08x16 - Crabtree Mania

[bunniefuu]

(crowd screaming)

You can take him!

There you go! Trounce him!

Get him!

Edna.

I had no idea you had such a passion for wrestling.

Oh, I don't. I merely accompany Simon.

Go, Randolph, go!

Go, Gladiator!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

(Crowd booing)

You can never b*at me, Gladiator! You're nothing!

I am the greatest wrestler there ever was!

Rubbish! Boo!

A particularly ugly crowd this evening, I see.

The gall.

It's low.

You people don't deserve to watch the likes of me.

Ladies and gentlemen, once again, I am forced to crown Handsome Randolph as champion!

(crowd booing)

Rubbish.

Can no one relieve us of this dark-hearted champion?

Anyone?

Right here!

We have a challenger here!

Edna, are you crazy?

I'll be k*lled!

Don't be a coward, I'm sure you can best him.

I'm not being a coward, look at the size of these brutes. I wouldn't last 2 minutes.

Edna, Simon, look at that.

My God, sir, who are you, sir?

An unknown challenger!

Handsome Randolph, are you prepared?

A man who buries his face with a mask like that must be especially ugly!

He doesn't know that. He doesn't know that.

That was illegal!

That is not allowed!

(bell ringing)

Ladies and gentlemen, our nameless, faceless... champion!

That was an illegal maneuver!

I'll be back, McAllister.

You haven't seen the last of me!

Boo! Get out of there, Randolph!

Here he is.

One more time.

The new champion!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Good lord!

Where's mother?

She's off trying to secure a souvenir poster for her "wrestling scrapbook".

I had no idea. Do you have all your autographs?

Nearly all. The Cossack, The Gladiator.

Vurugu.

I'm still missing my favourite, Handsome Randolph.

Handsome Randolph. Has he not come out yet?

He hasn't.

Wait.

Excuse us.

Dear God.

Simon, wait there.

Is he all right?

Simon, go next door to Murphy's Tavern. There will be constables there.

What do I tell them?

Tell them Handsome Randolph Henderson is dead.

And then he fell backwards, driving Handsome Randolph's head directly into the mat.

It's a wonder he survived.

He didn't, George.

Well, Mr. Henderson perished eventually, yes, but at the time he jumped to his feet, he vowed revenge.

It likely that blow to the head was the cause of death.

Emily, he didn't die for another 45 minutes.

Sometimes a serious head injury seems harmless at first, but the brain can swell after the fact, proving fatal.

So the masked man did k*ll him.

I'll have to cut open the skull to be sure, but I do believe that to be the case.

Thank you, Dr. Grace.

So an accidental death then?

It's a dangerous sport.

I've done damage to men myself in the ring back in my day.

Yes, but sir, this maneuver is particularly violent.

Was it against the rules?

Catch wrestling, Murdoch. There are no rules.

No balls, racquets or doings to get in the way. Just man against man.

Well then, if it wasn't against the rules of the sport, I suspect it isn't against the law.

Sir, if a man brought a p*stol into a wrestling ring and fired on his opponent, surely that would be considered m*rder.

Well, yes George. But then his intent would be clear.

Do you suspect murderous intent?

I can't be certain, but I'm asking permission to look into it further.

Murdoch? What do you think?

I think Constable Crabtree should be encouraged to follow his instincts.

Thank you, sir.

You must be pleased to be rid of the cast, Julia.

Goodness, yes.

And William's relieved to not have to write my correspondence any longer.

Ladies, my apologies for my tardiness.

I've brought a guest, Miss Jean Hamilton.

Miss Hamilton. We've actually met.

We have indeed.

Delighted to join your cause.

The Temperance movement is committed to the fight for women's rights.

We welcome anyone who supports our aims.

Then I'm sure you will agree with Miss Hamilton's proposal.

Proposal?

In exchange for our support, Miss Haile will promise to represent the interests of the Temperance movement.

And does Miss Haile agree to represent those interests?

I do.

The aim of the Temperance movement is to protect women and families who often suffer the consequences of the excesses of drink.

It is also a movement that eliminates individual freedoms.

Equality between men and women is not achieved by removing rights already held by men.

May I remind you that the Temperance movement has great influence and many followers.

Ladies, I will leave you to consider.

Surely this isn't an option.

We all know the kinds of things Miss Hamilton and her Temperance League oppose.

We must at least consider it.

If there is a chance that we can win this election, I for one want to take it.

♪

Excuse me, sir. I'm George Crabtree, I'm with the Toronto Constabulary.

I saw you wrestle last night.

Can I ask you a couple of questions?

He doesn't speak.

Is he mute?

We call him Vurugu.

From parts unknown.

He speaks no language but v*olence.

I'm Victor McAllister, the manager of this troupe.

I take it you're here about last night's unfortunate incident.

I am indeed.

You can go.

Mr. Henderson was a... cherished friend to us all. We mourn him dearly.

Do you know the identity of the man who he wrestled just prior his death?

No, I've never seen him before.

At least, I don't think I had. He was wearing a mask.

Right.

I will need to speak to the other wrestlers who were present last night.

Yes, yes, of course, they're just cooling down in the dressing room.

Straight through there.

One other question.

The maneuver that he used to win the match.

Have you seen anything like that before?

Never.

I hope I never see it again.

All done, Mr. Titus.

I have seen this maneuver before.

What's your name?

Cossack.

Your given name.

Cossack.

Right.

Where have you seen this maneuver before?

In Russia.

We fight to the death, you know.

Do you think the man in the mask intended to k*ll Mr. Henderson?

Who knows what lies in the heart of a masked man?

Do you mind my asking what you're drinking there?

It's morphine.

Dulls the pain.

And you are?

They call me the Solid Man.

(cracking) That's, that's an apt moniker.

And you knew the man in the mask?

A local amateur, I heard.

Think his name was Humber.

Where did you hear his name?

I don't know.

Just heard the name.

The rooming house.

River Street.

(knocking) Toronto Constabulary. Is anybody home?

Excuse me, sir, do you live here?

Mr. Humber, I'm George Crabtree, I'm with the Toronto... Stop!

Mr. Humber!

♪

Give it up, Humber! You can't outrun me!

I'm twice your size! How are you going to arrest me?

(impact)

Twice my size and half the wit.

The neighbourhood's coming up, Mr. Chilton.

Rents must be a fortune these days.

You're quite right, Inspector. Tough luck for my tenants.

You own the building?

I do.

How does a barber end up owning a whole building?

Simple. I save 10 percent of my earnings and I never buy anything frivolous.

Why put in new flooring when you can throw down a rug?

Ha! Tell that to my wife.

Ha! How are you planning for your future, Inspector?

I put my extra money in Margaret's cookie jar at the end of the month.

A cookie jar? You have to invest.

That money could be earning more money.

How much more?

Leave it in my hands.

By the time you retire, you'll have a nice little nest-egg.

Hum.

I didn't k*ll him. He walked out of the ring!

Then why did you run when you saw me outside your rooming house?

I've had bad luck with the law before.

Mr. Humber, I have other wrestlers on record saying that maneuver is designed to k*ll.

And the city coroner will attest that even if Mr. Henderson walked out of that ring on his own two legs, it was that blow to his head that k*lled him.

That's impossible!

The maneuver is harmless. Randolph's head didn't even touch the mat!

Sit down, Mr. Humber. Sit down!

What do you mean his head didn't touch the mat?

And why would someone use a harmless maneuver in a wrestling match?

Henderson and I had an arrangement.

I do the maneuver and he acts like it dazed him.

And then I take the championship.

I think I know what you're saying Mr. Humber, and I think the idea of Mr. Henderson giving up his championship in a fake maneuver difficult to believe.

I'm telling the truth.

I couldn't have k*lled him.

Alright.

Lying is one thing.

Attacking the integrity of the great sport of wrestling, that is quite another. Lads, take him to the cells.

Well, George, head trauma was not the cause of death.

In fact, he suffered no injury to his head whatsoever.

He was telling the truth.

Who's that?

My suspect. He told me the wrestling maneuver was fake.

How did he die?

A lethal dose of morphine.

Well, that makes sense. All the wrestlers drink it.

No, he didn't drink it. It was injected.

And it was far too great a quantity for it to have been an accident.

Well, it appears you were right, George.

We have a m*rder on our hands.

And this Humber bloke had nothing to do with it?

Mr. Henderson exited the ring apparently in good health and was found dead 45 minutes later.

The lethal injection must have been administered somewhere in the interim.

And I saw Mr. Henderson walk directly from the ring into the dressing room.

And Simon Brooks will attest that he never came out.

Then he must have been k*lled in the dressing room.

The question is, who else was in there?

I don't see the appeal, George.

Sir, you'd be surprised.

A passion for wrestling can be the most unexpected places.

Take Edna, for example.

Who would have thought a sweet, demure young lady would find two muscle-bound men locked in fierce combat stimulating?

But she does.

Perhaps you should think about bulking up too, George.

To keep pace.

Sir.

Good evening, Constable.

I hope you're enjoying the show.

Yes. Mr. McAllister, this is Detective William Murdoch.

We need to ask you a couple of questions.

I'm busy running a show, I'm afraid.

We need you to account for your whereabouts after last night's final match, sir.

Really, Detective, now is not the time.

You were out back with me, loading gear. Remember, sir?

Oh, yes, that's right.

And who might you be?

Shane Tindall, equipment man.

And you, sir?

Sir, he can't...

I'll explain. Mr. Tindall I've also seen you wrestling though, isn't that correct?

I often get in the ring when we're short a man.

Yes, but he doesn't last long.

You'll excuse us, gentlemen.

Yes, I was in the dressing room last night. What of it?

Were you and Mr. Henderson ever alone in the dressing room at any point?

I don't think so, but I can't say I remember clearly.

My senses were dulled.

Do you ever inject your medication?

No.

I don't care for needles.

You had a rivalry with Mr. Henderson, did you not?

What is this about?

Just prior to his death, the victim b*at and verbally insulted you in front of a crowd.

Yes, but that doesn't mean that I...

That's quite enough, Detective.

I did not give you permission to speak to my employees.

Mr. McAllister, we're conducting a m*rder investigation.

There are questions that need to be answered.

That may be.

But they will not be answered by my employees.

Carelessly positing accusations inspires ill-will, and I will not have this.

Each of us hereby invokes his right to remain unspeaking.

You two, get out.

The Gladiator, Max Titus, was in the dressing room around the time of the m*rder.

He also had a very public grudge against the victim.

Not to mention he's holding a bottle of the m*rder w*apon.

Now hang on. I didn't do it!

Max, I remind you to be silent.

George, arrest him.

I had nothing to do with it!

Remain unspeaking!

I don't hold a grudge against Randolph.

That's not what I saw.

It was an act!

I don't hate him. We grew up together, been wrestling since we were kids.

He's my best friend.

Best friend and greatest rival?

Their rivalry was not entirely sincere.

So what, it was all an act?

The competition, of course, is legitimate. But the personal rivalry is merely a ruse to incite passion in the spectators.

If that's the case, Mr. McAllister, why not let your employee speak of it?

It's not public knowledge, Detective.

People might question Mr. Titus's legitimacy as a wrestler and the legitimacy of my entire business.

♪

He wasn't in the dressing room.

I count six, seven, and these two weren't...

Constable.

Detective.

Thanks for seeing me.

Mr. Francis, thank you for coming in. Sir, this is the Solid Man.

Archibald Francis.

(cracking)

Detective William Murdoch.

Nice to meet you.

I see you are unaccompanied by Mr. McAllister.

He doesn't know I'm here.

I'm sick about what happened.

It's not right.

Do you have any information regarding Handsome Randolph Henderson's death?

There were rumours about Randolph and the Cossack.

And the Cossack's wife.

Oh, I see.

What happened exactly?

I mean, between the two men, not...

I'm not sure, but I know they hated each other.

(glass breaking)

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

We'd like a moment of your time, please.

I'm not supposed to be talking to you.

We understand that you disliked Mr. Henderson.

Dislike?

He was garbage.

Kabolsh.

He became familiar with your wife?

Who the hell told you...

Please to leave my wife out of this.

I know nothing of Randolph's death.

I don't think you're being truthful, sir.

In fact, I don't even think you're Russian.

Of course I am Russian! Ask anyone.

Sir.

Where in Russia are you from?

Moscow.

Ah.

Well then, what's the name of the river that runs through Moscow?

Moscow has no river, Detective.

The river that runs through Moscow is the Moscow River.

Anyone from there would know that.

I'm done with this interview.

I'm glad Randolph is dead, but I didn't k*ll him. It's all I have to say.

I hate vodka.

The only constant in this investigation is that each wrestler has proved a fraud.

True.

The Cossack isn't Russian and the chief rivals were actually friends.

And in our championship match the other night, it involved a fake maneuver and a prearranged outcome.

So? What of it?

Sir, as much as it pains me to say, it's quite possible the entire sport is fake.

Outlandish!

Wrestling is a sport of honour and integrity.

It dates back to the Egyptians.

Greco-Roman.

Be that as it may, how does it bear on the case, George?

Well, sir, if each man is a fake, then what about Vurugu?

The one who doesn't speak.

Right.

They call him the "Wild Man From Parts Unknown".

But I discovered reports, sirs, about a wrestler from Indianapolis.

Joe Jefferson.

Now, he was almost lynched by an angry mob in Baltimore three years ago and hasn't been seen since.

You believe this Jefferson and Mr. Vurugu to be one and the same?

Sir, a week after the incident in Baltimore, Vurugu wrestles his first match in Philadelphia.

Well then, perhaps you should have a conversation with this Mr. Vurugu.

I will.

(Phone ringing)

It seems somebody's insistent on speaking with you, sir.

Calm down, Margaret, just calm down.

No, the cookie jar hasn't been stolen, I've taken it.

We need to plan for our future.

So I've invested our savings with someone.

My barber.

Yes, my barber.

No, no, no, this won't be like last time.

He's a real investor.

Maybe he just likes being a barber.

Well, he owns an entire building for one thing.

Because he said so!

No, Margaret, he did not show me the land deed.

Why would he lie about that?

I'm a policeman.

Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

I'll get it back.

(Sighing)

Trouble and bloody strife, that's what you are.

Vurugu?

Or is it Mr. Jefferson?

Please, I'm not supposed to be speaking with you.

You need to answer a few questions.

I don't want to lose my job.

One of your colleagues was m*rder*d, Mr. Jefferson?

The k*ller needs to be brought to justice.

I don't know who k*lled him, I swear.

But I was not involved.

You know something. A suspect, a rumour, a motive...

If you and your colleagues remain silent, we'll never discover the truth.

Cleveland.

Cleveland?

What happened in Cleveland?

Temperance is a given, of course.

It must be front and centre in any discussion of your platform.

Very well.

And the streetcars cannot run on Sundays.

The streetcars?

I thought our city had long since moved past that debate.

We are most certainly not "past" the debate.

How do you expect people to get around?

I don't.

Sunday is the Lord's day.

What about those who rely on the streetcar to get to church?

Shanks' pony, like the rest of us!

Sir, I've been to the archives, these are all newspapers from Cleveland and I'm looking for anything pertaining to the sport of wrestling.

Based on Mr. Vurugu's mysterious suggestion.

Yes sir, and as it turns out, there was a match a couple of months ago where a wrestler who was just watching decided the match was going unfairly, so he interceded by getting into the ring, creating a two on one situation.

And then sir, another wrestler, who'd also just been a spectator, decided he'll even the odds, so he jumped in the ring as well.

And all four of them just started go at it at once, sir.

It would have been a total debacle.

That doesn't have anything to do with the case, but I surely would have liked to have seen it.

Did you discover anything pertinent, George?

Yes, sir, I did.

Last year, when Victor McAllister's troupe was in Cleveland, a man was k*lled in the ring, a wrestler by the name of Lloyd "The Gentleman" Francis.

Francis... as is Archibald Francis?

Sir, he was the Solid Man's father.

And the other wrestler, the man who k*lled him, was Handsome Randolph Henderson.

Mr. Francis?

Toronto Constabulary.

Hum.

Sir, thinking about it now, how could Vurugu be from parts unknown?

I mean whatever parts of the jungle they went in to find him, those parts would now be known, don't you think?

I suppose so, George.

Assuming they went into the the jungle to find him.

Which they must have. I mean he couldn't have just shown up at Union Station with a string of bones around his neck and a human skull on his...

Sir.

A syringe?

Perhaps the Solid Man is our k*ller.

♪ [dramatic]

Mr. Francis, I understand you and your colleagues use morphine to dull the pain following a match.

That's right.

And you choose to ingest it rather than inject it.

Yes.

Constable Crabtree found this syringe in your bag, in your room.

That's not possible.

We believe this to be the syringe that k*lled Mr. Henderson. It has traces of morphine in it.

I've been helping you.

Now you're accusing me of m*rder?

I suspect you've been helping us only as a means to hide the truth.

You're wrong, Detective.

Why would I do that?

Lloyd "The Gentleman" Francis, your father, he d*ed at the hands of Mr. Henderson.

That was an accident.

My father was old.

He shouldn't have been wrestling.

We know Mr. Henderson was k*lled in the dressing room immediately following his last match.

You are among very few people who had access to him.

I didn't go back to the dressing room.

My match was first, I left directly after.

Well, if that's the case, you won't mind volunteering a sample of fingermarks.

Not another word, Mr. Francis.

You're under no obligation to speak to these men.

There won't be any fingermark samples on offer, either.

Mr. McAllister, your employee claims innocence.

Allow him to prove it.

He doesn't have to prove anything.

The onus is entirely on you, Detective. Let's go, Archibald.

Gentlemen.

That bloody shyster.

Bullocks.

We'll need more convincing evidence for a judge to force Mr. Francis to provide his fingermarks.

Indeed sir, but it's entirely possible the syringe was planted in his bag.

Mr. Francis claims not to have been in the dressing room.

This could be verified if Mr. McAllister would let his wrestlers speak with us.

Sir, there might be another way.

I'll be right back.

This is one I did of Handsome Randolph.

They're all quite... vivid, Simon.

Very good.

Can you show me the page with the autographs?

Yeah.

If we can identify The Solid Man's autograph, we'll know that Mr. Francis was indeed at the scene of the crime.

Ah, here.

That's the page.

It isn't here.

Mr. Francis' autograph isn't here.

Simon, do you recall if The Solid Man came out of the dressing room?

He never did.

That's why I don't have his signature.

Are you certain?

I would have noticed.

Have you seen the size of him?

What's this drawing here?

That's Vurugu's signature.

He doesn't speak.

What about this one, sir?

'The Masked Marauder?'

Simon, was The Masked Marauder wearing his mask when he came out of the dressing room and signed this?

Yes, he didn't have much time for me, though.

So Mr. Humber was there after all.

Ah. Thank you, George.

Simon, could this be the man who signed your book as The Masked Marauder?

Oh, his mask is different.

Aside from the mask.

His body's different too.

It's not the same man.

Are you quite certain, Simon?

I am sure of it.

This mask is itching my face.

Thank you, Simon.

You can go home now.

Or I could stay and help some more.

I'll get him home, sir. Come on, Simon.

Thank you, Mr. Humber.

Please have a seat.

What did you do with your mask after the match?

I gave it back to Mr. McAllister.

You gave it back?

Is that to say that Mr. McAllister gave you the mask to wear in the match?

Yes, he told me to wear it when I challenged Handsome Randolph.

I wouldn't know where to get such a thing.

Mr. Humber, if I have this correct, your match with Handsome Randolph was not fixed by yourself or by Handsome Randolph, but by Victor McAllister?

Yeah.

Mr. McAllister arranges everything.

He controls the show right down to the concession snacks.

So if you gave the mask to him after the event, am I to presume that Victor McAllister was in possession of the mask immediately after the match?

(sighing)

Please don't make me talk about Mr. McAllister anymore, sir.

Thank you.

Julia.

Emily, what brings you by?

I don't think we should be aligning our cause with the Temperance Movement.

Emily, this is going to provide exposure that would otherwise take us years to achieve.

Jean Hamilton is as backwards thinking as many of those denying us the vote in the first place.

It's true we have some principal differences from Miss Hamilton, but her support may win us the election.

How can we pass up that opportunity?

Well, if that's the compromise, I think I would rather continue without the vote altogether.

Emily, I hadn't realized you were this impassioned.

Are these your words or Lillian's?

I'm as capable of independent thought as you.

Emily, I didn't mean to suggest...

Didn't you?

This will only be a few minutes.

Let's make it quick, Detective. I have fans to entertain.

Very well, Mr. McAllister.

Did you m*rder Randolph Henderson?

That's what you brought me in to ask?

No. That's absurd.

Well then, you won't mind providing us with a handwriting sample to that effect.

I will not be providing samples of any kind.

Not handwriting and... most certainly not fingermarks.

A sporting effort, Detective.

Constable.

It didn't work, George.

Between the handwriting, the pen and the door knob, I thought...

Sir, Mr. McAllister was sitting very close to the table.

He wouldn't have been able to get into that position without adjusting his chair.

... His chair.

Very good, George.

It's a match, sir.

Well then, I believe we have more questions for Mr. McAllister.

Quite.

I'll bring him in.

This is beyond tiresome.

This is the syringe used to administer the fatal dose of morphine that k*lled Mr. Henderson.

And this syringe has your fingermarks all over it.

You'll recall that I didn't fall for your little pen trick.

You don't have my fingermarks from which to cross reference.

But we do.

From the arm chair you were sitting in.

Well, that's underhanded of you, Detective.

It's only natural my fingermarks would be all over it. It's my syringe.

I use it to inject morphine. I'm a former wrestler.

But I have no motive.

Handsome Randolph was the star of my show.

We were told that you quite despised one another, Mr. McAllister.

Be that as it may, the money he brought in far outweighed any animosity I felt towards him.

So why would you arrange for Mr. Humber to defeat him?

For the drama of it, of course.

I intended for Randolph to defeat Humber the following night and regain his title.

The crowd would have lapped it up.

Were you in the dressing room immediately following the final bout?

Yes.

I went in to get morphine.

I then retired to my office to inject it.

And did you do so wearing the mask that Mr. Humber returned to you?

Heavens no, I'd never wear such a foolish article.

So how did your syringe end up in The Solid Man's possession?

He must have taken it from my office.

I can't fathom why.

Well, I believe I've satisfied your curiosity.

Gentlemen.

(Crabtree sighing)

Do you believe him, sir?

I don't believe a single thing he says, George.

His entire business is built on deception.

You know, Simon may be able to place him at the scene of the crime.

Yes, George, he could help us narrow down who came out of the dressing room with the mask.

Julia, I'm certain Emily and Lillian will come around to appreciate what Temperance can do for us.

Maybe Emily's right. Perhaps we have strayed too far from our ideals.

We can advance our cause by years, even decades, with their support.

A compromise here and there is a small price to pay.

You're in my way.

I suppose so.

Miss Haile, Dr. Ogden.

Miss Hamilton.

Here is the campaign literature I'd like for you to distribute.

It's rather exciting, isn't it?

Think of all the good we can do for Toronto should we succeed.

Banning books?

Oh yes.

Did you know our libraries give children access to the criminal writings of such amoral libertines as Mark Twain?

Frankly, I'd like to burn his books.

Perhaps you ought to burn these instead.

Pardon me?

I think it best that we part ways, Miss Hamilton.

I cannot in good conscience continue on under the banner of Temperance.

Thank you for your time, Miss Hamilton.

It doesn't fit. You see?

It doesn't fit. Try harder, Mr. McAllister.

It's too small.

If it doesn't fit...

It's not the same mask.

It's the one the Masked Man was wearing in the ring that night.

Yes, but it's not the one that man who signed my book was wearing.

There you have it, gentlemen.

It obvious you have no case whatsoever.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to ringside.

Enjoy the show, young man.

Mr. McAllister.

If you aren't the k*ller, then why did you give us two conflicting alibis?

I did no such thing.

Well yes, you told us you were out back moving equipment at the time of the m*rder, but then also told us you were injecting yourself with morphine shortly after the match.

Moving heavy equipment is hardly something one would do after injecting themselves with morphine.

Your story doesn't add up.

Who are you covering for?

I will not listen to these slanderous accusations.

These people paid good money to see a show and I intend to give them one.

Sir, the alibi about moving equipment, he didn't tell us that.

That came from Shane Tindall, his equipment man.

Tindall wasn't alibiing his employer, he was alibiing himself.

(Bell ringing)

Shane Tindall? Does anyone know Shane Tindall?

Shane Tindall?

Does anybody know Shane Tindall?

Edna, what are you doing here?

Mother.

What's he doing here?

He's helping. Don't worry.

Shane Tindall, we're looking for Shane Tindall.

(screaming)

Good heavens.

Come in, come in, come in.

Ladies and gentlemen, The Cossack appreciates your concern.

Indeed he is injured, but he's being tended to in the dressing room while we await an ambulance carriage.

George, do you believe this to be part of the act?

Who could say anymore?

However, the Cossack has asked that the show continue!

(crowd cheering)

That's him!

That's the guy who signed my book. He's wearing the same mask!

Sir, that's Shane Tindall.

He's trying to hide in plain sight.

George, what are you doing?

Stop right there!

It's the Cossack!

Are you okay?

Sir, sir, it's not Shane Tindall.

It's the Cossack in a mask!

Careful, George!

It's the Cossack in a mask!

He'll be fine.

No, no, no, no!

George, hit him with this!

It's a chair.

Hit him with it.

(impact)

(crowd cheering)

Edna, I suppose this is as good a time as any... the entire sport of wrestling is fake.

Of course I know that, George.

Do you think I would actually root for people to hurt one another?

Well, you just had me hit that man in the head with a chair!

What do you want? Get out of here!

Take this money and get lost!

I'm sorry, Mr. McAllister.

I only meant to help.

By k*lling my star attraction?

With my syringe, no less!

I thought you hated Handsome Randolph.

When I saw how angry you were, I tried to cover my tracks.

By trying to frame one of my other wrestlers.

I didn't mean for that to happen!

I've always been loyal to you, sir.

Which is the only reason I'm not turning you in.

Driver, I never want to see this man's face again. Take him to Union Station.

How about Station House Number Four instead?

Thank you for your confession.

Now, people, I'm just a Constable trying to do his job. But that said, I will try to get to each of you.

Can I have an autograph too?

Uh, yes, young man, I suppose I could manage that.

Julia.

Emily.

I heard what happened with Miss Hamilton.

I'm sorry things didn't work out.

Would you mind if we skipped the apologies and went straight to the whiskey?

Whiskey? Ha! Ha!

It seems there are some mysteries of the morgue I've yet to discover.

Will these do?

Brilliant.

Prohibition, my eye.

To the Furious Four.

Oh...

Again?

Of course.

(laughs)

One more.

I'm done working today.

Just a second, Evans.

What the bloody hell are you doing here?

I thought you ran off with my money.

Sir, this man stole your money?

Hold on there, I haven't stolen anything.

I gave him my savings to invest.

Then he closed his barbershop and disappeared.

You gave your savings to your barber, sir?

Oh, don't you start, Murdoch.

As it happens, I know my way around an investment.

I've done so well, in fact, I've decided to retire early.

Oh, I see.

This is your investment account.

My wife doesn't like the idea.

She wants our money back in the cookie jar where it belongs.

Really, I'm disappointed. I'll cash you out tomorrow.

Detective, what about you? I can make you a bundle.

Real estate perhaps?

Oh, investing in property seems somewhat foolhardy.

I don't see how home prices in this city can continue to rise.

The stock market, then.

I am quite happy with the interest offered on my account at the Post Office Savings Bank, thank you.

The loss is yours.

Gentlemen.

Sir, do you think he has any idea what he's talking about?

All I know is that according to Margaret, the man can't even cut bloody hair.

Sirs, you called for me?

Ah, Crabtree.

We wanted to compliment you on a fine piece of work.

Yes.

Even if your diligence did uncover that professional wrestling is a sham.

Yes, I doubt fans will continue to follow it so feverishly once the truth reaches them.

Nevertheless, I think it's about time you get measured for a new suit.

Sir?

Yes, George.

You've been serving in a Constable's tunic long enough.

Sirs?

Don't be thick, buggerlugs.

There's an opening at Station House Number Three for a new Detective. I've put you forward.

They'd be lucky to have you, George.

Announcer: All new Murdoch...

No matter how many votes we get, we're showing other women it can be done.

If the ballots are incorrect, sir, is it not your fault?

No.

Announcer: Murdoch Mysteries, next Monday at 8:00 on CBC.