08x17 - Election Day

[bunniefuu]

(theme music playing)

(whooping)

I will do immediately. Thank you.

Crabtree! In here.

Sirs.

Pack up your desk.

Excuse me?

And buy a suit.

Davis at Station House Number Three wants you as his detective.

You start in two weeks.

Sir, truly?

Detective Crabtree.

Congratulations.

"Detective Crabtree" I like the sound of that!

No time to celebrate, we've got to get to the polls.

Margaret's waiting.

Oh, sir, I already voted in the advance polls, in case I was detained on an investigation.

That's what advance polls are for.

Emily: Come along, the polling station's this way.

(crowd murmuring)

Good day, Dr. Nesbitt. Mr. Marter.

Dr. Ogden, whatever are you ladies doing here?

The same as you, gentlemen.

Not quite the same thing.

We are here to cast our own votes, after all.

I hear it's to be a tight race today.

Yes, between Mr. Marter and I.

May the best man win.

The line is back here.

Why wait in line when you can be first in?

They'll get their turn soon enough.

Voting is open!

Shall we?

We've a busy day ahead.

Busier than we expected. As of last night, we have 26 committed voters for Margaret Haile.

26 men in support of women's suffrage!

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

So, although

Mr. Marter is the incumbent...

And the Conservative.

Didn't I vote for him last time?

No, he's since left the Conservatives and is running as an Independent.

Independent. I quite like the sound of that.

Perhaps he had enough of back-room party shenanigans.

Don't be silly, Thomas, he's pouting because he didn't get a Senate appointment.

On the other hand, the new Conservative candidate, Dr. Nesbitt, is a scoundrel!

Well, that just leaves the lady candidate.

Doctor Ogden will be chuffed.

Any woman who manages her life right doesn't need suffrage.

I'm perfectly happy to leave the whole dirty business to my husband.

I've decided to support Doctors Ogden and Grace in their cause.

A wasted vote, in my books.

We're voting for the party as usual.

Isn't that right, Thomas?

(people clamouring)

Wait there, Margaret.

Excuse me!

Toronto Constabulary.

The Detective had the right idea, sir.

Voting will have to wait.

Constabulary, move aside please.

I heard George is moving up in the ranks.

Why, yes.

Detective Crabtree, would you care to assess the scene of the crime?

I would indeed, sir.

Emily: How very odd!

Yes, it appears our victim is wearing a fake moustache.

Dr. Ogden and I saw two men entering the polling station wearing red ties.

I can't be sure of his face, but I remember the tie.

He's still warm despite the morning chill.

Could very well be one of the men you saw.

He was strangled it would seem, and with no small amount of force.

His name is Plantagenet McCarthy.

Alright then, Detective, how do you think the investigation should proceed from here?

Well, sir, as we already have Constables interviewing witnesses in the area, I would dispatch another Constable, in this case, myself... to dig into background information for our victim, Mr. McCarthy.

And as the Detective... in this case, you, sir...

I would probably proceed to the victim's last known whereabouts.

Sounds about right.

Indeed.

Off we go.

Thank you, Dr. Grace.

Good morning, Margaret.

It's a fine day to make history, Lillian.

Margaret, I don't know what happened.

One of our supporters just told me that your name isn't on the ballot!

How can that be?

I'll telephone Clara Brett Martin.

Get word to our supporters at other polling stations.

lt's not in my power to stop voting.

I assure you, Margaret Haile is a properly registered candidate.

If her name isn't on the ballot...

It's not on the ballot.

Then none of these votes are valid.

You'll need to take your complaint up with Mr. Snipe, our Returning Officer.

Can I help you, ladies?

I certainly hope so.

Mr. Snipe, we have no intention of leaving!

Then I will be forced to call the police.

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary. May I help you?

Take your hands off the ladies, sir.

Margaret Haile has been left off the ballots.

Yet men continue to vote.

I am the returning officer and I am not prepared to stop the vote.

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

No...

Let me see what I can do, sir.

On another matter, we need the list of all the men who voted in the last hour, as well as the names of your staff.

You will need to talk to my clerks.

Do you recall seeing two men wearing red ties? They came in together.

Uh, yes, yes I do. They were the first and second to vote.

(telephones ringing)

Alexander Cuddy and Plantagenet McCarthy.

Will that be all, sir?

Yes, thank you.

It appears our victim's friend was one Alexander Cuddy of 18 Suffolk Street.

I'll have him brought in.

You get over to McCarthy's place, see what you can find.

That's wonderful news, Georg!

You've wanted this for so long.

I was starting to think it would never happen.

I can't believe I'll be out of this uniform forever.

Can you imagine me going off to work in a nice dapper suit?

And just think of it, I mean, you'll be the one solving the crimes and catching the murderers and making sure families see justice!

It's all on your shoulders.

Now that you mention it, I hope I'm up to the task.

Well of course you are, with your experience and smarts!

What if I'm not as capable without Detective Murdoch's help?

Put that thought out of your head, George. You'll be fine.

And besides, you'll have a Crabtree of your own.

Edna...

I have to get back.

Well, meet me for lunch. I'll take you out to celebrate.

I'd love that.

Clara, thank God you're here.

Julia, Margaret. What a disappointment!

What do the election laws say about this?

They don't seem to account for such a mistake.

It's never happened before.

Not the history we wanted to make.

Here's the Returning Officer now. Mr. Snipe, this is Clara Brett Martin, Miss Haile's lawyer.

Mr. Snipe, I assure you all of Miss Haile's candidacy papers are in order, and as such she has every right to appear on the ballot.

That may be, but I won't disrupt the voting for the sake of a stunt candidate.

If you can't make this right, I will petition a judge to order an injunction.

You can try what you like.

Miss Haile was never going to win, so I very much doubt that this particular error makes any real difference either way.

Good day, ladies.

An injunction it is. I'll be back as quickly as I can.

If our supporters can't vote, then no one should.

What do you have in mind, Julia?

(clicking)

(gas hissing)

Oh, William...

(echoing): Murdoch.

Murdoch!

Hey!

Terrence Meyers!

What are you doing here, Meyers?

The much more compelling question is what are you doing here, Murdoch?

I'm investigating the death of one Plantagenet McCarthy.

Plantagenet McCarthy is dead?

Yes.

We found his body this morning.

This was on his person.

What kind of gas was that?

It's harmless... or so I've been told.

Why did you booby-trap McCarthy's apartment?

Murdoch, McCarthy was a spy... one of my operatives, on a very important mission.

Of course he was.

I want to see the body.

He was strangled with a cord about a quarter-inch in diameter.

I believe the k*ller used a sisal twine dyed green.

I retrieved fibres from the wound.

You can take a look.

Where would I find his personal effects, Doctor?

Right over there.

Detective, if that will be all?

Yes, thank you.

What's this, Murdoch?

He was wearing a false moustache.

Huh!

A bit of spycraft.

Hmm.

This is an unfortunate turn of events.

I personally recruited McCarthy out of McGill University.

Trained him myself.

Perhaps that would explain his fate.

I need you to help me find his k*ller.

Ah, yes.

I imagine it's a matter of national... National security.

McCarthy's latest mission was to flush out a German spy operating in Toronto.

His death, while regrettable, proves the enemy spy is close.

Why would a German spy be in Toronto?

The Germans are extremely interested in anyone capable of supplying arms to Great Britain.

So your spy tasked with monitoring international movement of munitions found time to vote in our election this morning?

Spies fulfill their civic duty as well as everyone else.

We're gonna need a list of everyone that was at that polling station when McCarthy was there.

Already done.

Excellent.

I'm glad you've taken my advice on intelligence-gathering seriously, Murdoch.

(crowd murmuring)

Emily! Come here.

Oh, how exciting!

What are we doing exactly?

Now see here, Dr. Ogden, I've done my best to tolerate your crusade.

That's very considerate of you, Mr. Marter.

I think it's time for you ladies to go back to your knitting.

Tell me, Dr. Nesbitt, what would you do if it were your name left off the ballot?

My dear, my name could never be left off the ballot.

I have the power of the party behind me.

You have all the power, Dr. Nesbitt. And that is precisely the problem.

Julia: Bravo!

Emily: Well said!

Um, what are you all doing?

We're protesting.

Why?

This lady here, Margaret Haile...

Hello.

Hello.

... is running for office, but they left her name off the ballot.

That sounds unfair.

I'm sorry, not today.

But thank you very much, young lady.

You're exactly why all of this matters.

Germans? Connected to our victim?

Murdoch and I are just about to match your list of voters with the profile I have on one Wolfgang Ketzer, a German spy known to be operating in Toronto.

And you believe this Ketzer was at the polling station.

Care to share why?

Because my man, McCarthy, is dead.

Obviously k*lled by this conniving Hun.

You don't know that.

For all we know, Alexander Cuddy could be our man.

He and McCarthy were seen together at the polls shortly before McCarthy's death.

And they were both wearing matching red ties.

Cuddy is not our man.

You seem very sure of that.

I'm very certain.

Care to share why, Mr. Meyers?

Gentlemen. I am at liberty to share with you the information I have on Ketzer: mid-40s, stands over six feet tall.

Beautiful day, lads.

What have you, George?

Ah, sir.

Plantagenet McCarthy.

He studied both French and German at McGill University, lived there in Montreal for some time, as well as Quebec City.

Both cities with munitions factories.

Also, sir, somebody once tried to k*ll him but he survived.

Indeed?

About 20 years ago.

It sounds like he's led quite an adventurous life, sir.

Ah! Oh, good.

Potential suspects from the polling station have arrived.

Thank you, George.

No...

No...

Certainly not.

No...

Perhaps...

This one.

Sir, what is your name?

John Smith.

Ah. Mr. Smith...

We've detained you to ask you about your recent visit to Polling Station Number Five.

Did you speak to any other voters there?

"Good morning,"

"Nice day for it," that sort of thing.

I voted and left.

(speaking in German)

(speaking in German)

"John Smith" is not your real name, is it?

No.

It's Johannes Schmidt, but Canadians can't pronounce that, so I changed it.

Murdoch, I will be taking this man into the custody of the Canadian government.

We apparently have some catching up to do, don't we "Schmidt"?

All right.

Mr. Schmidt, may I see your hands?

Thank you.

Considering the w*apon and the force required to strangle someone, I would expect to see some marks on the k*ller's hands.

Any spy worth his salt would wear gloves when executing a man.

Any spy worth his salt wouldn't speak German and expose himself.

He exposed himself precisely to hide himself.

Some things you have yet to learn, Inspector.

That poor bugger's neither a k*ller nor a spy.

I agree.

So let's find the real one.

I hope you weren't expecting something fancier.

I think it's perfect.

Nothing could be more perfect than this moment right now.

And on a Detective's salary, I'll be able to afford fancier places.

Mm, fancier hot dogs.

Oh, the fanciest hot dogs.

But I could afford to buy a house.

I could afford to get married.

Is that meant to be a proposal, George?

Well, it wouldn't be...

I was just kidding. I didn't...

I didn't mean you'd actually...

George?

Edna...

Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?

Yes.

Yes, I will.

Gentlemen, it is your right to vote!

Do not let those who do not share that right deprive you of yours.

Sir, you will not pass.

This is exactly the farcical nonsense that we would expect from women in politics!

If our legitimate voters can't be counted, the results of this entire riding will be invalid.

Our point precisely.

We are as eager to find a solution as you are. In the meantime, if you continue to incite this crowd, the consequences will be on your hands.

Move aside!

Stand back, sir.

I want my vote.

Didn't I see you here this morning? You've already voted!

Constable! This man is attempting to vote illegally.

Well done, Emily.

Red tie.

Constable, take this man to Detective Murdoch immediately.

Alexander Cuddy, Matin Rapovski and Roger Gaskin.

Which of these is your real name?

Alexander Cuddy.

Alexander Cuddy. Well, then, Mr. Cuddy, you are a plugger.

You assume the identities of legitimate registered voters, you cast their vote for the candidate of your choosing.

You will be charged with fraud, and that may not be the extent of it.

What do you mean?

Where and when did you last see Plantagenet McCarthy?

Who?

Your friend, Plantagenet McCarthy.

Oh, right. We went to the polls together, then we went our separate ways. You caught him, too?

Mr. McCarthy was found dead this morning, right around the corner from the polling station.

That's terrible!

Did you have any reason to argue with Mr. McCarthy yourself?

No, no, We were friends.

Who would want to k*ll Burt?

Burt?

Burt Larsen.

Bloody Meyers! He lied to us again.

We should have expected as much.

So the victim, this Burt Larsen, was a plugger who used a spy's name by mistake and got "plugged" for it. Bit unfortunate, that.

Sir, he was strangled, not sh*t.

Yes, Murdoch. I know. It was a joke.

One suit in the wardrobe.

One shirt.

Seems like a typical bachelor's flat.

What exactly are we looking for?

Some sort of clue as to the real Plantagenet McCarthy.

Why don't we just ask Meyers?

Oh, right.

A pipe that's never been used.

No bed sheets.

Sir... Meyers has sent us on a fool's errand.

Are you saying what I think you're saying?

Plantagenet McCarthy doesn't exist.

Stop the vote! Stop the vote!

I have an injunction from Judge Gerald Ramsey.

The vote is to be halted until new ballots are available, and these ballots must contain all candidates, specifically Miss Margaret Haile.

Well done, Clara. Thank you.

This polling station is closed, pending the arrival of the corrected ballots in approximately... six hours from now.

Now, now, gentlemen. Please, stay a moment longer. I'm certain we can reach some sort of arrangement.

Six hours?

It is no small undertaking to print the number of ballots required.

In six hours the election will be all but over.

Well, ladies, you have succeeded at your goal.

You will have a clean vote, at the expense of any vote at all.

You knew the body in the morgue was not Plantagenet McCarthy.

I spent my entire morning chasing shadows at your behest.

I demand an explanation, Mr. Meyers.

Well, I never did say McCarthy was real, I just... neglected to tell you he wasn't.

All right, look.

It was a simple means to an end.

The German spy is real. McCarthy was created to flush him out.

Clearly it worked.

Were you not the least bit curious as to who had adopted your fake spy's persona?

I was, until I saw the body.

The red tie explained everything.

You knew right away that he was a plugger.

Why not tell me so that instant?

Because you would have wasted your time investigating him.

"Him" has a name: Burt Larsen.

And you're right, Mr. Meyers. I would have investigated him, which is what I intend to do now.

You're nothing if not predictable, Murdoch.

Look, take my word for it...

You'll forgive me if I don't.

Whoever k*lled your victim was in the polling station and heard him say the name "McCarthy".

This m*rder has nothing to do with Burt Larsen the plugger and everything to do with Plantagenet McCarthy the spy.

And I have the k*ller in custody.

You mean Schmidt?

I mean Schmidt.

And I suppose you have some proof of his guilt?

The interrogation is far from over.

Thank you, anyway. I do appreciate your support.

That's three more voters we've lost.

Their shift is starting and they won't be able to return.

Keeping the polls closed is skewing the results as much as if we stayed open.

But a fair election won't be possible as long as Margaret's name is absent from the ballot.

Why don't we write it in?

On every ballot until the new ones arrive.

Of course!

The injunction only stated that the candidates' names be on the ballot... it didn't specify how they come to be there.

Surely Mr. Snipe can have no objection.

So, who among us has the best penmanship?

George, how are you coming along on Burt Larsen's background?

Uh, sir, I've found nothing too out of the ordinary.

He was a hard-working man, unmarried, who spent most of his evenings at the pub talking politics.

By most accounts he was well-liked.

And he was the leader of this group of pluggers, then?

No, sir. He was recruited by a man named Duncan Hogan.

Bring him in.

Uh, already done, sir.

Hmm.

You know, soon you'll be asking a Constable to do the same.

My men were doing Toronto and the province a great service.

Marter has to win.

I tried to tell him how we could help him, but he wished to run an honest campaign.

And you disagree?

There are always pluggers.

If we didn't do it for Marter, Nesbitt would have an unfair advantage.

Mr. Hogan, you are to be charged with fraud and you're going to be banned from voting for the next seven years.

I'm prepared to sacrifice myself for the greater good.

That's very noble, but I'm not interested in rhetoric.

I'm interested in Burt Larsen.

Of course.

Poor man.

Do you know of anyone who may have harboured ill will toward him?

He was well-liked in general, though he did rub the Conservative party the wrong way after Marter left them... especially Dr. Nesbitt.

The Conservative candidate?

Larsen wrote him letters, hoping to persuade him to drop out of the race.

What was Dr. Nesbitt's response?

Nesbitt threatened to k*ll him.

Julia, this gentleman heard me speak earlier and was moved to give us his vote.

If we've changed even one man's mind, then we've already won.

There you are, fine sir.

A mere five minutes and we'll get you back to the pub.

Mr. Nesbitt, a word?

Detective.

Surely those suffragettes have not lodged yet another complaint?

No... I wonder, do you know a Burt Larsen?

What has that man said about me now?

He was m*rder*d this morning.

Just a few feet from here.

The dead man was Mr. Larsen?

Hmm!

Well, that will put a stop to the letters.

That's a rather callous response.

He sent me a letter every single day haranguing me to drop out of the race!

Ridiculous!

You felt threatened?

Goodness, no! I felt annoyed.

Were you aware that Mr. Larsen was part of a plugging scheme to benefit your opponent, Mr. Marter?

It wouldn't surprise me.

You were also heard to have threatened him.

Detective, you can't believe that I would k*ll someone over a handful of votes.

A handful of votes could make all of the difference.

As I understand it, this is one of the most hotly-contested races in the province.

Oh, I fancy I will squeak through just fine.

Hmm.

Nevertheless, where were you this morning between 8:00 and 8:30?

I was here, of course.

Surrounded by my campaign supporters.

Ask your wife, Detective.

I was speaking with her.

Thank the Lord! The reprinted ballots have arrived.

I'm not sorry that's done!

Nor me!

I haven't written that much since school.

Mr. Snipe wishes to thank you for your service, ladies.

You may now leave the building.

Not until we are assured that all the ballots are correct and inclusive of every candidate.

Mr. Snipe, stop!

What on earth is the matter now?

Mr. Snipe, was this same twine used on the original ballots?

Yes.

It's specific to official ballots, to ensure that no illegal substitutions can be made.

Right. Who here had access to that twine?

I suppose anyone who came inside. Mr. Lowrie, where did you put the discarded twine from this morning?

In the waste basket, of course.

Mr. Trimble?

It's not here.

Then the k*ller must have been inside this polling station.

Right, which would mean Mr. Meyers was right after all.

Well, Mr. Meyers, it appears that you were right after all.

And I imagine that Mr. Schmidt has confessed by now.

Schmidt is, unfortunately, just an ordinary citizen.

The m*rder was committed by a German, just not that German.

If this is indeed the work of a spy, we need information.

Everything you know.

And do not say the words "national security."

We intercepted a message some time ago.

Our top men broke the complex cypher, and we determined that the coded address was 8 Beech Street, obviously Wolfgang Ketzer's lair.

When we arrived we found nothing but a Chinese laundry.

Clever ducks.

May I see this message?

Gentlemen, I must warn you both, you place yourself in great peril by pursuing this canny and unpredictable man.

Mr. Meyers, your top men may have been looking for a cypher that wasn't there.

How so?

Brackenreid: 52 Selby. Plain as day.

Huh! (Chuckling)

We would never have considered something so simplistic.

(thumping desk) That's fantastic!

Come along, Murdoch.

Ha!

(men laughing and chatting)

Follow my lead, Murdoch.

It's my game you're playing in now.

Huh!

I must stop underestimating these Germans.

And now we wait.

Empty, save for a pair of shoes.

No bed sheet.

And a pipe that hasn't been smoked.

Have a seat, Murdoch.

He'll be along presently.

No.

No, I don't believe he will.

You see, much like your Plantagenet McCarthy, this Wolfgang Ketzer does not, in fact, exist.

(chuckling)

Impossible!

Oh, this is too much. Of course he doesn't exist!

I should have known.

(laughing)

(trains rattling)

So Burt Larsen was k*lled for being Burt Larsen, seeing as Plantagenet McCarthy was never anything more than a figment of Mr. Meyers' vivid imagination.

With a name like that, we should have known all along.

Well, you flatter me, Inspector.

Even I couldn't come up with such a name.

Mr. Meyers, do you mean to say that you based your fake spy on a real person?

Of course.

Well, it's standard procedure.

We take a dead man, in this case McCarthy, we remove his death certificate from the record, and voilà.

Did this not strike you at any point as pertinent information?

Of course not.

The original McCarthy is wholly irrelevant to the capture of a German spy.

But completely relevant to the m*rder of a man assuming his name.

Yeah. Well...

The nation thanks you for your service.

As much as it pains me to say this, Mr. Meyers, we now need you.

Well, Murdoch, if it were anyone else...

But how can I say no to you, hmm?

(patting his leg)

Dr. Nesbitt.

I concur.

Mr. Marter.

I concur.

Miss Margaret Haile.

I concur.

That concludes the extent of the ballots.

Was the count conducted to your satisfaction?

It was.

It was.

It was.

Well, gentlemen, I wish you both the best of luck.

Whomever wins, you can say you did so with the utmost fairness.

As trying as this day has been, I will grant you ladies that.

A fair election was always our intention.

And I, too, am not above acknowledging your efforts, as much as I abhor the theatrics.

We will take that as a compliment.

This seal will not be broken until the ballots arrive at the central elections office to be counted.

Thank you candidates and scrutineers for your attention.

Well that's that then.

Congratulations, ladies. We survived.

Oh, we did more than survive. We triumphed.

Let's go drink champagne. My treat.

I won't say no to that.

(All laughing)

Plantagenet McCarthy.

These are the details we know of his life so far, though I suspect most of it is less than true?

Ah, well, let's see.

McGill University, that's all me, as is Quebec City.

I certainly made his life much more exciting.

I doubt the real man ever left Ontario.

When did he die?

1893, '94, thereabouts.

Natural causes.

And what about this attempt on McCarthy's life?

What was the circumstance?

"Assailant att*cks McCarthy outside of a Mimico church wielding a Kn*fe."

Not my doing.

Mimico?

It's far too pedestrian.

It stands to reason that if someone wanted McCarthy dead 21 years ago, he likely still would.

Yes sir, but if that man was in the polling station today, surely he would have seen that Burt Larsen wasn't the Plantagenet McCarthy he once att*cked.

It was 21 one years ago.

Larsen's about the right age and he was wearing a false moustache and using McCarthy's name.

Is there a description of McCarthy's assailant in that file?

Well, I admit I'm intrigued.

Witnesses describe a man in his 30s.

Then he's in his 50s now.

Who on our list of suspects from the polling station fits that age?

Only one.

Vernon Snipe.

Excellent!

Let's have a conversation with Mr. Snipe, shall we?

Oh, I believe we can handle it from here, Mr. Meyers.

After all, it's no longer a matter of national security.

Uh, gentlemen. I'm afraid the polls have long since closed.

Vernon Snipe, you are to accompany us to the Station House.

Now?

Yes, now.

You're a suspect in a m*rder investigation.

Gentlemen, please, I have a responsibility to deliver these ballots to the elections office.

Uh, I can do that for you, Mr. Snipe.

You heard the gentleman. Hand over the box and let's go.

(grunting)

Mr. Lowrie... your gloves.

What about them?

Where were you between 8:00 and 8:30 this morning?

I was inside, of course.

Mr. Snipe?

I was outside for the first half hour, monitoring the line.

Mr. Trimble?

You left me alone for 10 whole minutes right at the start of the day.

You didn't even apologize.

Don't even think about it, Mr. Lowrie.

You're under arrest for m*rder.

Plantagenet McCarthy rented out the back room of my father's shop in Mimico to run a bookmaking business.

My father was sent to prison for five years, punished for McCarthy's crimes. We lost the shop.

(voice breaking): My family was disgraced...

Your father att*cked McCarthy in 1881.

Yes.

My father d*ed soon after.

You know, they said it was some illness he caught in prison, but I swear he d*ed of shame.

You were just a child.

So when a man roughly the right age presented himself as Plantagenet McCarthy at the polling station, you assumed him to be the man who ruined your father.

Who else would have that wretched name?

So you grabbed the twine, followed him outside and you k*lled him.

Just as I'd imagined doing many times before.

Mr. Lowrie...

Plantagenet McCarthy d*ed several years ago.

The man you assumed to be him was a plugger named Burt Larsen.

He was innocent, much like your father.

So it was the clerk all along.

Never would have guessed it.

You're welcome, of course.

If I hadn't made up a spy, you would never have found your k*ller.

If you hadn't made up the spy, Mr. Meyers, there would have been no k*ller.

Oh, such a wet blanket.

If you'll excuse me, I'm to meet my wife.

Of course!

In all of this excitement, I forgot to congratulate you on your marriage.

Thank you. We're very happy.

Mm-hmm.

Quite a p*stol, that Dr. Ogden, hmm?

Election agitating and all...

Puts me in mind of a noble salmon, swimming upstream against the current, hmm?

Do you fish, Murdoch?

No.

Hmm.

Well, that's a shame.

So you're marrying a copper, then?

I guess I'll have to be on my best behaviour.

As you should be, copper or no.

We'll get a house with a garden, maybe a brother or sister for you.

We'll be a proper family.

No sister, OK?

A brother would be alright, though, no sister.

Well, cross that bridge when we come to it. Do you want some tea, George?

Please.

And uh, if you're not going to finish your cake, can I...

Father?

Hello, son.

Hi!

(both laughing)

I thought you were dead. They said you were... k*lled. They were wrong then, weren't they?

Go take my bag into the bedroom. There's a good lad.

Edna...

You look exactly as I left you.

A policeman!

Has there been some trouble?

No. Not that I...

This is Constable Crabtree.

He's been a great help to us.

Sergeant Archibald Brooks.

Thank you, Constable.

I think I can manage from here on in.

Yes, of course.

Here it is.

North Toronto.

The seat goes to Dr. Nesbitt and the Conservatives.

But it was close.

The plurality over Marter was only 232 votes.

Who cares who won? How did Margaret do?

Miss Margaret Haile:

79 votes.

79!

Oh, that's a great many more than we anticipated.

That's tremendous!

I'm so proud... of all of us.

Let's take a photograph with the newspaper.

Um, excuse me, Miss Haile, may I please have your autograph?

Oh, how lovely of you to ask!

You do know, young lady, that I didn't win the election?

I know.

One day I'd like to run in an election, too.

Well, you never know, one day you may just win.

To whom should I address this?

My name is Agnes. Agnes Macphail.

Would you mind?

Thank you.

Ready?

Here, hold the newspaper.

Agnes, why don't you hold it?

Smile everyone. To our future!

Thank you for meeting me, George.

How's Simon?

He's happy...

His father's back.

How are you?

They told me he was dead, George.

Edna...

I mean, one minute I'm to be Mrs. George Crabtree, and the next minute I'm back to being Mrs. Archibald Brooks.

I... I don't know what to do, George...

The only thing you can do, Edna.

Your husband has come back to you.

Simon's father has returned to him.

Your family's whole again.

George...

Edna, go back to your life and be happy.

I want you to be happy.

Goodbye, George.

(Edna crying quietly)