why not? - I want a new story,

one in which I have a husband who's almost,

almost, as heroic as I am.

Aw, really?

You should tell our story.

The dangerous dealings of a dynamic duo.

Husband and wife, constable and heroine.

I would even share top billing.

- With me? - Oh, well, I mean,

it would be you, Henry, but it wouldn't actually be you.

You're not an actor.

Write this down: Chapter one, we open on the North Pole.

Agnes is endeavouring to be the first woman to conquer the Arctic.

She befriends a group of penguins who are guiding her...

You know that penguins don't actually live in the Arctic.

Sh, sh, sh, shush. Just listen.

Whose story is this anyway?