01x07 - Body Double

[bunniefuu]

[ Laughter, indistinct conversations ]

CRABTREE: Sir, let's have another look.

Oh, that's remarkable.

What's the ruckus, gentlemen?

Ah, sir, you have to see this.

Murdoch. I might have known. It's called a Kinetoscope, sir.

And I suppose it can detect guilt or differentiate between strands of hair and whatnot, can it?

No, no, but the interesting thing about hair follicles is they're actually receptacles --

Murdoch, I'm off to the theater.

Not even you can ruin it.

The theater, sir? You'll love the Kinetoscope. It shows a moving picture of a --

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I've heard all about this nonsense.

We have Shakespeare playing at the Grand, and you'd rather watch a man with a head cold sneeze every 10 seconds.

[ Thunder crashes ]

It's every 5 seconds, sir.

5 seconds.

MAN: Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen.

The show is about to begin.

Please take your seats, ladies and gentlemen.

The show is about to begin.

Evening.

After you, ladies.

MAN: Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen.

The show is about to begin.

[ Applause ]

This is a sorry sight.

A foolish thought to say a sorry sight.

MACBETH: There's one did laugh in's sleep.

And one cried, " m*rder! "

" m*rder! "

[ Applause ]

What is it she does now?

Look how she rubs her hands. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands.

I have seen her continue in this a quarter of an hour.

LAD Y MACBETH: Yet here's a spot.

DOCTOR: She speaks.

Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

One, two.

Why, then 'tis time to do it.

Hell is murky.

[ Creaking ]

Fie, my lord, fie!

Aah!

MAN: Bravo!

[ Audience exclaiming ]

MAN: Fantastic!

Nobody move!

MURDOCH: Must have made quite an entrance.

BRACKENREID: Audience lapped it up. lgnorant sods thought it was part of the play.

What play is that?

The Scottish play.

Scottish play? I thought it was " Macbeth. "

Murdoch!

You don't say the real name in a theater.

The play's a bit cursed.

So it would seem.

Any idea how long he's been deceased?

The body might have taken a year or more to reach this state, but after that, it could be any length of time.

And the gender?

Choffin' hell. He's wearing trousers.

There's only one way to find out.

You won't find anything left in there.

Judging by the pelvic bone, I'd have to say male.

[ Chuckles ]

Who owns this theater, sir?

Stella Smart. Lead actress in tonight's play.

Ah, Lady Macbeth.

Murdoch, the curse!

Right. She doesn't need any more bad luck.

We'll need to speak with her.

The cast are in their dressing room.

First, let's have a look at where our friend has been hiding all this time.

1 , 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.

We're going to need our lanterns.

Hope you're not afraid of heights, sir. It's a storage area of some sort, for props and rigging.

Looks like the maid must have been given the day off.

6... 7...

8...

9, 10.

The roof's been leaking for some time.

The floor's been cut.

BRACKENREID: And nailed back down again.

Ah, hang on a sec.

[ Grunting ]

What's this?

Sorry!

Looks like our victim left behind his jacket.

BRACKENREID: Listen, Murdoch, I'll ask all the questions, right?

Sir?

They're actors.

In my experience, you need to tread softly.

Your experience, sir?

Remember, these people are a sensitive lot.

ARTHUR: Ellen, you ungrateful cow!

Don't you call her that!

Arthur will say what he feels!

Yes, sensitive lot.

Yes?

Toronto Police Department.

We need to ask you some questions.

Come in. I'm so sorry you had to overhear our little tiff.

A poor performance can be quite trying.

I should think a dead body more trying than a poor performance. I'm sorry. It's been a very difficult evening, what with that horrid thing coming down.

Which marred your otherwise perfect performance.

Thank you.

That horrid thing you refer to was a man, and we have reason to believe he was m*rder*d.

m*rder*d? In my theater?

The body was hidden between the floor joists.

You don't have any idea how it got there or who it might be?

No, no. I'm sorry, no.

How long have you owned the theater?

Well, ever since my first husband Virgil d*ed.

Arthur and I manage it together now, don't we, Arthur?

We do, we do.

So, you two are married?

Well, I kept my first husband's name.

Virgil was a very important man, and I wanted to honor him. It was best for Stella's career.

So, how long have you been with the theater?

We've all been here for years.

I did my very first performance in this theater.

And how long ago was that?
20, 30 years?

Murdoch!

22.

And how long have you been here?

6 years. I started playing Juliet.

And you?

DAVl D: The same. I was Romeo.

My Romeo. I've been here four years.

How long has the body been here?

Undetermined at this point.

So, it could have been decades?

MURDOCH: Or not. It's quite possible you knew and worked with the victim.

Who had access to the room above the stage?

Well, anyone, I suppose.

Stagehands mostly.

We've even caught vagrants sleeping up there.

Remember the vagrant?

Oh, yes. The vagrant.

We'll need a list of all the stagehands that have worked here in the last few years.

Could be a long list, sir.

Then you better get started.

Sir, what about the cast?

What about them? I'll need to look at them, too.

Fine.

Sir, you seem quite taken with Mrs. Smart.

She's an outstanding talent.

I haven't missed a single production she's been in since I arrived in Toronto. I'll need to look at her also.

Mm.

Look into all the actors and stagehands.

And vagrants as well. Check them all. I'll get the men right on it, sir.

Clue?

Sorry, sir.

[ Clears throat ]
Perhaps. It's a newspaper headline, or at least part of one.

Sir, might I ask you a question?

Certainly.

This Shakespeare.

The boys and I have been reading up on it, for the case and all.

We're finding it a bit perplexing.

Well, the language is archaic, but that's only part of understanding Shakespeare.

The hard part, I hope. It's more about opening your mind to the message in the words.

Oh, opening one's mind, eh?

MURDOCH: The more pressing question is "What message is in this headline?"

CRABTREE: Well, that's an "S" obviously.

Yes.

Uh, could be a "T. "

No, "S" and "C" are givens, so this would need to be a vowel.

"K. "

"Sick. "

"C" again.

Yes.

"C. "

That's a tough one. Tough sequence, really.

You know, this could make a really wonderful game.

Concentrate, George.

Let's write the obvious ones.

"N. "

"N. "

"Sick Cauldron Orange. "

No.

Close, close. I'll need you to get me some newspapers, George.

May 11 , 1892. Right.

Now we know when.

All we need is the who.

And the why as well, I guess.

Like, why was he interested in a children's hospital?

MURDOCH: Maybe he wasn't.

Ohh!

"Alas, poor Yorick!

I knew him, Horatio. "

[ Laughs ]
A little morgue humor.

Uh, yes, very funny.

Here, put some balm on your upper lip. lt'll help mask the stench.

And what has Yorick to say for himself?

Quite a bit, actually. There's evidence of arthritis.

Age, approximately 40 years.

Did you happen to notice anything unusual on the upper torso?

Very good, William.

There's a nick in one of the ribs.

MURDOCH: Any idea of the w*apon?

A dagger, perhaps?

Possibly something with a duller edge.

Whatever it was, it likely slid past the rib cage and penetrated the heart.

And did you find anything that might help identify him?

I believe so.

Dentures. lvory. It's fine workmanship, too.

[ Man screaming ]

Dr. Murphey? Dr. Murphey?

Detective William Murdoch.

I need to ask you some questions.

We'll have to make it quick, Detective.

Leave them alone too long and they run.

I understand the impulse.

Would you happen to recognize these?

Of course.

An artist never forgets his work.

BRACKENREID: Now, remember, Murdoch, this woman is...

MURDOCH: Sensitive, sir?

BRACKENREID: Just let me handle things.

Have you any news about last night?

BRACKENREID: As a matter of fact, yes.

We believe the victim d*ed on or around May the 11 th, 1892.

Do you remember anything about that period?

May '92.

We were doing the Scottish play, and I was playing the lead.

The reviews were excellent.

Oh, you are too kind.

I would have thought something more important might have come to mind.

No.

BRACKENREID: Mrs. Smart... that was the date of the passing of your first husband.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God, you're right. Virgil!

Oh, I must have put it right out of my mind, but what has Virgil to do with anything?

Because the body that fell onto the stage was...

Virgil?

ARTHUR: Stella? Stella?

Are you all right?

But that thing can't be Virgil.

I was at his funeral. I saw him buried.

Shh, shh.

And you never looked directly at the body?

No, no, actually never.

BRACKENREID: Not even at the wake?

No, I couldn't bear to look at him, so I requested a closed casket.

Shh, shh, shh.

Mrs. Smart, do you have any idea why someone might have wanted to harm your former husband?

No, none.

We found a scrap of newspaper in his clothing.

On it was an article about the building boom in Toronto's downtown.

I ncreased construction. I ncreased property value.

I fail to see the significance.

Your theater is in that area.

So?

So, the theater's value would have been extremely high.

What are you suggesting?

Perhaps your former husband was trying to sell.

Well, it might explain some things, Stella.

What sort of things?

There were some shady sorts coming and going, looking for Virgil.

Could they have been interested in the theater?

ARTHUR: Well, it's not something we're proud to admit, but the theater was in some financial difficulty back then.

There are some people who prefer to watch vulgar variety acts rather than experiencing true theater.

ARTHUR: Perhaps someone knew of our financial situation and they hired these thugs to force Virgil to sell.

Oh, God, poor Virgil.

We'll look into this, won't we, Detective?

Yes, sir.

Inspector? If that was Virgil's body that fell from the rafters, then whom did I bury? It's so difficult to find a good skeleton these days.

Now I have two.

Strange. lsn't it?

Oh, I mean the case.

Oh, how so?

The motive is unclear to me.

Unclear?

Yes, apparently, there were some questionable sorts trying to intimidate Virgil Smart into selling the theater.

You don't think that was the case.

Why hide the body in the theater?

There are much better places to hide a body.

Exactly.

And what's even more troubling is even if they did m*rder Virgil Smart, they didn't end up with the theater.

But his wife did.

Yes, she did, didn't she?

Male, mid-40s, I'd estimate. It's curious how similar the victims are.

Note the pelvic girdle, almost identical in length.

Likewise, the femur and tibia.

Roughly the same in height and stature. It's not just that.

Mr. Smart had an elongated frontal lobe. It's very unusual.

Now take a look at our unknown friend.

Very similar.

The two must have borne more than a passing resemblance.

Coincidence?

Possibly.

Any identifiable features?

I couldn't get much from the teeth.

I might find more later.

Whoever he is, his identity could hold the key to this case.

I imagine you'll have a devil of a time finding a name.

A body with characteristics very similar to Virgil Smart's.

Yes, yes. I'm not stupid, Murdoch.

There's also a company of actors who may know who this second victim is.

Does that mean you're coming around, then?

Not entirely.

But I will concede that they're our only link to the m*rder*r.

MURDOCH: I'll bring them in for questioning.

BRACKENREID: Mrs. Smart.

Please tell me what happened the day that Virgil d*ed.

Must l? I'm afraid so.

Would you care to take a seat, ma'am?

Thank you.

We were rehearsing for the Scottish play.

We were rehearsing for the Scottish play.

Having never worked harder in our lives.

Soon, all performances were booked.

No doubt due largely to yourself.

Do stop.

The city had never seen such a success.

Oh, how we celebrated!

We celebrated.

Oh, how we celebrated!

Oh, how we celebrated!

As usual, Virgil locked himself in his office to go over the evening's receipts.

Normally, he'd join us after a spell.

But this time, he failed to do so.

So, of course, Stella sent Ellen to seek him out.

You understand, I adore Stella, but that woman can do nothing herself.

So I sent Ellen to seek him out.

She knocked at his door.

[ Knocking, pounding ]

There was no answer.

ELLEN: We became worried, and our evening of splendor turned to one of distress.

What if he was ill? What if he had collapsed?

We needed to get inside!

Luckily, there was a constable just outside.

This constable, do you recall his name?

Constable Morrison.

Called himself Morrison.

Morrison, I believe.

The door broke in with a crash.

There was Virgil.

Slumped over his desk.

Facedown.

Not moving one muscle.

Ellen ran for the nearest doctor, of course.

And the doctor, do you recall his name?

Yes, as a matter of fact. Dr. Watkins. It was Watkins.

Watkins.

Dr. Watkins.

The news Watkins delivered was tragic.

Virgil had d*ed of a heart failure.

We were all devastated, of course, but we had to stay strong for Stella.

I couldn't bear to look at Virgil, my beloved husband.

I know this is extremely painful, Mrs. Smart, but we must do this for Virgil's sake.

There's only so much a woman can bear.

You loved him, didn't you?

As Juliet would say, "Our love was as deep and boundless as the sea. "

[ Crying ]

Every question, every detail.

Everything clear, organized, and precise.

They remember the name of the constable that came to their aid, even the doctor that determined the cause of death, everything.

Stress has a way of fusing memories.

I remember when I was a wee boy, I broke my leg playing rugby.

I still remember every detail of that doctor's room.

Even the way he smelled of tobacco and peppermint.

One person I could understand.

But four people, each with identical memories? It's almost as if they were...

Rehearsed.

Precisely.

"Fillet of a fenny snake, in the cauldron boil and bake. "

HIGGINS: Sounds like one of my mother's recipes.

George.

Sir?

I need you to find a Constable Morrison.

Morrison?

Yes, he attended the death of Virgil Smart.

Find him and bring him around to the Grand Theatre this afternoon.

CRABTREE: Consider it done.

Uh, sir?

Shakespeare.

He's really just writing about the human heart, isn't he, sir?

Well observed.

"A kind heart he hath.

A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart. "

" Merry Wives of Windsor. "

I'm impressed.

You're the first.

The Jesuits thought I was far too analytical for literature.

Nonsense.

I heard you're looking for Dr. Watkins.

I am. Do you know him? I'm afraid he's dead, but his reputation lives on.

His reputation?

Dr. Watkins had a knack for misdiagnosis. It was he who determined Virgil Smart d*ed of heart failure at his desk.

Even he could not have mistaken heart att*ck for death by Kn*fe.

Unless it wasn't Mr. Smart at the desk.

Our other unknown body.

Exactly.

That would fit with my findings. His hyoid bone was crushed.

The unknown victim was strangled.

OGDEN: Yes.

And Dr. Watkins could have mistaken that for a heart att*ck.

So, if, as you suspect, the two bodies were somehow switched, then...

All the more reason we need to find his identity.

I think I have a way.

Oh, and, um... Let's see, somewhere... Aha!

Clay? Is this really the time for arts and crafts?

No. His.

His what?

Wilhelm His.

The German anatomist who re-created Bach's face by determining the average tissue depth over each bone.

I thought you could use this to... Re-create our poor man's face.

It's brilliant.

Well, I broke in the door, and he was lying on his desk, just over there.

And you're quite sure the door was locked from the inside? I'm positive.

The key was found on the desk. The bolt was sh*t home.

Did you examine the body?

No.

No, a doctor was called for straightaway.

Three floors up.

No fire escape.

What are you looking for, sir?

The victim was strangled.

I very much doubt he did it to himself.

But there was no one in here.

And you can see for yourself there's no place to hide.

Oh, but I think there is.

Um, sir? If I may...

[ Clicking ]

Well done, George.

What do we have here? A love nest?

Lead us not into temptation, George.

Yes, sir.

MORR lSON: There is some broken glass here, sir. It looks to be a wineglass, Detective.

Sir.

Bloodstain, I believe.

Gentlemen, I believe what we have found here is the real m*rder scene.

BRACKENREID: So, this old theater is finally giving up its secrets, is it?

And that of Virgil.

I believe he used this room for trysts.

BRACKENREID: Stabbed here.

We've found fingermarks on three wineglasses.

Two on the table and one thrown against the wall here.

Lover's quarrel, jealous husband.

We also found a letter opener that appears to have been wiped clean, likely of blood and fingermarks. It's disappointing.

Sir, it could lead to an arrest.

No, no, no, no, no. I mean this world, this theater.

There are other theaters.

BRACKENREID: Not like this theater.

A real stage that gives voice to the Bard.

Nowadays, it's all singing pirates and bloody hypnotists.

Every art has an evolution.

Evolution?

To stand on stage and recite his words is nothing less than a privilege, Murdoch.

One I trust you've had.

I did take to the stage.

Just the once, amateur theater.

I was terrified the entire time.

When the final curtain fell, I wanted to do the whole thing all over again.

What part did you play?

Second clown.

"Hamlet. "

One of my favorites, sir.

Did you think to pursue it?

Once upon a time, maybe.

Then I joined the regiment, met the wife, had the bairns.

The bairns?

Children. No regrets. If we close down this theater, I'm helping put another nail in the Bard's coffin.

The man has been around for 300 years, Inspector.

Something tells me he's not going anywhere.

Carry on, Murdoch.

I wondered where the old dog was doing his mischief.

And I suppose it wasn't his wife he was entertaining in that room.

ARTHUR: Stella?

[ Laughs ]
Good gracious, no.

So, you knew Virgil was seeing other women?

Suspected.

Any idea who these conquests might have been?

Oh, any woman who set foot on that stage was fair game, as far as I could tell.

Miss Granger?

Ellen?

Not that I know of, but anything's possible. I'm sorry. I haven't been much help.

Actually, you've been a great help. Thank you.

I don't see how.

But thank you for the tea, Detective.

No. Thank you.

So, you had no knowledge of this secret room?

None whatsoever.

Did Miss Granger? If you are implying what I think you are, I must warn you.

I will defend my fiancée's honor.

No offense was meant, really. I'm trying to establish who might have been in that room.

Dozens of women, I'm sure.

But not Ellen.

Of course.

Could this have been one of them?

I could hardly recall one in particular, sir.

Thank you.

Miss Granger, did Virgil ever entice you into his room?

Really, Detective.

How could you suggest such a thing?

Well, it seems he lured nearly every woman he knew there. I'm not every woman.

Excuse me, Detective.

[ Door opens ]

[ Door closes ]

STELLA: Virgil and I had no secrets.

But Virgil did have a hidden room.

And one with rather suggestive decor.

Inspector, you've demonstrated nothing but the qualities of a gentleman.

Until now.

My apologies, Mrs. Smart.

Besides, what possible need would Virgil have for other women?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to be late for my matinee.

Could I ask one last imposition of you?

I really do not think so!

Not even an autograph for an admirer?

Oh, all right, very well.

Thank you.

[ Tapping ]

[ Horse whinnies ]

Well?

See for yourself. It simply means that she was in the room at some point.

And for some reason got angry enough to throw a wineglass.

As the Bard would say, Murdoch, "Foul whisperings are abroad. "

OGDEN: Inspector.

Doctor.

I have your head.

Oh. And?

See for yourself.

Oh. Is there something wrong?

I thought it turned out quite well.

MURDOCH: No, no.

The quality's exceptional.

OGDEN: What's the matter?

Nothing.

Just that, now that I know what he looked like, so many other questions come to mind.

Who was he?

Did he have a family?

Do they miss him?

And why did this man have to die?

And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this. If we should fail? If we should fail? If we should fail?

We fail! Is something bothering you tonight, Stella?

Whatever do you mean, my dear?

She means you missed two cues.

I think we need someone else to play the Messenger.

That actor's a disaster.

[ Knock on door ]

I hope I'm not interrupting.

STELLA: Detective.

What were you doing in the wings?

Has there been some development in the case?

Yes.

Yes, I was hoping you might help me identify someone.

Of course.

[ Gasps ]

So, you do recognize him? It's Eddie.

Yes, it's Eddie.

Eddie. Eddie Green.

Green. I'll admit I'm relieved that you do recognize him.

Why is that, Detective?

Because Eddie was buried in Virgil Smart's grave.

STELLA: Eddie Green.

He had a small part in "Othello. "

Eddie only had small parts.

He was utterly lacking in talent.

I don't know why Virgil kept him around as long as he did.

As long as he did?

Well, a few days before Virgil d*ed, he cut Eddie from the cast.

He seemed quite upset about being fired.

And when Mr. Green disappeared, no one thought to inquire where he'd gone?

Oh, we all just assumed he'd gone to seek his fame and fortune elsewhere.

MURDOCH: They're all in this together.

BRACKENREID: They all knew about Eddie?

Every last one of them. I'm convinced of it.

Even Stella Smart?

Not one of them was surprised or upset to hear about Eddie Green's death.

What evidence do we have?

Fingermarks.

But that only proves...

That they were in the room at some point.

But they did lie about being there.

Motive?

Something to do with the sale of the theater.

That's circumstantial, at best.

What next?

They're a troupe putting on a performance.

BRACKENREID: So?

What would happen if their lines were all suddenly rewritten?

They'd have to improvise.

Yes.

And perhaps, when unscripted, they might all tell a different story.

Oh, Stella.

This is most peculiar.

Why on Earth would he want us in costume?

Thank you all for coming.

Detective, what is the meaning of this?

I need your assistance in solving this case.

ARTHUR: Assistance?

I fail to see how dressing in costume can help.

DAVl D: I must agree.

Besides, we've already told you everything we know.

And I appreciate that.

However, what I hope to do, with your help, is re-create key moments leading up to the discovery of Virgil's body.

What on Earth for?

I believe I'm overlooking something.

And I hope that by restaging these events, whatever that is will become apparent to me.

Detective Murdoch, this is highly unusual.

MURDOCH: I'll admit that, Mrs. Smart.

But this case is highly unusual.

Can I count on your assistance?

All right.

Good.

So, you were performing the Scottish play.

And no doubt you were...

Brilliant.

We all were.

Of course.

So, the curtain came down, but Virgil failed to join you.

So you sent Ellen to seek him out.

Well, yes.

Here's my first question. Why send Ellen?

Well --

Wait. No.

Ellen, I believe you said, "That woman can do nothing for herself. "

Wasn't that it?

Perhaps something to that effect.

MURDOCH: Well, there.

That's one question answered already.

Moving on.

Virgil!

Virgil!

That's enough.

So, you got no answer?

Correct.

What were you thinking? What were you feeling?

Well, I , uh, feared for Virgil.

Of course, of course.

And, Mr. Wellesley, where were you?

Backstage.

Right.

So, what did you do next, Mr. Martin?

I ran for the police officer to help break down the door.

Right.

So, fearing for Virgil's life, you decided not to seek the help of any stagehands or Arthur, but rather chance finding a constable on foot patrol.

Yes.

Somewhat out of character for you, but, all right, we'll go with that.

You found a constable.

Morrison!

Sir?

Ah. You all remember him.

Now, Constable Morrison is not an actor, but I'm sure if he just lets himself be natural, he'll be of great help to us.

Constable Morrison, what did you do?

Well, sir, I tried the knob, but it was locked, so I put my shoulder to her, like this.

The door was quite flimsy.

Pity you didn't give it a go.

At any rate, what happened next?

We followed the constable in.

You -- Shall we?

[ Gasps ]
Oh, my!

ARTHUR: Really, Detective.

This is in very poor taste! I'm sorry to upset you, Mrs. Smart, but it's only Constable Crabtree.

Oh!

Ma'am.

George, in character.

We took the liberty of dressing him like Virgil, applied a little makeup and a mustache.

George.

Uncanny.

At first glance, even he could pass for Virgil.

Constable, is this how you found the body?

Precisely.

Thank you very much. You may go.

I fail to see the value of this exercise, other than upsetting my wife.

Actually, I find it quite illuminating.

No one rushed to Virgil's aid.

I was in shock.

Besides, it was clear. He was dead.

Really? Because I couldn't have been certain.

Not by merely looking at him.

That's why we sent for the doctor.

And he told you he d*ed of a heart att*ck?

ELLEN: Quite so.

MURDOCH: But he shouldn't have.

Because Virgil d*ed of a Kn*fe wound.

Oh, my!

What?

That's impossible!

Not if it wasn't actually Virgil slumped over the desk.

Well, if that wasn't Virgil, then whom do you propose it was, Detective?

Eddie Green.

Who had been strangled.

Are you suggesting that we all mistook Eddie for Virgil?

No, no. You didn't.

Only the doctor and Constable Morrison needed to assume that they were looking at Virgil.

So, are you saying that we willfully deceived those two men?

That we were part of, what, some Machiavellian plot?

More Shakespearean, I'd say.

And what possible reason could we have for this?

Ah, yes. Underlying motivation.

I believe that's what you call it in acting.

And I think we will find it here.

[ Clears throat ]

I believe you've met other members of our cast.

Inspector Brackenreid as Virgil.

And playing the object of his affections, Dr. Julia Ogden. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Smart. I've seen enough.

Surely, the sight of your former husband in this room shouldn't surprise you.

You have been here before.

We found your fingermarks on a wineglass not unlike this one.

Yet you told Inspector Brackenreid you had no knowledge of this room.

Stella meant that she --

Arthur, shut up.

Perhaps it's the casting that's bothering you.

Dr. Ogden, could you please step out?

With pleasure.

Miss Granger, could you take her place, please?

Me? Why me?

MURDOCH: Because we also found your fingermarks on a wineglass in this room.

That's impossible.

Just do it, Ellen.

That's better.

Um, Inspector, if you could get closer to Miss Granger...

Make me believe you are, in fact, seducing her.

[ Clears throat ]
Yes, well, uh...

Now, Mrs. Smart, if you could help me by entering the room ever so quietly as if you suspect your husband of an indiscretion and wish to catch him in flagrante delicto.

You steal into the room.

And there before you is your husband seducing the young, beautiful Miss Granger.

What would your character do, Mrs. Smart, if she suddenly realized that this young upstart had designs on everything she had worked so hard to achieve?

Her roles, her husband.

Bravo.

Well done.

Stella.

Mrs. Smart, why were you enraged? It was as if my actions were not my own.

And I understood Lady Macbeth as I never had before.

I don't even remember driving the letter opener into him.

I really must insist that you stop at once.

"False face must hide what the false heart doth know. "

Oh...very good.

I wanted to turn myself in, but the others talked me out of it.

She doesn't know what she's saying.

Why did the others convince you not to confess the truth?

We would have lost the theater.

Hardly a reason to k*ll someone for.

I don't expect you to understand, Detective.

You're not an actor.

But without the theater, we are nothing.

So, you came up with this plan?

No.

No, we came up with this plan.

That's not true.

We didn't do anything.

This plan, it included Eddie Green?

Oh, poor Eddie.

He was just hanging about, not wanting to leave the limelight, and Arthur strangled him.

Stella, for God's sake!

Give it up, you old buffoon!

That's when Eddie's body was switched with Virgil's.

Yes, yes.

So, Arthur locked the office door and remained here in the secret room with Virgil's corpse all the while Constable Morrison was in the office.

That's why he couldn't help David break down the door.

Crabtree, Morrison!

Take these actors to the station.

Mrs. Smart? I'm very sorry, but you do realize I have no choice.

Of course.

You were, and will always be, spectacular.

Thank you.

But this wretched, wretched play, it truly is cursed.

OGDEN: Eddie Green.

MURDOCH: Yes.

No family?

Apparently, the theater was his family.

Oh, not a particularly close one.

No.

Besides a name on a playbill, what is there to remember him by?

We'll never know what would have become of Eddie Green.

He was robbed of that. I'm surprised he's not being buried with the paupers.

And with no family, who paid for the headstone?

William, did you pay for his burial?

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. "

" Macbeth. "

Luckily for us, our spirits live eternal, eh?