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Oh, I'll do that.

Last time you did the laundry,

you flooded the kitchen.

I'll do it after work.

You're going to be late.

I know, I know.

You look nice.

Thank you.

How are things
at Scotland Yard?

Wonderful. Inspector Blake
is such a gentlemen,

so considerate,

quite the nicest person
I've worked for.

Thank you for that.

You don't count.

Again, thank you.

Oh, I'll do them.

And yes, I'll do them properly.

Now, get your things and go.

- But...
- Coat, hat, bag, now.

Good morning, my dear.

Oh Barnabus, I'm so sorry,

I don't have time for breakfast.

I need to be in early today,
so much to do.

This is the third time
this week

we will miss breakfast
together,

and it is the cornerstone
of our day.

There's tea in the pot,
bread and jam on the table.

Lizzie will keep you company.

Miss Scarlet.

Mr. Potts.

I've never seen Ivy this happy,
Mr. Potts,

so, we all have to make
adjustments.

I am aware of that.

I do not wish to be seen as
a stick-in-the-mud,

but...I am a man of routine,

because without routine,
Miss Scarlet, there is anarchy.

Well, I have a very busy day
ahead of me.

Clarence is visiting his
mother for a few days,

and I'll be alone in the office.

So, perhaps I can trouble you

for one more break
in your routine?

To assist me with the dishes.

Miss Scarlet, I am yet to take
my morning tea,

let alone peruse
the latest headlines.

Mr. Potts...if we work together,

then Ivy will be free this
evening

to give you time and attention,
rather than

doing the washing up.

Very well, but...

I have a specific method

when it comes to the cleaning
of dishes,

which I must insist
we adhere to.

Right.

Right, indeed.

Er, I do confess,

it's been difficult to
tear myself away

from this morning's news.

The front-page stories
are grimly compelling.

Are you aware of
the Thames Reaper?

I am, indeed.
I've been following

the story with great interest.

Four murders in three

short months,

and then nothing.

Until now.

He has written a letter
to the Morning Herald,

advising he plans to kill again.

Goodness.

It...sent a chill down my spine

when I read that
the Thames Reaper is back.

We will not be safe in our beds

until he's caught.

It pains me to say this,

there are times when
I truly believe

there is something rotten

at the heart of this
great nation.

- Intriguing.
- Er...

You don't mind if
I take this, do you, Mr. Potts?

What, no, no, no, Miss Scarlet,
Miss Scarlet.

Anarchy.

"Thames Reaper returns."

Get your Morning Herald.

Read all about it.

I think you need to refer back

to what you've said already,
indeed.

- Mr. Barnes?
- What?

My name's Eliza Scarlet.

I...I wondered if I might have

a moment of your time?

Er...

1,200 words...by four o'clock.

- 1,200?
- Yes, Sir.

- Sir...
- No...

That'll do, Bailey,

thank you.

Thank you.

Er, if you're looking for work,

I already have a secretary.

I'm a private detective,
Mr. Barnes,

and I would very much like
to help your newspaper

solve the mystery
of the Thames Reaper.

You have some information?

I have a number of theories
and insights,

- as well as leads...
- Madam,

I am the editor of
a national newspaper.

I have no shortage of people
to chase up leads.

They are called journalists,

and this building is full
of them.

It's been almost a year since
the first murder,

and no-one, not the police,
not your newspaper,

nor any of your competitors,

has the slightest idea

who this Thames Reaper is.

This case needs fresh insight,

and I will work around
the clock,

seven days a week,
to bring you answers.

And you would want to be
paid for that, I presume?

Well, that is customary,

when someone provides
a service, yes.

You bring me something new,

something I don't already know,

and then perhaps
I will hire you.

Mr. Bailey...

- my name's...
- I know exactly who you are.

There are not many
lady detectives in London.

Pleasure to meet you,
Miss Scarlet.

I hear it was you who broke
the story

of the Thames Reaper?

Guilty as charged.

In fact...

these are my notes.

1,200 words by four o'clock?

Exactly.

So erm...

what brings you here?

Well, I also have an interest
in the Reaper case,

and now that he's returned,

I asked that your editor hire me

to do my own investigation.

Well, er...best of luck.

The man has short arms
and very long pockets

when it comes to paying even
his own staff.

Well, we've agreed that if I do
find any new information,

he will indeed pay me a fee.

And it oc...occurred to me that,
erm...

well, perhaps it might benefit
us both if we share

any insight that we might have
on the case.

The Reaper story has
transformed the fortunes

of the Morning Herald.

We were on the verge of closing

due to poor sales.

It's a dreadful thing to say,
but...

these murders have kept us
all in a job.

How did this story come to
your attention?

In November of last year,
a body was found

on the banks of the Thames,

near London Bridge,

a young man in his early 20s.

It appeared he had drowned.

There was little other
information,

not even his name.

Normally I would have
ignored it,

but it was a slow news day,

so, I wrote a couple of
hundred words

that ended up hidden away
on page six.

No other newspaper reported it,

and I gave it no more thought.

Then...

the next day...

a letter arrived.

It was typed on plain paper

and written all in lower case.

It simply read:

"Edward sleeps
by London Bridge."

I'd no idea what it meant,

but the mention of London Bridge

made me think of the drowning
the day before.

I spoke to a police contact,

and managed to get the name
of the dead man.

As the letter said,

it was indeed Edward.

Edward Turnbull.

Had his name been released
to the public?

No.

And the letter was posted
the day before

my story was published,

compelling evidence that whoever
wrote the letter

murdered the victim.

What happened then?

- "Our source."
- "Our source..."

I wrote a bigger story,

mentioning the mysterious
letter.

"...to be continued..."

It was a full-page article,

- this time on page two.
- Excellent.

"Our source..."

Word began to spread,

sales went up.

Press now, now, now.

Mr. Barnes, our editor,

requested follow-up articles,

poring over every detail.

By the end of the week,

it was front page news.

Three weeks later,
another body was found,

in a different part of
the river,

and another letter arrived.

Again, the location
and name correct.

Again, it was lower case,
anonymous,

and formatted in the same
precise fashion.

It became our front-page story
for days, if not weeks on end.

Circulation began to rise.

I've never seen Mr. Barnes
so happy.

- Thank you...
- Keep it up.

- I shall do.
- Won't you?

- Thank you.
- Good lad.

And the next victim was...

a month later,

found up the river
near Richmond?

It was around this time,

someone in our office,

I can't remember who,

began to use the moniker,

'The Thames Reaper.'

I didn't like the name,

but Mr. Barnes insisted
we used it.

There is something of a...

circus ringmaster about him.

And the fourth victim followed
the same pattern?

Exactly the same.

But that was six months ago,

and I believed that to be an end
to the killings,

until yesterday,
when he wrote again,

this time simply saying,

'I have returned.'

Get your hands off me.

Don't you dare touch me.

- Morning, Bob.
- Good morning, Ivy. For filing.

Oh.

Get a move on.

What? Alright.

You, come on, come on.

- Morning.
- Morning, Ivy.

Morning.

Come.

Morning, Inspector.

Miss Woods, how are you today?

Very well, thank you.

If you carry on like this,
you'll be stronger

than any man here.

I've managed to find those
records from Clerkenwell.

That's the original...
these are the copies.

Most efficient. Thank you.

And how is Miss Scarlet
coping without you?

Well, she's been very
accommodating.

So, there'll be a hot dinner
waiting for you

when you return home
this evening?

I wouldn't go that far.

Was there anything else
you needed?

Er, yes, but I think you have
quite enough

- to deal with already.
- Nonsense, what is it you need?

The new desk sergeant.
What's his name?

Bernard.

He has written up the duty log
for last night,

but his handwriting
is illegible.

Leave it with me,
I'll type it up and you'll

- have it in an hour.
- Which is exactly

what I hoped you would say.
Thank you.

Oh, and these need to be

copied and filed.
They're urgent, so...

You would rather they didn't go

in the general filing tray?

You read my mind.

I'll see to it myself.

Miss Woods...

you're a credit to
this department.

Woo. Thank you.

What are the postmarks
on the letters?

From all over the city,

each one from
a different borough.

And where are the letters now?

With the police,
which is rather vexing,

since each body was found

in the river at a different
location.

The case spans several
jurisdictions, though...

City of London Police,
the Surrey Police,

the Bow Street Division.

Do you really think you can
find something new?

I can certainly try.

And you've no idea why
he's resurfaced?

Not a clue.

Mr. Bailey?

Yes.

A telegram for you, Sir.

Thank you.

I'm being called back to
the office,

another letter's arrived.

Thank you, Mr. Stevens.

I would estimate he's been
in the water for a day.

Perhaps a little longer.

There's minimal discoloration
of the soft tissue,

with only slight bloating.

There's an open wound to
the back of the head,

possible blunt trauma injury.

Were you here when he was
pulled out?

Yes, Sir.

Was he lifted, or dragged?

Sir?

Did his feet touch the ground?

No, Sir.

Inspector Blake?

Inspector Blake?

Miss Scarlet.

Your business is to see me,
or him?

Well, both.

May I introduce Mr. Bailey

from the Morning Herald?

He's the journalist covering

the Thames Reaper story.

You believe this is connected?

I do, yes.

Another letter arrived
at our office not one hour ago.

"Caleb sleeps by
Limehouse docks."

You're working with
his newspaper?

Oh, we...in a manner of
speaking.

I'll need you to give
a statement.

Gladly, yes.

I was talking to Mr. Bailey.

I do not need a statement
from you, Miss Scarlet.

Unless there's something you
can tell me that he cannot?

Well, I've just begun
my investigation,

so not at present, no.

Then I bid you good day.

Escort Miss Scarlet
back to her carriage.

Ah, Mr. Potts.

I'm in urgent need of background
information

for a case.

Er, may I remind you
of our agreement

regarding your access
to these premises?

You need to state in writing

the nature of your business,

the name of your client,

and the duration of your stay...

with one day's notice.

Is this about the washing up?

No.

- Well, not just that...
- I give you my word,

you will not have to clean
another dish

for the next week.

Month.

And I want a cooked breakfast

or dinner

on the days when Ivy
is otherwise engaged.

Very well, I accept.

Oh, I take it you can cook?

I'm as good as they come.

We must make haste.

I have a staffing shortage

at Aldgate Mortuary,

which requires my attention.

Understood.

You might be interested to know,
Mr. Potts,

that it's the Thames Reaper
that I'm investigating.

He's killed again?

Indeed.

Well, we've received
no cadavers today.

So, the body's most likely
still at the scene,

- or in transit.
- It's just, er,

background information

that I require
on his previous victims.

I assume that even though
the bodies were found

in different parts
of the river,

that the records will be kept
here?

Oh, that is correct, yes.

We are the central office

for all such documents.

Ah.

Indeed, we have a designated
section

for all the bodies pulled
from the Thames.

Yeah, drunks,

careless boatmen,

suicides.

We receive four or five bodies

from the river each month.

More in February.

- Why February?
- It's Valentine's Day.

Many young men propose
to their sweethearts

and are rejected.

I may throw myself in,
if Ivy doesn't marry me soon.

This job of Ivy's is new

and exciting at the moment,

but things will settle down.

She used to think I was
new and exciting once.

Details of the coroner's reports
on the other victims.

You got access to the coroner's
reports after one day?

I wrote to them for months,
and didn't get a thing.

I have a friend at
the city mortuary.

Well, he's not exactly a friend.

It's a long story.

As you know, erm...

the cause of death for the
previous four victims

was drowning.

There were no obvious
defense wounds, which...

well, would suggest that
their killer

was someone with
physical strength,

Capable of holding their victims
under water

My theory has always been

that he's some kind of
manual worker,

a docker perhaps?

That was my thinking, too.

The victims were all men in
their 20s and 30s

perfectly capable of
fighting back.

And certainly the, erm...

third victim, Alexander Sochnev.

The Russian?
Yes, he was well-built

and over six feet tall.

I noticed there were very
few details

on his file, just the basics.

Not even a next of kin.

Any idea where I can get
more information on him?

Well, as I said, each body was
found in the river

at a different location.

The main frustration
with this case

is that the information
is spread out

across a variety of different

police jurisdictions.

There is someone I could perhaps
ask for help.

Absolutely not.

It's just a small favor.

A small favor that could
cost me my job.

I'm not getting you confidential
police files, Lizzie.

If you want them so badly,
ask Inspector Blake.

He's a very nice man.

So you keep saying.

You won't change my mind,
Lizzie.

You shouldn't ask such things
of me.

You're right. I'm sorry,

I'm sorry,
I shouldn't have asked.

Apology accepted...just.

Fine, I'll ask Inspector Blake.

What time will you finish?

Oh, not for another couple
of hours,

some things to finish up.

First in, last out,
don't overdo it.

You need your rest too.

I'll be fine, now go on,
off you pop.

I'm not five.

You are to me.

How many times, Miss Scarlet?

The door was open,
and I knocked.

I'm here to propose a deal.

One that I believe is mutually
beneficial.

The Thames Reaper killings began

before you took up your post

at Scotland Yard.

Er, the case notes and evidence

are spread across London

in different police divisions.

And it would take you days,
if not longer,

to gather the information.

What you need is
a concise summary

of all the key leads
and clues to date.

Names, dates, maps,
coroner reports,

together with condensed notes

and working theories
from the last year

to the present day.

I've been taking a keen interest
in the case.

So I can see.

The latest killing falls under
your jurisdiction,

but the others don't.

But, given that Scotland Yard
is now investigating the case,

I'm sure that a request
could be sent

to gather all the evidence here?

I'm surprised you didn't
ask Ivy.

I'd never put her
in that position.

So...

What do you say?

Hire me and I'll help you
catch him?

How much are you being paid
by the Morning Herald?

And don't lie,
remember I can tell.

No, you can't.

My fee's yet to be negotiated.

But given that the editor
would sell

his own grandmother for a story,

I can't imagine getting money
from him

will be much of a problem.

If you solve this,

he'll pay you more than I can.

It's not just about the money,

nor is it about the glory
of catching him...

well, maybe just a little.

It's erm...

it's an itch that I just
have to scratch.

It's a puzzle to solve,
and that puzzle's more likely

to be solved working with you.

Working for me.

Semantics.

So...

was that an offer?

It was, on one condition.

I cannot work for both

your newspaper and the police.

I'm sure you understand that
it's a conflict of interest?

I do.

Absolutely.

You've been very accommodating,
thank you.

You've quite restored my faith
in your profession.

I haven't had the best
experience with journalists.

Neither have I.

In truth, I'm not sure
how much longer

I'll continue
in my present career.

I come from a family of doctors.

My father and three older
brothers.

Are you something of
a black sheep, Mr. Bailey?

Apparently so.

Do you have any siblings?

No...there was just me.

My...my parents have both
passed away.

I'm sure they'd be proud,
if they could see you now.

I assume you won't be able to
share any working theories

Scotland Yard might have?

No, I won't.

Oh, the conversation is closed,

and all that is left to say is,

best of luck, Miss Scarlet.

Good morning, Miss Scarlet.

Inspector Blake.

Have you severed your dealings
with the newspaper?

I have.

Is that true?

I thought you could tell
when I was lying.

Very well, come along.

Where are we going?

We have an identification

for the latest victim.

I could not believe my eyes

when I saw who it was...

Caleb Hunt.

Junior clerk at
Aldgate Mortuary.

One of my colleagues
took delivery of his body

yesterday afternoon.

I was out visiting some of
the other mortuaries,

which now fall under
my jurisdiction.

Perhaps Miss Scarlet
has mentioned

that I've recently
been promoted?

She did not.

But congratulations, Mr. Potts.

Oh, thank you.

As you know, there was no
identification with the body,

So, my colleague,
Mr. Wormsley,

having never met Caleb,

failed to recognize him.

I, on the other hand,

had made Caleb's acquaintance

several times at Aldgate.

What can you tell us about him?

A rather odd fellow.

Withdrawn.

Few, if...if any, friends.

And as for his timekeeping,

well, I do not exaggerate
when I say

it was most unsatisfactory.

So, when he did not turn up for
work yesterday afternoon,

it rang no alarm bells.

Has the post-mortem
been completed?

Ah. Last night.

A fracture of the skull,

just above the nape of the neck,

most likely the cause of death.

Not drowning, like the others?

Er, the lungs of
a drowned cadaver

would be filled with water,

due to involuntary inhalation.

His lungs were empty.

So, he was dead before
he entered the water.

There were scuff marks
on the heels of his boots.

I would wager he was dragged
to the river,

having been killed
somewhere else.

Where did he live?

Limehouse.

Not far from where
his body was found.

Do you have the address?

Come and get
your fresh fish.

Something about this
latest murder

that's different
from the others,

the letter sent by the Reaper

arrived the same day that
the body was found.

And with the others,
it was a day later?

What do you think caused
this change in behavior?

Perhaps something forced him
to panic.

Or someone.

Caleb's lodging room
must be up here.

Good God.

The man was obsessed.

Caleb Hunt's murder
was no random killing.

Go to Scotland Yard,

get some men to help
with the search.

I've sent message to the Yard,

uniform will be here shortly

to help with the search.

We're perfectly capable
of searching

the room ourselves.

It's called following procedure,
Miss Scarlet.

You should try it some time.

Besides, we may miss something.

I make it my business
not to miss a thing.

Cheerful fellow, wasn't he?

Still, everyone needs a hobby,
I suppose?

He worked in the mortuary

and saw first-hand victims.

Perhaps he was carrying out

his own investigation.

Perhaps.

Or he got too close to
the killer's identity

and became the next victim?

There's also the possibility
that he himself was the killer.

Perhaps the last victim
fought back

and killed him in self-defense.

Now, what do we have here?

Now, I would wager this was
a key

to a safe deposit box.

I've seen similar before.

Does it not seem odd that a man
who lived in such squalor

would have need
for a safe deposit box?

It's not only valuables people
wish to hide.

Secrets, too.

We need to find out how many
banks in London

have safe deposit boxes.

I would guess it's between
20 to 30.

I will then need to apply for
multiple warrants

for multiple banks.

That will take time,

So, I doubt we'll be able
to pursue this lead

for at least a few days.

Or we could just go here,

Bank of Switzerland,

Threadneedle Street, box 17?

This is most irregular.

Nevertheless, I think you'll
find everything covered

in the search warrant.

So, if you would be kind enough
to open box 17?

If you insist.

Er, may I ask,
is the box in question

registered to a Mr. Caleb Hunt?

The Bank does not hold lists

of clients' names here.

No names, no questions,

absolute privacy.

I would have thought that
was obvious.

Inspector, can you please
sign here?

And here.

And here.

Thank you.

Nothing.

Might you be able to give us
a description

of the account holder?

There are many boxes,

and many clients at this bank.

I merely give them access to
the room.

I don't sit here to see
which client

opens which box.

What a ridiculous suggestion.

Herr Klinsman,

I shall take you straight down
to Scotland Yard,

waste many hours of your time
for no other reason

than I find your rudeness
extremely irksome.

But what I can tell you is that
there are two clients

registered to this particular
box.

Each has their own key.

And the account holder
information

is not kept here,
you say?

It is kept in our head office
in Switzerland.

Then please, send a telegram

and request the information.

Does your warrant cover
Switzerland, Inspector?

No, but it will.

Thank you.

Pompous, jumped-up little clerk.

I can't abide any kind of
rudeness.

I seem to remember that you were
rather rude to me

when we first met.

Getting the warrant will take
some time.

Given that it's another
country, I'll need to

speak to the Foreign Office.

Let's meet again when I have
what we need.

Well, in the meantime,
I'll go through the case notes

and see if there's anything
I missed.

I thought you made it
your business

not to miss a thing,
Miss Scarlet?

Back to the station.

Good day, Miss Scarlet.

Oh, er, Mr. Bailey?

I...I apologize for
interrupting.

I won't keep you.

No, er, please.

I have come to make you
an offer,

to which you will say no.

The whole thing should take
no longer than a minute,

and then I will let you

get on with your day.

I'm listening?

Now that you're working for
Scotland Yard,

our editor has become far more
interested in you.

Mr. Barnes wishes to offer you

a fee to pass on any information

that you glean from working
with Scotland Yard.

All in the strictest confidence,
of course.

Does he, now?

He wishes me to offer a fee
of �10.

However...he confided I have
the leeway to go to �20,

if you are a tough negotiator,

which I assume you are.

Well, you assume correctly.

But...

I'm afraid the answer is no.

Which is what I told my editor
you would say,

but he threatened to dismiss me
if I didn't at least try.

And...that was me trying.

Well...I shall leave you to
your business.

Er, however...

our paths may not cross again,

so, there is something else.

I wondered might you be free
tomorrow evening, to dine?

Er, not to discuss the case,
you understand, just as...

Well, as...two people who wish
to go out to dinner.

Oh.

Er...

Er...

I shall give you some time to
think on it.

You know where to contact me.

Good day, Miss Scarlet.

Good day, Mr. Bailey.

Eww. Urgh.

Good Lord.

Good evening, Miss Scarlet.

Oh. Mr. Potts.

Ivy's not home yet, I'm afraid.

But it's nigh on eight o'clock.

Pfft...

Urgh.

Urgh.

Why do I bother?

What's troubling you,
Miss Scarlet?

I'm tired, I'm hungry,

and I do not have the skill
or the patience

to cook anything edible.

I thought you said you
could cook?

Well, I lied.

Sorry, that was uncalled for.

Cooking is a mystery to me,

and one that I cannot seem
to fathom.

Cooking is no mystery.

It's science, plain and simple.

Chemistry, to be precise.

Up you get.

What, why?

I am going to teach you
how to cook.

Oh, you can cook, Mr. Potts?

How do you think I survived
on my own all these years?

In fact, my plum pudding

is really rather delicious.

You see, cooking
is all about preparation.

We do not try to improvise,
or, God forbid,

see it as some sort of
artistic endeavor.

Instead, we plan, plan
and plan again.

- If you say so.
- I do indeed.

Now, let's clear
this little lot up

and start afresh, shall we?

So, that's the potatoes done.

In the bowl.

And we put the bowl at the top
of the line, because...?

Er, we want all our ingredients
in order of usage.

Very good.

-
- Ah!

I'm feeling...strangely serene.

It's a feeling quite alien to me

when it comes to cooking.

I like this approach.

I too find cooking
a relaxing pursuit.

However, I must admit,

I prefer it when Ivy
cooks for me.

She's after all,
a wonderful cook,

and a wonderful woman.

Ivy thinks a great deal of you,
Mr. Potts,

a great deal, indeed.

Right.

Onto the next stage,
the cooking.

Ah.

The water is now
at boiling point.

At an exact temperature of
212 degrees Fahrenheit.

Potatoes, if you please?

Erm...

I really must congratulate you,
Miss Scarlet.

You have proved to be
an excellent student.

Diligent, willing to learn.

Thank you, Mr. Potts.

I wish I could say the same

for some of my students at work.

In particular,
and I don't mean to

speak ill of the dead,
poor Caleb.

Try as I might to teach him,

he was not a good student.

I had to correct
his administrative errors

on more than one occasion.

Including on a cadaver
involved in the very case

you're working on at the moment.

The, erm, Thames Reaper?

Yeah.

Caleb made a woeful mistake.

However, I'm a man of detail
and duly corrected it,

so, no harm done.

What mistake?

Thank you, Mr. Stevens.

Take it down, lads.

Sir.

I want everything
carefully itemized.

Yes, Sir.

So, gentle does it.

It needs to remain intact.

Inspector Blake, can I have
a moment?

Miss Scarlet.

Last night, I had a conversation

with Mr. Potts about Caleb Hunt.

Obviously I didn't go
into details

about what we found here,
but what I did learn

was that, as a junior clerk,

one of his responsibilities

was to log the possessions
found on the corpses

that were brought into
the mortuary.

According to Mr. Potts,

he was rather slapdash.

Sometimes he'd miss things out,

sometimes he'd make
spelling mistakes,

and this was exactly the case

with the third victim,

a Russian named
Aleksander Sochnev.

Caleb misspelled
the Russian's name.

He spelled Aleksander
with an 'X'

and Sochnev with an 'F'.

Mr. Potts noticed

a few days later
and corrected it,

but by that time,

the Reaper had already sent

the letter to the newspaper,

with the exact same

spelling mistakes.

So, Caleb passed on
the identities of the dead

to whoever wrote the letters.

Probably in return for money.

And that's why the letters to
the newspaper

took a couple of days after each
body was found.

The Reaper had to wait for Caleb

to send the information.

Sir.

What have you been up to, Caleb?

It's a blackmail letter.

Caleb Hunt requesting
more money,

since his last demand
was ignored,

and if he doesn't receive
the money,

he'll expose the truth

about the Thames Reaper.

He names the recipient
of the letter.

Mr. Sydney Barnes, Editor,
The Morning Herald.

This is ludicrous!

I am no murderer.

I am the editor of
a national newspaper.

There is no Thames Reaper,
Mr. Barnes, you made him up.

The bodies were just some
poor souls

found in the Thames,

accidental deaths, suicides,

and with the help of Caleb Hunt
providing identities,

you were able to claim
the deaths

were the work of some figment

of your imagination.

And why on earth would I want to
do that?

Perhaps to increase
circulation, because

your newspaper
was failing.

I've never even met

this Caleb Hunt.

Really?

He was blackmailing someone
to give him money

in return for his silence

regarding the Reaper's identity.

And according to his letter,

that someone was you,
Mr. Barnes.

And I believe this is what
accounts for Caleb's murder.

I've had no dealings
with this man.

Come.

Sir.

The Bank of Switzerland have
confirmed your name

is the registered account holder

for a safe deposit box

used by Mr. Hunt.

I believe this was
a drop-off point for money

between the two of you
to pay for his services.

I will not say one more word

before speaking with my lawyer.

Barnes is denying it, of course,
but...

there's enough evidence
to charge him.

Perhaps in the future,
you might ask before

opening my new bottle of whisky.

Well...

I was waiting for a rather
long time.

Perhaps if you'd allowed me to
attend the questioning.

Are you negotiating with me,
Miss Scarlet?

Erm...yes.

Perhaps in the future
you may attend.

I will think on it.

I will need a full report
of the case

on my desk first thing.

First thing?

That's what I expect from
my men,

I'll not make exception for you.

Of course.

Is that a problem?

Are you otherwise engaged
this evening?

Well...it was a possibility,
yes.

Good day, Inspector Blake.

I may not be home for dinner.

At this rate, neither will I.

Are you dining out?

Erm...

possibly.

With Inspector Blake?

No, not Inspector Blake.

Why would you assume that?

Well, you've been spending much
time together recently.

It's someone else.

- Someone you haven't met.
- Who?

I just said it was someone
you haven't met.

He seems like a nice enough man.

But?

I'm not sure I will go.
I...I don't know him well.

That's the point in spending
time together, Lizzie.

Like me and Barnabus.

It wasn't love at first sight.

- It was for him.
- But...

once we spent more time
together,

we got closer.

Speaking of Mr. Potts...

- Huh?
- I'll let you get on.

- Miss Scarlet?
- Mr. Potts.

Barnabus...

what are you doing here?

I have some exciting news.

Reverend Harvey has had
a cancellation...

next month.

So, he wondered if we'd like to

book it for our wedding day.

I'm at work, Barnabus,
and very busy.

Inspector Blake is waiting on
some notes,

not to mention my other duties

that I'm neglecting.

But your shift ends soon,

I was hoping to escort you home.

I will be working late
this evening.

Again?

I really must get on.

Very well, my dear.

Very well.

I got your note.

I booked a table at Barons.

Oh, lovely.

You heard about your editor,
Mr. Barnes?

The whole office has.

I never warmed to the man.

But I did not think him capable
of such deceit.

I don't know the full story,
of course.

But we have all evening for you
to enlighten me.

Do not worry, Miss Scarlet.

I merely tease.

I shall not be trying to coax
any information out of you.

I'm very much...off duty.

Shall we?

Come.

I've got those files ready
for you, Inspector.

Miss Woods.

Why are you still here?

Oh, well, I had to finish those
reports,

and then there was
the filing to do,

and the logbooks to transcribe.

But another hour or so,
and I'll be done.

You cannot work this amount
of hours,

you'll make yourself ill.

I'm fine.

Please.

You do not look fine.

Perhaps I've bitten off more
than I can chew.

The truth is, between your needs

and the rest of my duties,

the volume of work
is great, indeed.

But I so want to do my very
best for you, Inspector...

for everyone.

Miss Woods,
you're clearly not coping.

So, I believe we need to
rethink your position.

It's beyond comprehension
that a man

could behave such a way.

Not to mention how humiliating
it is personally for me.

The paper will be
a laughingstock

when the news breaks,

and so will I.

I've just spent the last year
writing about a killer

who doesn't actually exist.

Perhaps I'll make
a career change.

How's the private detective
business these days?

I...I...I apologize, I...

promised not to talk about
the case,

and that is all I've done.

Let us talk about
something else entirely.

Like how elegant you look.

I'm only sorry I did not have
time to change, I...

do you an injustice,
Miss Scarlet.

You are too kind, Mr. Bailey.

As for the case,

I'm more than happy
to discuss it,

and the crucial piece
of evidence

against Mr. Barnes.

There was a safe deposit box

in a bank on
Threadneedle Street.

It's a place where money
was deposited between...

your editor and the mortuary
clerk, Caleb Hunt.

We found the clerk's key
to the box,

but as yet no luck

with the key that belonged
to Mr. Barnes.

Intriguing.

And now I know why.

Because you have it on your
keyring, Mr. Bailey.

When we left your office,
it wasn't you

talking about the case
that unsettled me so.

It was watching you lock up
your desk.

And when we arrived
at the restaurant,

contrary to what I told you,

I didn't go to the powder room.

I went to the cloakroom...

to search your coat.

You invented
the Thames Reaper story.

You tried to cover your tracks

by posing as your editor
when you hired Caleb.

And did the same when you
secured the safe deposit box.

But when Caleb blackmailed you
with the threat

of exposing what you'd done...

you killed him.

I'll not sit here and be
insulted by this nonsense.

But you yourself said the paper
was on the verge of closing?

This was your way to improve
circulation, wasn't it?

I sent a message
to Scotland Yard

the moment I found the key.

Lads.

Look...

Mr. Bailey was in pieces
just being cuffed.

I doubt it'll take much to get
a full confession.

I take it you would like to
attend the questioning?

Yes, very much so, thank you.

But perhaps next time you might

wish to wear
something a little...

less eye-catching.

Barnabus.

Ivy?

You should not be out alone

at this time of night.

I have some news.

Some very exciting news.

Inspector Blake has asked me

to dedicate myself
to his work only,

like his assistant.

Oh.

Oh, I'm...I'm bursting with
pride, my dear.

I've missed you.

I've missed you.

Well, you'll miss me no longer.

From now on, my hours
will be more civilized.

What say...

we have a nice glass of sherry

by the fireside to celebrate?

I wholly endorse that idea.

Perhaps while we sip sherry,

we can discuss the wedding date

that Reverend Harvey
has offered?

Let's just enjoy the evening
together, Barnabus.

We'll...we'll talk about it
another time.

Of course, my dear.

Of course...another time.