17x03 - Murdoch and the Mona Lisa

[bunniefuu]

(MYSTERIOUS MUSIC)

Oh, hello, ladies!

You two look wonderful
today. What's the occasion?

Oh! We now need an
occasion to look good?

No. Of course not.

We're having our portrait painted today.

Oh, right! Yes. I
hope it turns out well.

You know, William, I was thinking:

Perhaps we're not exposing
Susannah to enough art.

At her age?

How much art appreciation
are we hoping to cultivate?

Well, you're attempting to
cultivate an understanding of

Maxwell's electromagnetic equations.

Oh, yes. That's easier to understand.

(SCOFFS) This is something, isn't it?

That painting that was
stolen from the Louvre

still hasn't been recovered.
It's been two weeks.

- Oh?
- It's called the Mona Lisa

by Leonardo da Vinci.

Da Vinci, a scientist!

And a painter.

Although I hadn't heard of this piece.

Do they have any leads yet?

Ah, "authorities, surprised
by the brazen theft,

are searching for their chief suspect,

art student Jacques Martine."

Well, we must be off. Wish us luck.

- Good luck.
- Mm-hmm.

(SUSANNAH BABBLING)

Little Susannah is
growing just like a weed!

What are you suggesting?

It's a compliment. Growing quickly.

Oh! Yes. Thank you.

(PHONE RINGING)

Detective Murdoch.

Aboard the ship?

Has the victim been identified yet?

(TENSE MUSIC)

Who's this, then?

A mister Jacques Martine.

A Frenchman. Coming
to Canada for a visit?

Or fleeing the scene of the crime.

Mr. Martine here may
be wanted for the theft

of a valuable painting
called the Mona Lisa.

La Gioconda.

The cultured among us
know her as la Gioconda,

the joyful lady.

Yes. Well, the joyful lady

may be the reason for this m*rder.

(MYSTERIOUS MUSIC)

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

He was struck on the head several times.

I'll have to check for defensive wounds.

And no sign of that painting?

If he had it.

Likely motive, if he did.

He lets someone in,
they see the Mona Lisa

and k*ll him for it.

Oh, I read about that
painting in the paper.

- Do we think this man stole it?
- Possibly.

Fresh paint on this palette.
But there's no paintings.

Hm. Any thoughts on the m*rder w*apon?

Ah, something small,

approximately a few centimetres
in width with sharp edges.

Right.

Let's get all of these items
down to the station house

and see if there's a
m*rder w*apon amongst them.

Oh. Uh, Mr. Dubois?

Ah, yes.

I've been working on this
boat for the last three years.

First time I see something like this.

Hm. Don't cabin stewards
work solely in first class?

Ah, indeed, sir.

Then how is it that you
came upon Mr. Martine?

Um, I-I was asked to-to check
that everyone had gone up

to the main deck to disembark

and, uh, the door was open.
I-I saw him on the ground.

Was there anyone else here,

in the hallway, or one
of the other cabins?

No, sir.

Right.

Did you move anything in this cabin?

After I found him
dead? Of course not. No.

Thank you.

- This is outrageous!
- Do you know to whom you are speaking?

What seems to be the problem?

This constable will not permit
my daughter and I to pass.

We would like to disembark this instant.

There's an ongoing m*rder
investigation, I'm afraid.

And my constable here
is only doing his duty.

Oh, do you really think we would
have anything to do with that?

Well, I wouldn't know that yet, would I?

My name is Lady Isabelle.

And this is my father, Arthur Rawley,

the Duke of Surrey.

Oh, sir. I do apologize.

Uh, Your Grace. Constable,
let them through.

Oi, you in the suit.

You can't go down there.
It's a crime scene.

(SPEAKS ITALIAN)

I was only looking for something.

And you left it in your berth?

No, no. Think Mr.
Martine has it... have it.

- Oh?
- My match case.

I-I lend it to him, but,
uh, he did not return it.

- Can I go to see?
- I'm afraid not.

You knew the dead man, did you?

No, no! H-His room was
next to mine. That's all.

But you know who I did see him with?

Lady Isabelle.

She would sneak down to
the third-class lounge.

Is that right?

This is decidedly not
how my first day in Canada

should be progressing.

I understand. However,

we do need to ask your
daughter some questions.

I don't see what my daughter
has to do with any of this.

I can answer for myself, papa.

What were you doing consorting with
passengers in third-class quarters?

Isabelle?!

I wanted to talk to other artists, papa.

Artists?

- What about that nice chap in first?
- Ugh...

Lord William?

- He collects etchings.
- No, real artists.

Like Monsieur Martine.

Yes. How well did you
get to know Mr. Martine?

Oh, well, hardly at all.

I was never alone with him, of course.

Who else was there during your visits?

A very, uh...

Forthright woman.

She had studied in Paris

and claimed to know all about painting.

- Hm.
- I saw her in the company

of Mr. Martine many times.

And this woman, did she
and Mr. Martine seem close?

No.

No, in fact,

I saw them argue.

I think they rather hated each other.

Hm.

Right. I'll be needing
this woman's name.

Miss Emily Carr.

Thank you for coming in
to answer some questions.

I would say you're welcome,
but it would be a lie.

So, please, be quick about it.

You were familiar with the victim,

Mr. Martine, were you not?

I was.

Apparently, the two of you fought.

(SIGHS) We had a disagreement,

but I wouldn't call it a fight.

What did the two of you argue about?

Art.

He was enthralled by the old masters.

I said that he should be open
to a more expressive style,

not to strive for mere verisimilitude,

but to paint with the mind's eye.

So a professional disagreement.

Art is more than mere profession,

Detective Murdoch. It's a vocation.

Did you ever visit Mr. Martine's cabin?

Oh, good heavens!

No. I stay well clear
of any and all men.

I'm telling you, I barely knew him.

All the same, I would like
a print of your fingermarks

before you leave, Miss Carr.

As you wish.

(CURIOUS MUSIC)

Who did this?

I did.

It's a serious question.

It was a serious answer.

(CARR GASPS)

You have a strong sense
of colour and vitality.

Yes, I would think I do.

Sincerely...

It's very good.

I feel almost humbled.

Well, I certainly hope
she's innocent, Murdoch.

She's obviously a woman of taste.

- Hello!
- Oh!

What have you, Miss Hart?

I've completed my postmortem,

but I haven't typed
up my report just yet.

Do you know the cause of death?

Well, he d*ed from his
head injuries. Nothing more.

I see.

All the blows caused
a subdural hematoma.

He was hale and hearty otherwise.

Oh!

I also found these in the wounds.

- Pieces of mirror?
- I think so.

Odd.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

- Mr. Martine's suitcase.
- Oh?

Entrancing.

Just a hint of annoying smile

as though she has a secret.

Well, they all do, don't they?

(SUITCASE LOCK CLICKS)

Ah-ha.

Hm.

This must be that bloke's match case.

Manganese oxide. Azurite. Verdigris?

Oils. Spike lavender.

Mr. Martine must be
making his own paints.

What's this?

- What's that?
- What's what?

(CURIOUS MUSIC)

Well, judging by the blood here,

I'd say we've found our m*rder w*apon.

Hello?

Yes?

I-I'm looking for Mr. Bernier.

He's painting a portrait of me today.

- I sent him home.
- I'm sorry?

Everything is cancelled.

There's just so much to
do before tomorrow night.

Wh-what's happening tomorrow night?

We received a call from
Lady Isabelle herself

wanting to exhibit her paintings, here!

Isn't that wonderful?

Yes, quite. But we had an arrangement.

It's not every day that we get
the chance to display the works

of such a distinguished artist.

Of course you understand.

Yes. Of course.

Oh! Detective Watts!

- What are you doing here?
- I'm looking for a painting.

Well, good luck.

I don't have time for any enquiries.

I can see you are a busy man.

But I only have one question.

Surely you have time for one question?

Very well. (CHUCKLES)

You're a detective, I gather?

Ah, now it is you who has a question.

(CHUCKLING) Well, go on, then.

Has anyone come in here
looking to discreetly sell

a sixteenth-century painting
called the Mona Lisa?

- The Mona Lisa?
- Mm.

Oh, good heavens, no! No.

But a man did come in this morning

- looking to sell some renaissance art.
- Oh?

Yeah. Something seemed off
to me. I didn't trust him.

I told him to leave.

- Did he give you a name?
- Yes.

Hm. I doubt it was his real one. He t...

He told me that if I changed
my mind and wanted to, uh,

discuss a sale,

he would be staying at
the Park Embassy Hotel

under the name Mr. Raphael.

Mr. Raphael. Thank you, Mr...

- Lash.
- Lash.

(CURIOUS MUSIC)

- Huh.
- Even though the suitcase was in the water,

I've managed to pull
a fingermark from this.

Must be something to paint with,

but I've never seen anything like it.

Ooh! Very interesting.

You have a match?

Miss Emily Carr.

Perhaps art is not her only vocation.

I've told you I barely knew him.

Miss Carr, your fingermarks

are on what very well
could be the m*rder w*apon.

That's impossible.

That's the m*rder w*apon?

Well, I might have picked it up,

but I certainly didn't k*ll him with it.

Mr. Martine was a very direct man.

He asked me if he could
borrow some of my brushes.

I said no and then
he went into my cabin,

and he took them for himself.

And what did you do?

I waited until he was out of his cabin,

and then I took them right back.

And then I saw that thing on the table,

and I picked it up to look at it.

What's this used for?

It's some kind of
drawing aid, I imagine.

Why did you not tell me before
that you broke into his cabin?

I'm no fool. I knew it would
look as though I was guilty,

but I-I'm telling you,

I would not k*ll over my brushes,

even if they are the best sable.

I'll be needing your whereabouts

for the last hours aboard the ship.

I was in the breakfast room,

then I was in the library all morning;

many people saw me.

But the night before,

I was by myself.

I require my solitude.

Unfortunately, solitude does not
constitute an alibi, Miss Carr.

Brookham Drive.

I'll be there for the
foreseeable future.

See that you are. Detective Murdoch

may want to speak with you again.

Yes, Constable. May I go now?

I'm expecting a delivery
of my painting supplies.

Ah, yes. Thank you.

Pardon me. I couldn't help overhear.

- Are you a painter?
- Yes.

Well, how wonderful.

Would I have seen your work anywhere?

Well, that depends. Were you
at the Salon D'automne in Paris?

No, but that does sound grand.

Do you paint portraits?

- On occasion.
- Would you accept a commission?

My daughter and I were to
have our portrait painted today

and it fell through, and I
know you've only just met me,

but may I ask if you would paint it?

- Well...
- I would pay handsomely.

I don't have a studio.

You could come to my house.

How about tomorrow morning?

- You said that you would pay well?
- Absolutely.

All right, then. You
have yourself a painter.

Fabulous. (CHUCKLING)

Have you found anything else, Miss Hart?

I ascertained that time of death

was approximately nine
o'clock that morning.

So not Miss Carr;

she was seen in the
library the entire morning.

- Mm.
- Oh.

Mr. Peruggia. How can I help you?

I was, uh, told you have my match case.

Ah, yes. It's being held
for you at the front desk.

Grazie.

Oh, dio!

Is that... a dead man?

It is.

That's Mr. Martine.

You knew him.

Of course. I-I-I did not recognize him

after his soul departed.
(CHUCKLING NERVOUSLY)

Well, uh, have a good day.

Oh! Of course. Arrivederci.

(SOFT MYSTERIOUS MUSIC)

- It's strange.
- (DOOR OPENS)

What is?

He knew Mr. Martine and
didn't recognize him.

Very few of us look the same in death.

I feel I must warn you,

my brushwork is bold and expressive.

Oh!

You've heard of the fauvist style?

Ah, no.

Mm. It means you and your baby

won't look pretty as you
would in, say, a Fragonard.

Oh! (LAUGHS NERVOUSLY)

When you told me it was your husband

who had accused me of
m*rder, I did think twice.

Oh, well, he was just
pursuing his investigation.

And being a foolish man in the process.

So, did you have any
idea that Mr. Martine

could have stolen the Mona Lisa?

Not at all.

Your husband didn't ask
you to question me, did he?

Oh! Of course not.
No, I was just curious.

I bet it was that Lady Isabelle

who told your husband to suspect me.

No, I just remembered something.

But I don't want to gossip.

Oh! You can tell me.

She seemed very chummy with Mr. Martine.

I overheard her saying something
about money being no object.

And then

she asked him when she
could come to his cabin.

Do you think they were
talking about the painting?

Possibly.

Or...

She was taking lessons.

Her work is uneven, at best.

Here she is, Dr. Ogden.

Fresh as a daisy.

Thank you. Hello,
darling. Are you ready?

(SUSANNAH COOS)

Aww.

A little to your left.

Oh.

You still tinkering
with that contraption?

The shards of mirror found
in the victim's wounds

match this broken mirror here.

- But it's curious.
- How so?

This is a front-surface mirror,

the type of thing used
for a reflective telescope.

Whatever the m*rder w*apon is,

we need to find that bloody
painting as quick as possible.

Whoever has it, is
most likely our k*ller.

Watts called earlier. He's
following a lead to a hotel.

I just may have some
information, as well.

- What've you heard?
- Miss Isabelle was overheard

talking to Mr. Martine about
purchasing something expensive.

Overheard by whom?

- Miss Emily Carr.
- You talked to her?

Uh, she's painting a portrait
of myself and Susannah.

Oh. Why don't you two
go and talk to the lady?

And tread carefully.

We don't want an international incident.

(LIGHT MUSIC)

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

Hello! Lady Isabelle?

It's all right, Maxine.
You can let them in.

We just have a few questions.

I am just off to my show.
Can't talk, I'm afraid.

Well, this shouldn't take too long.

We're investigating a
possible exchange of money

between you and Mr. Martine.

I loathe discussing
money. It's so vulgar.

- What a lovely tapestry.
- Oh, please don't!

The Mona Lisa will
not be returned to you.

It is evidence in a
m*rder investigation.

But I gave that poor
man , pounds for it

- the day before he d*ed.
- Why did you not tell me about this?

I couldn't say I spent
that money in front of papa.

He says I spend far too much on art.

- It's stolen property.
- I know.

I couldn't resist.

We believe Mr. Martine was
k*lled for that painting.

I didn't k*ll him!

I couldn't have!

Please, you must believe me!

Do you have any proof of your purchase?

A receipt,

a letter,

witness?

You've put Lady Isabelle in the cells?

She was in possession of the Mona Lisa.

Do you really think she
k*lled the Frenchman?

That remains to be seen.

She claims she purchased
it from Mr. Martine

the day before he
d*ed, but has no proof.

If she bought a stolen painting,

what was she thinking?

That she is a lady from a wealthy family

and above the law.

Look at that satisfied smile.

She's obviously been up to no good.

It's an interesting painting.

Interesting? Murdoch, look at it.

The subtle brushstrokes,

the way the light
dances across her eyes,

the sfumato technique.

- The what?
- Sfumato.

Layers of thin glaze that
create those smoky shadows.

It's beautiful.

What's beautiful?

- We found the Mona Lisa.
- That's impossible.

Why do you say that?

Because I've just found her.

Where on earth did you get this?

Remember when I told you I had a lead

on a possible suspect at
the Park Embassy Hotel?

You got a painting of the
Mona Lisa from a hotel?

- Yes.
- So where's the person who had it?

- Did you bring them in?
- No.

Bloody hell, Watts!

The person who had it is more
than likely Mr. Martine's k*ller!

I found the Mona Lisa with
the person who bought it.

I was too late to apprehend the seller.

Talk us through precisely what happened.

(WATTS): I was told that Mr. Raphael,

likely not his real
name, was in room .

I knocked on the door.

(MAN): Is that room service?

No. Uh, please open the door.
I'm interested in a painting.

(MAN): You're too late. Please leave.

(WATTS): But then, I spotted
the man with the service cart.

(CURIOUS MUSIC)

Commandeered the cart and knocked again.

Room service.

(MAN): Come in.

The door opened, and I went inside.

Your champagne.

Wonderful.

I wanted to drink a toast...

To a beautiful lady.

Well, that will have to wait.

- Excuse me?
- Toronto Constabulary.

I'm Detective Llewellyn Watts

and I'm placing you under
arrest for m*rder and theft.

But I bought the Mona Lisa.
I didn't k*ll anyone for her.

Prove it.

(WATTS): The man told me
he entered the hotel room

and saw the painting.

He then was spoken to by
a man behind a screen.

Leave five thousand dollars on the table

and turn to face the wall.

(WATTS): The man did what he was told.

When he heard the door
shut, he turned...

And thus he had bought the Mona Lisa.

He never saw the seller's face.

So which one is real?

Well, they appear identical.

That's what this device is used for.

Yes, what is that?

Well, I-I don't know the
name, but if you peer...

Yes!

Peer through the top.

Can you see the
reflection of the painting?

The mirror's half-broken, but yes.

If I look down on it, I can see it.

That's what Mr. Martine
was doing aboard the ship.

He had the real Mona
Lisa and used this device

- to help him make a copy.
- Oh!

What he used to aid him ended
up being used to k*ll him.

Poetry aside, we still don't
know who swung the bloody thing.

We still have Lady
Isabelle in our custody.

So if she had the fake,
it's more than likely

that she's telling the truth,
that she bought it off Mr. Martine.

So, the k*ller sold the
real one for more money.

The question is...

Which is which?

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Ah. Good morning, sir.

I've already been to
the Park Embassy Hotel,

but neither the clerk
nor any of the bellboys

can remember what Mr.
Raphael looked like.

Ah. Very well, Henry.

Could you keep an eye
out for a telegram for me?

Of course. May I ask what it's about?

I've asked the Louvre to
send any and all information

that will help us discern the
real Mona Lisa from the fake.

Ah.

Does it really matter, sir?

What do you mean?

If they look identical,

I say the more the merrier.

I'm not sure the Louvre
would share your sentiments.

Yeah. Of course.

Nanny is just changing Susannah.

(CARR SIGHS)

Oh! Well, it shouldn't take too long.

No, it's not that. I just... I can't...

I was painting so freely
in Paris and now...

Oh! Well, I'm sure it's
wonderful. May I take a look?

Oh! Oh, well, I see. Yeah,
well, it's-it's very colourful.

- Damned by faint praise.
- I love it, truly.

No, you don't. It's insipid and muddy.

Nonsense. You have
such a-a... free style.

Even that police
inspector painted better.

- No.
- I'm wasting my life.

No! I'm n-not!

You're ruining it! You're ruining it!

You can't ruin something
that was never anything.

(CLATTERS)

(SIGHS)

To think of a Rawley tossed
into jail like a common criminal.

No one can ever know of this.

Is that really all you care about?

How it reflects on the family?

- I am your daughter!
- (BRACKENREID CLEARS THROAT)

If I may? We'd like to discuss the case.

Oh, this case is a farce.

Do you really believe
Lady Isabelle k*lled a man?

There's been a development.

- Go on, then.
- We now have in our possession

two Mona Lisas,

the original and a copy.

If your daughter had the copy,

then it is possible she
purchased it from Mr. Martine.

I told you I...

No, wait, that's impossible.

I couldn't have bought a mere copy.

If you had the real Mona Lisa,

it might appear that
you had k*lled for it.

This is ridiculous. Neither
of them is the real painting.

How do you know that?

My secretary told me just this morning

that he heard J.P. Morgan

was approached by a
seller looking to quietly

sell the Mona Lisa.

How does your secretary know this?

His cousin is J.P. Morgan's art agent.

The seller told Mr. Morgan

the sale must happen quickly in Toronto.

I had planned to tell you.

That is very interesting.

I assume the arrest of my daughter

won't be in any of the papers.

You have our word.

We'll just be needing
one more thing from you.

(RAWLEY SIGHS)

What's your plan?

Draw the seller out.

I had the Duke call his secretary

and get me the details of the person

- who contacted Mr. Morgan.
- So we can contact him?

Yes. Now, he sold the first quickly

and for relatively little money.

But for this one, he
went to Mr. J.P. Morgan.

Who I've heard pays
hundreds of thousands

for a painting by an old master.

So this could be the real one.

- And, therefore, the person selling it...
- Is likely our k*ller.

I just want to say right now:

I'm not pretending to be J.P. Morgan.

- But, sir.
- Not today, Murdoch.

I'm just not feeling in a thespian mood.

I'll be out front chasing
him down if he runs off.

Huh. As you wish.

So, who is going to be Mr. Morgan?

(CURIOUS MUSIC)

Are you sure?

He's done it before.

Henry, I've contacted the seller.

You are to go to the Park Embassy Hotel

tomorrow morning at eight am.

Who am I pretending to be?

Well, you're far too young
to play Mr. J.P. Morgan,

so I've created a buyer,
a friend of Mr. Morgan's.

So a rich man, you say.

I suppose.

I'll be needing a new suit.

Was the new suit really necessary?

Sir, Pierpont is worth
over million dollars.

I need to look like his representative.

And what's that?

Oh! Pierpont is fond of cigars.

Thought I would partake.

The hat looks ridiculous.

- Ruthie bought it for me.
- Lose it! Give.

Now go in there and see if
he's got the bloody painting.

Right. Uh, how much
should I offer for it?

As much as you want, Henry.
We aren't actually buying it.

Oh. Of course. (CHUCKLES)

Not sure I approve of
this plan of action.

It's the best one we have.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

(COUGHS) Yes. Hello. Enter.

What's your name?

Mr. Reginald Templeton.

- Are you a copper?
- (COUGHING)

Don't be absurd!

Do I look like an
uneducated ruffian to you?

What's going on?

He's signalling.

That man!

- He's using him as a lookout.
- Toronto Constabulary! Stop!

What're you doing?

Nice suit.

Too bad about the shoes, copper.

(TENSE MUSIC)

Police! Stop!

(PANTING)

(GRUNTS)

Stop!

- (TIRES SCREECHING)
- (GRUNTS)

(PANTING)

Seems like he got away, sir.

Get that suit back to
where you got it from.

- Really? I...
- Now!

(PANTING)

There are several paintings here.

A landscape...

A still life,

both signed JM. Jacques Martine.

The k*ller didn't just
steal the Mona Lisa.

They stole all Mr.
Martine's paintings. (GASPS)

And there she is.

A third Mona Lisa? Will
wonders never cease?

This is most likely the real one.

Huh. It makes one ponder:

If we cannot distinguish
between the real and the fake,

why reject the forgeries as inferior?

Because one is worth a
fortune, and one isn't.

But consider a lithograph,

or a piece of music, or
a choreographed dance.

They are repeated and each iteration

is considered a work of art.

Yes, but in each of those examples,

repetition is inherent in the creation.

A forgery of a painting
is intentionally deceitful.

- Mm.
- He's got you there.

Well, no. I agree. The intent with
which these were made is different,

but if we cannot tell them apart,

we simply enjoy them all.

Therefore, is authenticity relevant

to one's aesthetic experience?

- It's relevant to what it's worth.
- Why?

Because it just bloody is! That's why.

Sir, if I may?

Does this man look familiar?

It's the cabin steward, Henri Dubois.

The one who found the victim.

It's signed JM, .

How did Mr. Martine paint
the cabin steward last year?

Did they know each other?

This is not a portrait of Henri Dubois.

This is a self-portrait

of Jacques Martine.

Bloody hell. We've been tricked.

Why would Mr. Martine switch
identities with Dubois?

Because Martine was wanted
for the theft of the Mona Lisa.

Better to be declared
dead than to be chased

by the French police
the rest of your life.

Have this image printed, Murdoch,

and have it distributed everywhere.

He's likely planning to leave Toronto.

Oh! Detective Murdoch!

- (LAUGHING)
- Oh. Mr. Peruggia,

have you not retrieved
your match case yet?

Oh, y-yes and I wanted to
thank you again for that.

Ah. You're welcome.

- Good day.
- Oh.

I overheard that you found
the Mona Lisa. I am so happy.

Yes, we actually have three now.

We believe one to be the original.

You don't know?

Well, I have an idea.

No. A true lover of
la Gioconda would know.

Yes. How would one know for certain?

Ah. One could hear her calling to you

through the ages in Italiano.

Anything more concrete than that?

No.

Good day.

(TENSE MUSIC)

(DOOR CLOSES)

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

Have you seen this chap before?

Never seen him before.

I'll take a scotch, please.

Hello, Miss Carr.

Oh.

Inspector.

What's this, then?

It's nothing. It's a bad habit.

I think drawing is
one of my best habits.

You have talent. I do not.

Ah. It's not going well.

I know how you feel.

I've thrown many of my
paintings in the fire before.

(CHUCKLING) Hm.

I tried painting a portrait
of a mother and her baby.

Heaven knows I need the
money, but it never came alive.

Maybe you're not a portrait painter.

It can be quite inhibiting
trying to paint real people,

especially when you have
to flatter them. May I?

It's a...

It's a church out in British Columbia.

It's in a thick forest.

It's so beautiful there.

You should go out west,

paint outside amongst nature.

Paint what you love and paint
how you want to paint it.

Do you think it's that simple?

(LAUGHING) No, not at all.

And if I fail?

Then you fail doing
something that you love.

Better that than the alternative.

How so?

Well, you'd spend time doing
something that you enjoyed.

The end result doesn't
really matter then, does it?

I do long for British Columbia.

Thank you, Inspector.

Can I keep this?

It's worthless.

Not if I like it, it isn't.

Will you be paying for the lady?

(DOOR CLOSES)

Bloody artists.

- Probably starving.
- (CHUCKLING)

Excuse me, sir! A moment.

- I'm in something of a hurry.
- Oh. Paintings to sell, is it?

(GRUNTING)

It's quite a good likeness.

Indeed.

I suppose it would be worth
more now that the artist is dead.

Enough with the charade.

I know it's a self-portrait.

Ah.

You k*lled an innocent cabin steward.

He saw my paintings.

Yes, your paintings.

You are uniquely talented.

Why turn to forgery and m*rder?

My original work was called derivative.

Old-fashioned.

So I figured perhaps
originality is overrated.

Perhaps I could make more Mona Lisas

for the world to enjoy.

You didn't paint them for edification.

You made them for profit.

You think so little of me, Detective.

You k*lled Mr. Dubois
and assumed his identity

so that you could sell the paintings.

You had to have known
that the authorities

would be looking for the Mona Lisa.

Perhaps.

You weren't just trying to
throw the police off your trail.

I don't know what you're talking about.

You were working with someone else.

And if they also believed
that you were dead,

you would be free to sell the paintings

and keep all of the profit.

If it was my plan,

it isn't anymore.

I've changed my mind
about the Mona Lisa.

It's not just about
the money, Detective.

Oh. Then please tell me what
it is about, Mr. Martine.

Maybe I had a partner.

But I won't give you his name.

If I can't have her,

why shouldn't he?

(SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC)

A true lover of la Gioconda would know.

You don't have to give me his name.

I know who it is.

Mr. Vincenzo Peruggia.

(DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES)

Henry!

- Yes, sir.
- There are only two paintings here.

- Where's the third?
- I... don't know, sir.

And where is Mr. Peruggia?

The Italian man? I
haven't seen him around.

He must've known which one
was the original and taken it.

- I'm sorry, sir.
- Right.

Alert the border crossings.

He's likely leaving the
country and headed to Europe.

Right away.

(SIGHS)

(CURIOUS MUSIC)

For a brief moment in time, Da
Vinci's masterpiece was in Toronto.

It's probably long gone by now.

There's been no sightings of
that Mr. Peruggia anywhere.

He's likely on a ship or a train

traveling under a false name.

False names, a false body,

false paintings.

I've been thinking about
what you said, Watts.

- Oh?
- About the aesthetic experience.

I think a fake Mona Lisa
is good enough for me.

If you don't mind, Murdoch,
I think I'll take one home.

Of course.

Give Margaret something to crow about.

Eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

No, I'll take this one.

Good night, gentlemen.

Oh, I don't trust her smile.

Hm.

(MYSTERIOUS MUSIC)

You could try to find another artist.

I've had two failed
attempts at a portrait.

I'm beginning to think that I'm cursed.

You could paint it yourself!

From this photograph I took of you.

(CHUCKLING)

Hm. Oh, no, William. I've
tried painting a few times

with no great success. I find it so hard

to get the proportions right.

Well, then, come with me.

What is this?

It's called a camera lucida

and you peer through it like this.

And...

Oh! I can see the photograph.

Yes! It allows you to perfectly

- duplicate the proportions.
- Ha!

Oh!

You know, William,

I really wish I came to the office

to see the real Mona Lisa.
Was she very beautiful?

(SIGHS) I had the
original and the copies

and, to be honest,

- I couldn't tell the difference.
- Oh!

Well, I do hope the Louvre
recovers the true one.

No doubt they will.

Thank you, William.

I bought you these new colours, as well.

Oh, huh.

Ochre. Apparently, that's
very popular these days.

Oh, right.

Ah, ha, ha. What is that?

It's a painting. What's it look like?

Well, where did you get it?

Do you know what this is?

(SIGHS)

It's the Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci.

Well, a bloody good copy, anyway.

- A copy?
- Aye.

(SCOFFS) I don't want a copy

of a painting sitting on our mantle.

- It's common.
- Margaret!

Besides...

It's like her eyes seem to
follow me everywhere I go.

Mm, I don't like it.

Well, I do. And she's staying.

(SCOFFS)

(CHUCKLING) Uh-huh.

(SIGHS)

Ah, no.

I don't... what's so special about you?

Ugh.

(MARGARET SIGHS)

(MYSTERIOUS MUSIC)