02x02 - Snakes And Ladders

Murdoch, what the bloody hell are you doing?

Ah. I'm working on...

An idea that's been floating around the skull of yours...

Yes, I know.

Actually, it's something I've been thinking about ever since the rowing club murders. It's a... well, essentially, it's a new source of light.

And the old source of light we had wasn't good enough?

Allow me to demonstrate.

Please switch off the lamp.

Right. Now, I turn on the light source.



Look at my fingernails.

They're glowing.

That's because light rays from beyond the visible spectrum are striking...

I'm sure they are.

Look. It's plain to see that you could use some distraction in your life. Here.

What are these?

Two tickets for a gala ball that some dinosaur expert's putting on next week.

Professor Blake's exhibit.

That's the chap.

Sir, this is one of "the" events of the year.

Surely you'll want to be taking Mrs. Brackenreid.

Yes, well, the missus and I are not completely seeing eye-to-eye on certain matters these days.

We won't be dancing anytime soon.

Ah well then, you'll just have to give them to someone else.

I thought it was baptists that didn't dance, not papists.

Funny story about that, actually...

Uh, excuse me, Sir, but you're needed.

Inspector, Detective!

What's going on here, Crabtree?

A young lad on his way fishing discovered it.

Or discovered her, I should say.

She's quite the sight to behold.

Sight? What do you mean by that?

Take a look for yourself, Sir.

Bloody hell, she's been gutted.

Her name is Alberta Moffat.

What do we know about her?

Very little so far, Sir.

A previous arrest for prostitution.

There's something else you should see. Just over here.

"Try to stop me."

Lunatic's taunting us.

So it would seem.

Oye! Oye! Oye! Hey! Where do you think you're going?

I told you, I need to speak to your superior urgently...

Now, bloody well let go of me!

No, no, you'll be cooling your heels in the clink...

I don't have time for this nonsense, Constable!


What's going on?

You in charge?

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.

Toronto police department.

And just who might you be?

Detective Edward Scanlon, Scotland Yard.

I know who it is you're looking for.

You know who committed this murder?

Yes, I do.

And unless we catch him he'll kill again and again.

His name is Harlan Orgill and don't let the looks deceive you. He's a maniac.

And you've been pursuing Mr. Orgill for how long?

Fourteen months, three weeks, and four days.


Yes. He was a suspect in a murder I was investigating in London.

He fled to Cairo, and I followed his trail to Bombay and then to Auckland.

Travelling the empire.

Yes, and in every city, he murdered, no slaughtered, eight women.

Always eight?


And every time he slipped through my fingers.

What makes you think this Mr. Orgill is here?

I found his rooming house in Auckland.

Too late, but he'd left this behind.

"Canadian women's council celebrates anniversary."

He hates women. He's killed twenty-four of them.

Twenty-five now.

With presumably seven more to be killed in this city.

If he's here at all.

This is just a scrap of paper.

A man matching Orgill's description took the steamer from Auckland to Vancouver.

That was almost four months ago.

Two months at sea, give or take.

Then he arrives at Vancouver, spends a week there.

Takes the train here to Toronto, then has a month to prepare for his first murder.


Now... I don't know for a fact that he took that train.

But I do know what he does to his victims, and I can assure you he is here.

Tell me... Inspector.

Did that girl's body remind you of something?

Whitechapel, perhaps?


As in East End... Whitechapel?

Well, you must admit, there are similarities.

The wounds, the prostitute victims.

Sir, are you saying this Orgill might be Jack the Ripper?

Well, the Ripper was never caught.

Mr. Scanlon... if you could just give Detective Murdoch and myself a minute...

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

I was still with the regiment garrisoned near Whitechapel when I watched half the bloody force work on the Ripper case.

Hundreds, maybe a thousand coppers. And he beat them all.

Sir, the Ripper killings were seven years ago.

The odds of this being the same man...

You weren't there, Murdoch.

What he did to those women...

He made a laughing stock out of the finest police force in the world.

I don't want that happening here. Understood?

Of course.

You call yourself policemen! It's a... disgrace!

Mr. Scanlon, please!

There was no harm intended. The lads are just passing...

It's a travesty is what it is! A dereliction of duty.

Hey! What's going on?

Sir, we were just having a game of checkers...

Two of your constables sitting around playing schoolboy games whilst a killer walks the streets.

Detective Scanlon has a point, gentlemen.

But Inspector...

No buts!

Make yourself useful.

Detective Scanlon... if you would be so kind as to assist Detective Murdoch, we have a murderer to catch.

Of course.

Carry on, Detective.

Right then.

This is who we are looking for. Harlan Orgill.

Recently arrived to Toronto by train sometime in the last month, so make union station your starting point and work your way out.

Check hotels, rooming houses, anywhere he might be staying.

He may need money, so he may be recently employed.

Anything out of the usual is to be noted.



Thank you.

Detective... I believe post mortem results await us.

Very good.

So, the carotid artery on the left side and the other vessels contained in the sheath were all cut through, save the posterior portion of the carotid, to a line about one-twelfth of an inch in extent, which prevented the separation of the upper and lower portion of the artery.

I can go on like this for quite some time.

Any idea of the weapon used?

Yes, a short knife. Possibly something like a shoe-maker's. Well-ground, very sharp.

And the shoulders... the collarbone? Were they bruised?

Bluish discolouration indicates the victim was...

And the wounds were left to right?


His technique.

Always the same. Grabs them by the shoulders, holds them down, and cuts them.

That's a plausible scenario.


I'm telling you, that's bloody well what happened.

From Whitechapel to here. Exactly as the Ripper did them.

There are similarities. Striking ones, I'll admit. But I... I... I...

What more do you need to know?

It's not that I'm disagreeing with you, Detective, but these wounds could have been inflicted by anyone... with rudimentary knowledge of butchery.

I'm telling you... this is our killer!

Detective Scanlon...

A murderer kills unabated... and at every turn I have met with indifference.

Wha... what in the world?

Mr. Scanlon, your behaviour is quite unacceptable.

I will no longer stand by as you irrationally berate Dr. Ogden or my fellow officers.

I believe an apology is in order.

Yes. Yes, you're quite right.

I don't know what came over me.

Please accept my apologies, Doctor.

Of course.

Now, while my men search for the killer, might I suggest we follow up with the victim?

I took the first train I could.

There wasn't any train in Grafton; I had to go all the way to Cobourg.

We appreciate the haste, Mrs. Moffat.

They would only let me see her face.

What did he do to her?

Perhaps it would be best if we discussed that at a different time.

I see.

Do you have any idea what your daughter was doing last night?

She worked at St. Michael's hospital, in the laundry.

Twelve hour shift.

She would have finished work and been going home.

And where was home?

It was a... a boarding house on Shuter Street.

We suspect that she may have been doing something else.

Oh well, Alberta worked very late. She would have been tired.

Mrs. Moffat.

Did you know your daughter was a prostitute?

My daughter was no such thing.

I see.

Is that how you think she met this... animal?

It's a theory.

Malcolm, her father.

He had consumption.

And... I couldn't put food on the table.

And Alberta would help me out, if you know what I mean.

I do.

But those days were behind her.

I am sure of it.

Weren't they?

I have met twenty-four mothers like her. Twenty-four.

So I hope you see why sometimes I grow a little impatient.

I do.

So Miss Moffat is working her shift at the hospital.

After work... having trouble making ends meet, she reverts back to her old ways?

But unfortunately, her customer is Harlan Orgill.

Hm. We'll have to ascertain Miss Moffat's movements after work.

I'll get the men on it straight away.

Detective, might we make a stop on the way back?

Of course. Is there something you require?

Yes, a... a peace offering.

Any progress, George?

Nothing so far, I'm afraid, Sir.

There's something else I'll need you to do.

I'll need you to look into our victim's final hours, starting at St. Michael's hospital.

Right away, Sir.

Hard at it, are we, lads?

Yes, Sir.

Look... uh, about earlier.

I'd like to make amends.

That's not necessary, Sir. Your point was well taken.

No, please, I insist.

Snakes and ladders, Sir?

To replace your checkers board.

I've played it incessantly whilst I've been following Mr. Orgill.

Allow me to show you how it's played.

The objective of the game is to get to the end square using various rolls of the dice.

However, should you land on a ladder you ascend via a short cut.

But land on a snake and you descend.

It's really quite addictive.

Well, thank you, Sir.

And when we have more time... we'll... we'll give it a try.

Well done, Sir.

So, what's our next move?

Well, I suggest there's nothing more we can do this day, we should get some rest. You're probably exhausted.

Yes, I am.

Well, good night.


Oh, Detective Scanlon.

We will catch this man.

Of course we will.

You must be Mr. Murdoch.

That's correct.


I am Professor Otranto, and I will make you a dancer.

Uh, good. Good.

That is what you want, is it not?

Uh yes, I had hoped to improve my technique.

Very well. But first we must evaluate your abilities, yes.



Assume the position, Sir.

What position would that be?

Mm, now dance.

Oh, there's much work to be done here.

Have we another, George?

It would seem so, Sir.

Has Detective Scanlon been informed?

Actually, he's here.

He was at the station when word came in.

We weren't much help to her, were we?


He left another message.




We canvassed the area for witnesses.

One woman who was up nursing her child saw a carriage wheel past late in the night.

That doesn't seem unusual.

Oh well, we were asked to keep a mind for something out of the ordinary, Sir, and this carriage happened to match the description of one reported stolen the day of the first murder.

Hm, far too much of a coincidence to be ignored.


Very good work, Constable.

Thank you, Sir.

What's the girl's name?

Gloria Abercrombie.

How old?

Nineteen. Recently moved here from Orilia.

And she ends up getting slaughtered like the other.

The wounds were similar, however the circumstances were different.

There is no indication this Ambercrombie was a prostitute.

No? So what's a good girl doing walking out by herself late at night?

She worked for a seamstress. They were working late on a dress.

According to the seamstress, Miss Abercrombie was on her way home.

She was staying at the YWCA.

All right. So she gets off work late.

There's no trams running. She starts to walk home.

Orgill is on the prowl in the stolen carriage. He spots the victim.

This is where I begin to have difficulty.

Why choose Miss Abercrombie if she wasn't a prostitute?

Mistaken identity in poor light?

Well, even so... why would she get into a carriage with a complete stranger?

Maybe he enticed her.

More likely... she was forced into the carriage.

Yet no one heard or saw a thing.

Well, The Ripper managed to vivisect five women in the heart of London and no one saw or heard him.

Regardless, we do have a concrete clue.

I suggest we divide your expertise.

Detective Scanlon you work with the constables.

Find out whoever stole that carriage.

Murdoch... follow up on the victim.

She was a seamtress.

Yes, the puncture marks.

She was a hard worker.

Any indication she might have also been a prostitute?

No. Her hymen was intact.

Oh. I see.

You seem troubled, William.

This is a dreadful case.

Yes, quite.

There are a number of details that are troubling me about this case.

Such as?

With the nature of this wound, Doctor, would the killer not have been convered in blood?

Not necessarily.

The commencement of the wound and injury would have been away from him, and therefore the stream of blood and it would have been a stream would also have been away from him.

Which is another matter.

There was no blood to speak of where either victim was found.

Suggesting they were killed elsewhere and then moved.

I wish I could better understand the mind that did this.

A... a colleague mentioned a young alienist, a... a Doctor Roberts, who was recently removed from his position at the provincial lunatic asylum.


Yes, apparently his research on the workings of the criminal mind ruffled too many feathers.

However, he's supposed to be quite forward-thinking.

Perhaps he could be of assistance.

Any idea where I might find this Dr. Roberts?

My understanding is he's practicing at a private hospital in Etobicoke.

Ah, thank you.

My pleasure.


I've recently obtained tickets to the upcoming dinosaur ball.

And I wondered if you might be interested in attending?

Yes, of course.

That would be most delightful.

Very good.

Hydrotherapy, most impressive. Now, Doctor I'm here because I want you to help me understand what's going on inside of the killer's mind.

Well, that's rather a tall order.

To what end?

I wish to create a "portrait" of the killer.

By understanding what motivates him, I hope to find the means to stop him.

The concept is intriguing.

I will see that all of the information we have on the killer is delivered right to you.

Very well. I will turn my attention to it immediately.


Uh, Detective.

I am considered somewhat of a, uh, a pariah because of my methods.

Precisely why I think you can help me, Doctor.

Oh, for the love of...

Nothing better to do, George?

Oh n... n... no, Sir, we were just waiting for you.

Fascinating game, eh?

A morality play.

Ladders reward good deeds.

Snakes punish bad ones.

I don't like it, Sir.

All your progress stolen away by these slithery little...

This one is clearly staring at me.

George. Anything to report?

Yes. We found the stolen carriage.

And it hasn't been touched?

No, Sir. We knew you'd want to inspect the carriage yourself.

Your constables were adamant that I should wait for you before inspecting the carriage.

They're a clever bunch.

Yes. Yes, they are.

Unfortunately, so too is Mr. Orgill.

He's left it spotless.

Or so it would seem.

Haul it in.

George, can you get the daylight-ina-box?


Thank you.

I'm still unclear as to what it is you hope to achieve.

We recently had a case where a fluorescing substance provided a critical clue.

Now all kinds of things... body fluids, fibres... fluoresce when exposed to ultraviolet light.

Thank you, George.


Yes. It's light outside of the visible spectrum.

There have been recent developments photographing it using special filters.

Which got me thinking, if I put one of those filters on a light, could I then generate ultraviolet light?

And if so...

What clues might be revealed?

Precisely. So I contacted a young Mr. Woods at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology who helped me with this.

Thank you, George.

Now, let's see what's really here.

Sir, what are those dark areas?

One of the things that doesn't fluoresce is blood.

My God.

Gentlemen, we now know where the murders took place.

We now know conclusively that whoever stole that carriage is our killer.

Alberta Moffat finishes her shift at the hospital, makes her way home to her boarding house on Shuter Street.

Gloria Abercrombie finishes at the seamstresses'.

And makes her way to her lodgings at the YWCA.

Look, forget the maps.

What I want to know is why two young women would let themselves get talked into a carriage by a complete stranger who then murders them?

We have a good reason for Miss Moffat, but not for Miss Abercrombie.

Inspector, do you remember back in Whitechapel, there was talk.

There was lots of talk.

Yeah, I mean that the Ripper was someone respected, someone that a girl could trust.



The royal surgeon.

Rumour had it that he might have been cleaning up after eddy.

Prince Albert.

Frequented the doxies and there was told that there were a few heirs to the throne with less than royal bloodlines.

Are you saying this Gull could have...

Not Gull.

The old codger died from a stroke years ago.

But someone like a doctor. They suspected a Canadian too.

Dr. Thomas Cream. But he was executed.

Yes... yes, yes. The point is that the victims got into the carriage of a respectable-looking man.

My question is why these two women.

There could be a thousand reasons.

The most likely one is that he just stumbled upon them.

I still think our best bet is finding whoever stole that carriage.


Very good. I have an appointment.

I went through the files your Detective Scanlon had amassed.

They were quite substantial.

Yes, he's obsessed with the case.

Well, they've been of enormous help.

I think I've been able to grasp something of the killer and his victims.


Obviously, the killer has a deep anger towards women.

So deep and powerful, that he's compelled to kill them.

He must keep his anger well-hidden.

By wearing a mask.

A mask?

A figurative one.

A mask of sanity.

Are you familiar with Philippe Pinel?

The French alienist.

That's him.

He uses the term "manie sans délire" to describe disturbed individuals who show no visible sign of any mental disorder.

Like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde.


The condition would have started in childhood.

Most likely something quite traumatic caused the killer to create a secondary world.

A fantasy world?

One where the child could remain safely.

In doing so, he also created a world for Mr. Hyde to eventually inhabit.

But how does one go from childhood innocence to murderer?

I suspect when the killer reached sexual maturity, he had difficulty with women.

Possibly, he may be impotent.

Regardless, inside him, anger grew towards them, eventually becoming murderous rage.

Why kill these specific women?

Well, looking back over the case, there seems to be one loose, but common thread, all the women worked.

Is that a reason to kill?

For a man already threatened by them, yes.

By killing them, he bolsters his own esteem.

And the more powerful the woman, the greater the effect.

Why kill Miss Moffat?

She was a prostitute. Hardly a powerful woman.

I'm afraid that's one of a number of things I can't answer.

I have no idea why he strikes eight times.

But the number is clearly of significance to him.

I've been thinking about the message he leaves at the scene.

"Try to stop me."


Could it be a plea for help, rather than a taunt?

Something from the Dr. Jekyll side of his mind.

Wanting the Mr. Hyde side of him stopped.

It's very possible.

Well, that's my report, such as it is.

I wish I could have been of more help.

On the contrary, it could prove quite useful.

What use is this supposed to be?

It's a description of what... might motivate the killer.

Well, that's bloody obvious. But how does it help us?

Sir, I understand it's not a tangible clue.


That's an understatement.

Inspector, if I might... I'm not much for these modern techniques either, but for the first time I feel as if I can really understand Orgill.

Seems to me like we're just clutching at straws.

We are. But we now know more about the sort of man that we're looking for.

Angry, sexually deviant.

Point taken.

All right, Murdoch. Get the men to round up suspects who fit this portrait.

Yes, Sir.

Mr. Scanlon, fancy a drink?

Yes, I think I could do with one, thank you.

I thought you might.

Murdoch, I don't suppose...

I'm afraid I'm already late for a previous engagement.

I figured as much.


Ah, Detective!

Sorry I'm late, Professor.

No time for excuses, good Sir.

There is one partner left.

A new student.




Ah, you know one another.

Very good.

But now, to business.

So where are you from?

Seven Oaks.




Do you miss the old country?

Certain days.

My parents. My brother.

What about yourself?

I have a sister.

We never knew our mother.

What about your father?

He was never the same after Crimea.

Took his own life.

Bloody, savage war.

Yes, it was.

And you served as well?


That was a mistake.

Most of my regiment were wiped out.

Sorry to hear that.

Yeah, I had my fill of war.

Went to the Yard after I got back. Wasn't much better there.


Whitechapel, The Ripper.

Made me sick to my stomach.

It was quite a gruesome sight.

No, I mean the... the poverty, the dirt, the brutality.

What sort of world is it where children go hungry and are beaten whilst we build an empire?

I suppose we're just trying to do the best we can.

You know, Orgill.

There'll be more like him.

Killers who kill for no reason.

I hope you're mistaken, Edward.

No, they're coming.

We make them.

That's why men like you and I are here, to try and stop them.

Well, it shouldn't be this way.

No, it shouldn't, but it is.

Rule, Britannia.

God save the Queen.



Perhaps I could lead.

Oh? I'm so sorry.

It's a good thing we both decided to brush up.

Yes, well... I had hoped to impress you, not cripple you.

Doctor, may I ask you a question?


May we discuss the case as we dance?

I... I thought you'd never ask.

Good, because there is an aspect that puzzles me.

How does the killer choose his victims?

All right, well, he arrives in the city and he needs to kill.

He wants to find women who are working.

Yes, but choosing them randomly would be too risky.

So where does he look?

Perhaps he watches their employer.

They both worked for different companies, but I suppose it's possible.

Perhaps he selects them from a certain geographical area.

One lived in Cabbagetown.

The other closer to The Annex.

He must have known something about his victims.

Some... some common link.

But what?

Ladies and... gentlemen.

A military two-step.

Watch your toes, Detective.

Ah, Murdoch. While you've been fannying around, there's been a development.

Fannying, Sir?

He goes by the name Morris Bailey.

He was caught spying on a girl in Winchester last night.

Turns out the room he was boarding in was filled with women's underwear.

And how do we know he's our man?

He also works in the Slaughter Yard, so he knows his way around a knife.

He's British and he arrived from Vancouver three weeks ago.

I'd say he's an excellent suspect.

Let us see.

Be my guest.

Mr. Bailey.

My name is Detective William Murdoch.

Look, that woman left her window wide open.

Fairly asking for any man to look at her.

I see.

I understand you recently arrived to the city.

Where from?

What has that got to do with anything?

Please, just answer the question.


What were you doing there?

I was visiting my brother.

And before that?

San Francisco. Look, why are you asking me that?

What has that got to do with me looking through no window?

Are you currently employed at the Frederick street Slaughter Yard?

Yeah. I'm a watchman there.

Do you recognize this carriage?


It was stolen from a residence three blocks away from the Slaughter Yards.

No. I had nothing to do with that.

Do you recognize this woman?


This woman?

Say... wait a minute.

Yeah yeah yeah, these are the two women that I saw their pictures on the front of the paper.

These are the two women that were murdered.

No, no, no... you got it all wrong.

I had nothing to do with them.

Mister Bailey, where were you three nights ago?

I don't remember.

Sometimes, I have a few too many.

And the night before last? Did you also then have a few too many?

I would never do anything to hurt a woman.


Why should I believe you?

Because I don't harm them. I just like to look at them.

You do believe me, don't you?

That remains to be seen.

Wait wait wait, look!

You won't tell my mother, will you?

Because honestly it would be the death of her.

You must promise me that.

There will be no promises at this time.


We'll let him stew for awhile. Then I'll take a crack at him.

Something wrong, Detective?

I suppose I thought he'd be less banal.


For what it's worth, I don't think he's our killer.

What do you mean, he's not our killer?

He didn't have the motivation.


Motivation? The man's sick.

He plays with himself while he watches women undress.

Then he steals their soiled undergarments.

He only likes to watch.


Sir, He worked at the Slaughter Yards as a watchman.

There's no reason to believe he knows how to use a knife in that way.

Look, Murdoch, he fits your alienist's bloody profile.


Portrait, profile...

Wh... what difference does it make?

I'm telling you he's our man.

Sir, may I suggest that we...


Sir, there's a... there's a problem with the prisoner.

You'll be letting me go or your boy here gets it.

It's no use, Mr. Bailey.

I am not hanging over those whores!

You'll not get out of here alive, Orgill.

My name is Bailey.

And if I'm not getting out of here alive... then neither is this one.

Detective Scanlon.

I know we got off to a bit of a rough start, but uh... I just want to say it's been a pleasure, Sir.

The same, Constable.

And should you find yourself in London someday, there will be a drink waiting for you.

Well, then I plan to find myself in London some day, Sir.





Uh, that's cheating, Detective.

This game confounds me.

As does this case.

You insist on remaining skeptical.

May I join you?

I have trouble with the unresolved.

So do I. I'd rather have seen Orgill have his day in court, then watched him hang.

These are the suspect's clothing.

Don't have a trace of blood on them, even under ultraviolet light.

He could simply have disposed of his clothing.


But then there's Dr. Robert's portrait of the killer.

Hardly the meticulous planner I would have expected.

And then there's the method of sexual gratification.

True, he was an observer and an onanist, but that doesn't rule him out from being a murderer also.

So you truly suspect the killer remains at large?

I do.

And I believe the secret to catching him is finding the connection between the two victims.

A connection in no way precludes mister Orgill and mister Bailey being one and the same.

You must admit that is a very real possibility.

Well, I'll concede that.

Regardless of what you or I might think, Scotland Yard considers the case closed.

Well, I really must be off, but just one last throw.

One. Two. Three.

Curse my luck, Detective.

Oh, there is one other thing that occurs to me.

If there is a connection, might it have something to do with the fact that neither woman was from Toronto?

You have a point.

I shall follow up, Detective.

Goodbye, Detective Murdoch.

Goodbye, Detective Scanlon.



Has Mrs. Moffat returned home yet?

Uh no, I believe she's still staying with the sister.

Mrs. Moffat.

You said Alberta recently moved to the city?


Where did she first find employment?

At the hospital straight away.

Alberta always wanted to help the poor, so that's why she chose St. Michael's.

On account of the sister' work.

I see. So she came to the city to start work at St. Michael's.

And she moved into a boarding house.

Oh no.

She didn't?

Alberta had gumption.

She just thought she'd find some place.

So where did she live then?

Well, there's only one place that'll help a young lady out when she's first getting started, isn't there?

Dr. Ogden.

Detective Scanlon, how can I help you?

I just came to say farewell.

With Mr. Orgill deceased, it seems that it's time for me to return home.

Tomorrow, in fact.

This must be a huge relief for you.

Yes, yes, it is.

It's been so much a part of my life I'm not sure what I'll do with myself.

I'm sure you'll find something.

I'd like to apologize again for my behaviour.

If you would... I'd very much like to make it up to you.

Really, that's not necessary.

No, please.

Please, allow me to take you to dinner.

Oh, well, I would like that very much, but I... unfortunately I have a lot of work ahead of me this evening.

I understand.

It's been a pleasure, Dr. Ogden.

Hopefully we'll have the opportunity to meet again under better circumstances.

I hope so too.

Miss Ross... both Alberta Moffat and Gloria Ambercrombie stayed here at one time, did they not?

God rest their souls, yes. But Alberta had moved out a month ago.

You aren't suggesting that somehow the YWCA is involved in these murders?

No, but it is a common point between the two victims.

Who had access to your records?

We are very strict about the privacy of the women who stay here.

Of course. I didn't mean to imply.

Besides I thought you would already be aware.

I'm sorry, I don't understand.

Well, the only person who's examined our files was one of your men.

My men?

Yes. One of your officers.

Can you describe this officer?

So the killer impersonates a copper, goes to the YWCA, supposedly investigating a deviant loose in the area.

Yes. And in doing so, he acquires a list of young women and where they worked.

The victims.

Do we have a description of the suspect?


And I also have one of his fingermarks.

Fingermark? From where?

It was left behind in the carriage by the killer.

How do we know it's the killer's?

Because it matches one left behind on the snakes and ladders board.

But only our officers have touched that game.


The killer isn't impersonating a police officer.

He's one of ours.

Who? 'Cause I'll personally put the bloody noose around his neck.

Edward Scanlon.

Scanlon, are you sure?

Sir, he left a fingermark on the carriage yet told me the men never allowed him access.

Plus it would explain some things.

Imagine a carriage pulls alongside a young woman.

Scanlon shows her his badge.

She jumps in.

Bloody hell. We've let him slip through our fingers.

I don't think he's gone far, Sir.

He always strikes eight times.

That leaves him with a fair bit of unfinished business.

I want every man on the job until he's found.

Cancel all leave.

I'll take a look into Mr. Scanlon's past.

(Background music)

(Background music)

(Unknown noise)

(Background music)

(Background music)

I just received a telegram from Scotland Yard.

It seems there was a Detective Edward Scanlon and he was tracking a suspected killer named Harlan Orgill.


He was found murdered in a hotel room in Cairo.

So Orgill kills Scanlon and assumes his personae.

Sir. I was just by Scanlon's hotel.

He checked out about an hour ago.

Bloody hell.

Well, he may not have gone far.

The doorman seemed to think he was sick.


Said something about paying a visit to a doctor.

A murderer kills unabated and at every turn...

I am met with indifference.

All the women worked.

It's not that I'm disagreeing with you, Detective.

Doctor Ogden.

A working woman.

Go on, move it.

(Background music)

(Background music)


Mr. Scanlon.

You gave me quite the fright.

Did I?

Is there something I can do for you?

Yes, Doctor.

There is.

Doctor Ogden, are you here?

You two go that way.


Julia, are you all right?



I'm fine.


Mr. Orgill.

When I first came here, I thought it would be you who stopped me.

I was wrong.

Tell Dr. Ogden, "thank you".


I didn't... I didn't mean to...


You were simply defending yourself.

I think I need to go home now.

Yes, of course. I'll see you safely there.

I know this sounds ghoulish...

But part of me wishes that Orgill had survived.

At least long enough for me to have spoken with him.

Yes, there was much to learn from him.

Do you think?

I do.

Well, our experiment didn't really exactly help solve the case, did it?

Oh, I'm not sure about that.

It proved quite accurate in many ways.


As we discussed, the Dr. Jeckyll portion of his mind did want to be caught.

He provided me with the YWCA clue.

He really was saying, "try to stop me".


And the number eight?

Do you have any ideas as to its importance?

My only thought is that there were eight snakes on the snakes and ladders board.

Eight sins.

Eight women to be punished.

What those sins were, I guess we'll never know.

Perhaps their origins lie in his childhood, as you speculated.

Or perhaps he was literally just playing a game.

Thank you, Dr. Roberts.

I hope never to have to call on you and your professional capacity again, but I suspect there will be reason.

Any time, Detective.

Ah, Detective. I was worried you had given up.

Your abilities are not that bad.

I appreciate your faith, Professor.

And I appreciate a challenge.

Your partner, Dr. Ogden?

Uh, we had an incident at work.

I'm afraid she won't be making it tonight.

In fact, she may not be here for some time.

I think you are mistaken.

Ladies and gentlemen, let us begin with a waltz.

I must say I am surprised to see you here this evening, Julia.

Yes, well, I just thought tonight, more than any night, I would very much like to be held.