02x08 - I, Murdoch


Hey, mister!

I want to report a crime.

Down here.

Come on, you.


What have we here?

I saw --

I was down by the river fishing, and there were -- there were --

Calm down, young one. Take your time.

I was down by the river fishing, and I saw a giant silver knight.

Did you, now?

Um, Detective Murdoch?

This young chap here --

Alwyn. Alwyn Jones.

Alwyn claims to have seen some sort of giant down by the river.

Not a giant.

A giant silver knight.

And some men.

And I heard "Bang! Bang! Bang!"


I think so.

We need to search the area for clues.

Well, that is quite a story.

It's not a story. It really happened.

Alwyn, is it?

Why don't you and I go and have a look?

You get the most bites just before sunrise.

This here's the best spot.

I even had a fish on my line when I heard the bangs.

Where did all of this happen?

Over there.

I was ascared to get any closer, but I could see the giant knight.

But that's not what I saw.

I'm not making it up.

No. I know, Alwyn.

There were shots.

Probably hunters.

You did the right thing coming to me.

Now let's get you home for breakfast.

Ow! What the blazes?!

Can't you see where --

Yes. Well...

Blind man.


Are you okay, sir?

It's been just the two of us since my father died.

Mother used to work for the telegraph company, but she had to leave to look after me.

She was really good, too.

She knew all the codes and everything.

Alwyn, you had me worried sick.

But we were looking for the giant knight I saw down by the river.

I am so sorry.

Alwyn has a very vivid imagination.

I didn't imagine it.

Alwyn, you must learn to tell the difference between --


Sir, you're needed. I'm afraid there's been a mur--

Uh, thank you, Constable. I'll be with you in a moment.

Master Jones, if ever you or your mother are in need of police help, come to the station and ask for me.

Thank you for your kindness...

Detective Murdoch.

What do we have, George?

Ah, sir.

This gentleman collapsed mid-street, died on the spot.

What makes you think it wasn't natural causes?

Well, sir, have a look at the body.


I see what you mean.

Also, sir, an old friend of ours is here.

What friend is that?

The one with the Martian airship who chloroformed us.

Terrence Meyers.

If he's here, then something very, very bad is afoot.

Mr. Meyers.

Detective Murdoch.

Here to gas me again?

Ah, can't let bygones be bygones, huh?

I'm odd that way.

What brings you to our crime scene?

Oh, nothing more than healthy curiosity, Detective.

I happened to be in the area, and I was drawn to all the commotion.

Mere happenstance, then?


Well, I'm sure you'll be attacking this investigation with your usual dogged determination.

And I look forward to reading about the outcome in the newspaper.

So, Detective.

What can you tell me, Doctor?

My first thought is that he died of asphyxia, most likely caused by poison.


The victim has an almond scent emanating from him.

Together with the cherry-red skin color, it strongly suggests --

Prussic acid.

Even a trace amount can cause near-instant death.

Explaining the victim's sudden collapse.

Ezra Dolomore.

May I remove the body now?

Yes. Of course.


What have you, George?

Several witnesses claim that as the victim expired, he was pointing and kept repeating, "The blind man."

"The blind man"?

Yes, and one witness recalls a blind man bumping into him.

Blind, my ass.

He could see just as well as me or you.

You or I, sir.

No doubt the glasses and cane were a disguise.

And Terrence Meyers, what was he doing there?

He's not just out for a casual stroll amongst the local riffraff, is he?

I highly doubt his presence there was a coincidence.

How did he get there so quickly?

Perhaps he has a spy amongst us.

In my station?

Perish the thought, Murdoch.

Most likely he was already interested in the victim.

Then what could this Dolomore fellow have been up to that would interest a government agent?

I don't know.

But I intend to find out.

Professor Dolomore built it himself.

He was good with his hands. Quite good with them.

I mean, always tinkering away on something.

I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Eason.

How long had you been with the professor?

Detective, I'm a married woman and would never --

Oh, I-I meant professionally.

Oh. Of course.

Nine years now.

I suppose I'm a little upset.

I'll miss the little bugger.


Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?

Not that I know of.

But he was a fiery one.

Go off about the least little thing.

Sir, what do you make of this?

Algebraic formulae.

The professor's latest project.

I don't understand how he made any sense of it, but when he was inspired...

Here, George.

Oh, sir, uh, I'm afraid I-I only made it as far as the fourth standard.

I want you to copy it down, George, not solve it.

Oh. All right.

Mrs. Eason, had there been anything amiss recently with the professor?

Well, he was a little out of sorts.


It's those terrible people he worked for.

They would upset him something awful.

He'd come home in such a dither.

Did he happen to mention what was upsetting him?


And what department was the professor working with at the university?

Oh, he didn't teach anymore.

These past few years, he'd done all his work for a company called Hammerton Industries.

Hammerton Industries produces hydraulic and pneumatic equipment for use in manufacturing.

Mr. Hammerton, what did Professor Dolomore do for you specifically?

Ezra was a theoretical mathematician.

We financed his research.

Heady stuff.

What was he researching?

Anything and everything, really.

Our specialty is making the theoretical a reality.

Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?

Well, his personality was mercurial.

He often had strong disagreements with anyone holding an opposing viewpoint.

Apparently Professor Dolomore was quite upset about something regarding his work.

Do you have any idea what that might have been?

Well, he and I had frequent fallings-out.

But I learned some time ago not to take these things personally.

And what were these arguments about?

I live in a practical world, Detective.

Business decisions cannot be based on flights of fancy.

Ezra couldn't accept that.

I see.

Thank you.

Oh, one more thing, Mr. Hammerton.

Does the name Terrence Meyers mean anything to you?

No. Should it?


Thank you. I'll see myself out.

And you think that a clue lies in this formula?

Formulae, sir. There are more than one.

Hammerton Industries thought enough of Professor Dolomore's work that they funded his research.

And these projects are valuable enough to kill over?

Depending on what they are, yes.

And what are they?

Well, that's very complex.

And I'm not sure yet.

Sir, a very mysterious package has arrived for you.

And you'll notice it smells delicious.

Thank you, George.

At this station, Murdoch, we share the spoils.

Right. What have we got here?

Ah, home-baked, no less.

And a note.

Thank you.

"Thank you for bringing me home, Detective Murdoch.

I hope you like rhubarb.

Yours sincerely, Alwyn Jones."

Alwyn -- That's the boy who came in about the giant.

Boy? Giant? Rhubarb?

Does this lad have an older sister?

A mother, actually. She's a widow.


Uh, Dr. Ogden has asked for you in the morgue.

Thank you, Constable.

We'll take good care of this, Murdoch.

Seems like Dr. Ogden's getting a run for her money.

Actually, sir, I think the doctor and Detective Murdoch are on the outs.


Why was I not made aware of this?



I'm able to confirm that Ezra Dolomore died of prussic-acid poisoning.

Ah, very good. Thank you.

But you didn't call me here to confirm something we already suspected.


Yes, you're right. I didn't.

After further examination, I discovered this.

It was lodged in our victim's lower calf.

A pellet?

Not just any pellet.

It's hollow and has a tiny hole drilled in its surface.

Something seems to be coating it.

Yes, I noticed that as well. Wax, I believe.

But for what purpose?

Suppose the pellet was filled with a poison.

Wax could have acted as a seal.

And if the pellet was then injected into someone...

Within seconds, their body temperature would melt the wax.

Allowing the poison to exude into the bloodstream.


A sophisticated time-delay mechanism.


Allowing the murderer to simply walk away from the scene with no one the wiser.

But how was that possible in such a public place?

Ow! What the blazes?!

Can't you see where --

A blind man bumped into Mr. Dolomore shortly before he died.

He could have injected him then.


With his cane.

No doubt a sophisticated pressurized weapon of some sort, like an air rifle.

How fantastic, like something from a novel.

Who would go to such trouble?

A professional killer?

Why on earth would anyone want to assassinate a mathematics professor?

I believe I may have some answers for you.

Mr. Meyers.


What I'm about to reveal to you both must be kept in the strictest confidence.

No doubt a matter of national security.


The person responsible for Ezra Dolomore's death is a Prussian agent.

His name is Caspar Bomgaarts.

And I'd very much like you, Detective, to locate and apprehend him.

Mr. Meyers, I would very much appreciate it if you would refrain from smoking in my morgue.


Who is this Bomgaarts, and what has he to do with Professor Dolomore's death?

Let's just say that information is a matter of --

National security.

National security.


Well, if this is so important, why haven't you apprehended him already?

My entanglements are such that I can't be perceived to be persecuting a Prussian national.

On the other hand, if a local authority were to be investigating a murder, well...


The Prussian.

Mr. Meyers, after our first adventure, what makes you think that I would possibly do your bidding?

Because, Detective, you have a murder to solve.

Caspar Bomgaarts.

What kind of asinine name is that?


I know it's Prussian.

Just why is it so asinine?

But I suppose that explains the prussic acid.

Actually, sir, that's a coincidence.

Prussian, prussic. Really?

Yes, its name is derived from the fact that it's used to create a pigment called Prussian blue.

It's used in dyes and paints.

George, I'll need you to find this man.

Start at the consulate.

I don't think so.

If he is an agent, we don't want to be ruffling any feathers.

Ah. Good point.

You'll have to be resourceful, George.

And no heroics, bugalugs.

This Bomgaarts is clearly dangerous.

Don't try apprehending him alone.


So, what was Dolomore working on that would make the Prussians want to assassinate him?

As far as I can tell, they're a series of algorithms.


Yes, it's Latin for "calculating method," although their origins lie with Persian mathematicians.

I meant what are they?


Well, they're a series of calculations that lead to more calculations that end in a concrete result.


Say you have two numbers.

It's a mathematical way of reducing them down to zero or one -- concrete result.

So what bloody use is that?

Sir, it's a concrete result -- one or zero, on or off.

So it could be used like in machines, say, to turn a switch on or off?

That is a possible application.

Hammerton Industries builds machines.

Yes, they do.

What kind of machine, then?

I have no idea, but clearly Professor Dolomore had more notes somewhere.


Mrs. Eason?

Detective Murdoch.

What have you done to the professor's house?

Someone, not me, has ransacked it.

What on earth for?

I believe the professor had in his possession some very valuable documents.

And someone was eager to get their hands on them.

But what are you doing to the professor's clock?

Well, I suspect the professor hid those documents to keep them from falling into the wrong hands.

And you think he hid them in the clock?

For some reason, the clock wasn't keeping time, and you told me yourself that he built it.

When I said the professor was good with his hands, I wasn't talking about the clock.


But if what you're looking for are the professor's journals, he gave them to me a few days ago.

Why didn't you tell me this earlier?

He said to tell no one, no matter who they claimed to be.

Of course. Of course.

Mrs. Eason, I suspect that whatever is in those documents may have cost the professor his life.

Very well.

I suppose you'll be wanting the letter, too.

What letter?

The one he had written to the prime minister.

"I accuse my employers of stealing public dollars allocated for pure scientific research in order to bastardize my work for their own crass monetary gain."

Just what kind of work was that?

According to his journals, Professor Dolomore was working on his own version of Babbage's Analytical Engine.

Analytical Engine?

Yes, a machine capable of solving complex mathematical problems at a speed far beyond human.

A computing machine.

So why haven't I heard of this Analytical Engine?

Because there isn't one.


It would have had to be massive, making it too impractical and expensive to complete.

So Dolomore must have believed he'd solved those problems.

But what's the value in a computing machine?

I've got a slide rule and an abacus, and they work just fine.

Well, for one thing, it could compute these algorithms.

To run a machine of some sort.

Oh, Mr. Hammerton?

Detective! You've, uh, made an arrest?

Unfortunately, no.

I do, however, have more questions for you.

Of course. Well, I'm just on my way to a business meeting.

May we ride and talk?


Ah, yes. Analytical engine, was it?

I'm not surprised.

You knew of it?

Of course.

And let me tell you, Detective, if that device worked, it would change the world as we know it.

How so?

There's a revolution coming.

And the battlefield is the factory.

I'm not following you, sir.

We build industrial machines.

Currently they're run by men.

Expensive. Unreliable.

But what if those men weren't needed?

What if those machines could run themselves?

For that, the machines would have to be able to think.

That's where Professor Dolomore's work fit in.


Machines that can run themselves.

And whatever company embraced them would make unheard-of profits.

What of the workers who would all lose their jobs?

They'd be living the life of luxury.

Machines doing their work for them.

It seems to me this is something that would be worth killing over.

A device that could change the economic face of the planet.

We'll never know.

If only Ezra had finished his work.

If only.

Uh, sir, might I have a word with you about Caspar Bomgaarts?

Ah, yes. Have you found him?

He's proving to be quite the slippery customer.

I began by making a list of places I might go if I were Prussian.

The list was long, and most of the places I would go to anyway.

That is, until I discovered the existence of a Prussian social club right here in Toronto.

Oh? And?

Well, Bomgaarts is a regular patron there.

He's very partial to the Bavarian sausage and sauerkraut they served, both of which, by the way, are delicious.

He was also a great drinker of pilsner and an exceptional player of darts.

Yes, yes, yes, George.

Long and short of it, sir, is he hasn't been to the club in several days.

Nobody knows where he lives.

Nobody seems to know much about him at all.

Right. Well, keep looking.

We need to find him. And be careful.


Oh, and, sir, you have a guest.

Mrs. Jones.

Detective Murdoch, I'm sorry to disturb you.

But I-I didn't know who else to turn to.

What's happened?

Alwyn has gone missing.

Are you sure?

He's always home for dinner.

It's now three hours past.

That's peculiar.

Was he upset about something?

No, no.

Well, he's been nattering on and on about the giant.

Might that be it?

I'll start by having a look down by the river.



Master Jones!



I can't see anything!

Master Jones!


He has to be out here, gentlemen.

Master Jones!

Alwyn, where are you?

Please! You won't be punished!

Master Jones!

I just want you safe and home with me!

Master Jones!


I think we've got something!

What is it?

Drowning victim, I'm afraid, sir.

Found something!

Down by the water, cops!

Mrs. Jones, you'd best stay here.

Sir, she probably shouldn't see this.

Thank you, George.

Mrs. Jones, please stay back.

No. I need to see.

You should stay back.


Bring that lantern over!

Coming, sir! Coming!

Sir, it's not the boy.

In fact, it's not a boy at all.

It's a dwarf.

I never even thought, "Who is that poor man?"

I just thanked God it wasn't Alwyn.

That's only natural.

He's, uh...

He's everything in the world that matters to me.

Of course.

Well, nothing more can be done here tonight.

My men will keep searching.

And the moment we find anything, you will be the first to know.

Constable, could you please see Mrs. Jones safely home?

We'll not rest until Alwyn is found.

I know.


Prussic acid again?

Almost certainly.

There's also some strange bruising and abrasions on the medial side of the navicular bone.


Based on corneal opacity, rigor, and state of decay, I'd estimate time of death was roughly 48 hours ago.

About the same time Alwyn claims to have witnessed strange events in the area.

He also mentioned gunfire, but the victim seems to have been poisoned, not shot.

Alwyn -- Is that his name?


If only I'd taken him more seriously, perhaps...

William, you can't blame yourself for this.

It's not your fault.

You'll find him.

You're right. I will.

You been working here all night?

I caught a few winks at my desk.

Do we know who the second victim is?

There was nothing on his body to identify him.

Constable Crabtree is making inquiries.

And still no word on the lad?


I feel I should be doing more.

Listen, every available man is out there looking.

I have to keep my mind working.

I'm certain the answer to Professor Dolomore's death is somewhere in these formulae.

I just can't seem to --

I have to do something.

Murdoch, be sensible.

There's nothing more to be done.

Alwyn saw something down by the river.

I intend to find out what.

I would very much appreciate it if you would refrain from smoking in my morgue.



My name is Caspar Bomgaarts.

Your rather clumsy Constable Crabtree has been bumbling about looking for me.

So here I am.


Ah, ah, ah!

I have the gun.

I ask the questions.


Who killed Professor Dolomore?

According to Terrence Meyers, you did.

Of course he would say that.

But let me tell you this.

I did not kill Dolomore.

Why should I believe you?

Because he was of far more value to me alive than dead.

If you didn't kill him, then who did?

I suggest you ask Meyers.

Now it is clear you can be of no further help to me, Detective.





Who's there?

Who's there?

Who are you?

And what do you want?

I'll be asking the questions here, Murdoch.


What's the nature of your relationship with this Mrs. Jones?

Her son's gone missing. I'm helping to find him.

Nothing more?


I don't believe you.

She fascinates you, doesn't she?

I --

Answer the question, Murdoch!




Whoa, whoa, whoa.

You were gone such a long time.

What happened?


I was chloroformed again.

Meyers. Bloody scoundrel.

No, not Meyers.

Not Meyers? Then who?

Caspar Bomgaarts.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

One thing is certain.

Meyers was down here by the river.

And I want to know why.

Not bad.

Not bad for a domestic.


I still prefer my Havanas.

Would you, um, like to try one?

Oh, that's very kind of you, Mr. Meyers.

Now, what did you want to see me about, Inspector?


Mr. Meyers.

Ah. Detective.

Have you located Bomgaarts yet?

I have. Or, I should say, he located me.

Then why haven't you arrested him?

Because I'm not entirely convinced he's guilty.

Well, that's nonsense. The man is a killer.

Funny. He says the same thing about you.

That is ludicrous.

Mr. Meyers, why was your brand of cigar found lying in the grass near the scene of a murder?

You're way off course there, Detective.

The same place where a young boy, who is now missing, said there were strange goings-on.

A boy's life may be on the line, Mr. Meyers.

I think it's about time you came clean or face the consequences.

Must I remind you, gentlemen, that I am far beyond the reach of the law?

But not the press.

And I'm sure they would be very interested in what I know.

I believe that is called treason.

And I think you know the price for that.

If that's what it takes to make you talk.

All right.

But I will need a piece of special equipment.

This is a film projector, manufactured for us by Thomas Edison himself.

A projector, you say.

This goes far beyond the Kinetoscope.

It's simply --



Mr. Meyers?

The film you are about to see was smuggled out of Prussia at a cost of a great many lives.

As you may be aware, gentlemen, Prussia has become a nation of increasing political influence as well as military strength, and can therefore only be perceived by us as a threat.

But we're not at war with Prussia.

Fortunately, not yet.

Lights out, please.

What the bloody hell is that?

That, gentlemen, is the Prussians' Doomsday Automaton.

If such a weapon were to be unleashed upon us, it would be unstoppable.

When we discovered the Prussians had it, we had no choice but to beat them at their own game.

Are you saying you built an automaton?

You didn't build it.

Hammerton Industries did, didn't they?


But the building of it wasn't the problem, was it?


No, the automaton had to be able to react to battlefield conditions.

It had to think.

That's where Professor Dolomore's analytical engine came in.


Which is why the Prussians sent Bomgaarts to assassinate him, in an effort to sabotage our plans.

And now, without Dolomore, your project is scuttled.

Quite the contrary.

Our automaton has capabilities far beyond that of the Prussians'.

It is the ultimate war machine, therefore the ultimate instrument of peace.

Detective, you have been charged by your government to locate an assassin.

I suggest you carry through on your assignment.

Please do not touch the machine.

My men will be by momentarily to collect it.

Supercilious sod.

What do you make of this Doomsday Automaton business?

I suspect that what young, now-missing Alwyn Jones saw down by the river was a demonstration of Mr. Meyers' automaton.

So the bloody thing works.


Yet according to Professor Dolomore's notes, his analytical engine wouldn't have fit in this room, let alone inside the automaton's head.

Then it couldn't work.

I smell a rat, Murdoch.


So whatever is going on, it seems that young Master Jones is caught up in it.

His mother must be worried sick.

I should go and visit her.

Uh, sir, I found the identity of the dwarf.

Ah. Very good, George.

He was a circus performer.

Went by the show name of Big Littleman.


The stilts' leather straps could explain the strange pattern of bruising on his feet.

Except this flyer is very old.

Apparently Mr. Littleman left the show years ago.

What's he been doing since?

Well, no one in the circus world has seen hide nor hair of him.

Well, if he wasn't performing on the stilts any longer, why did he still have the bruising on his feet?

Good question, sir.

George, I have a stop to make.

In the meantime, I need you to pay a visit to the Prussian social club.


Have you --

Not yet.

My men are searching the city, and he will be found.

Dear God, where can he be?

I have no idea.

However, I did learn that Alwyn was telling the truth.

But giants and guns...

Sounds far-fetched, I know.

But it is real.

Unfortunately, I can't tell you any more.

I should have believed him.

Mrs. Jones --

Enid... believe me when I tell you he will be found.

I trust there's been some development, Inspector?

You could say that.


Hello, Meyers.

Gentlemen, your nation is proud of you.

I will handle matters from here on.

Actually, Mr. Meyers, it's not quite that simple.

What are you talking about?

You captured a treacherous assassin here.

Liar. You killed the scientist.

I did no such thing. You are the liar.

Murdering liar.

No, you're the murdering liar.

No, you are the murdering liar!

Gentlemen! Enough!

Mr. Meyers, have a seat.

While it's clear both of you seem to have trouble with the truth, neither of you is a killer, at least in this instance.

What are you talking about?

The two of you have been played off against each other.

What does this mean, "played off"?

I believe the detective is suggesting we've been used.

The Prussians don't have a doomsday machine.

Of course we don't.

But you wanted to build one, which is why you were so interested in Professor Dolomore.


This is ridiculous.

The Prussians have an automaton. You saw the film yourselves.

We have no such thing, Terrence.

And neither do you, Mr. Meyers.

It's impossible.

We have it on impeccable authority that he has one.

Do you?

Is that what Alwyn Jones saw that morning?

A demonstration of your machine?

And it was spectacular.

Unfortunately for you, it doesn't work.

What are you talking about? I witnessed it myself.

What you saw was a mock-up, a hollow shell being piloted by a dwarf.

A what? A dwarf? What dwarf?

The one we fished out of the river.

I had nothing to do with that.

We know you didn't. You were duped.

I was no such thing!

Your automaton is a scientific impossibility.

The film you saw was created to make you believe the Prussians had such a machine.

Who would do such a thing?

Hammerton Industries.

Hammerton? Why?

So you would authorize a virtually unlimited flow of government money into their coffers.

Are you suggesting that someone would try to profiteer from the threat of war?

It seems ridiculous, but yes.

And it wasn't by chance that Mr. Bomgaarts' government was made aware of your automaton.

It wasn't?

If you investigate the company building your automaton, I suspect you'll discover that it's owned by none other than Hammerton Industries.

Gentlemen, I need to confer with my consulate.

As do I.

Auf Wiedersehen, Caspar.

Goodbye for now, Terrence.

Gentlemen, I believe a visit to Mr. Hammerton is in order.


I'm gonna ask you one last time.

Does my war machine, in fact, work?

Of course.


I went back over Professor Dolomore's notes.

There could be no analytical engine running it.

But you yourself witnessed the demonstration!

Did I?

Professor Dolomore caught wind of your plans to swindle the government.

He intended to speak with the prime minister.

So you had him assassinated.

That's ridiculous!

You made his murder look like the work of the Prussians, further fueling Mr. Meyers' paranoia, and thus ensuring even greater funding.

You killed the dwarf because he knew too much.

Now, what have you done with the boy?

What boy?

The boy, Mr. Hammerton!

The boy who saw everything! What have you done with him?

I do not -- I do not know what you're talking about.

Let me try, Murdoch.

Sir, you claim that my automaton does in fact work?


Well, then show us.

Of course. I --

You have to understand, Professor Dolomore was the only one with the proficiency and knowledge --

No, no, no. Now.

Right now.

Where is my automaton?!

I-I don't understand. It should be here.

Gentlemen, I believe he went this way.



Inspector. What are you doing here?

Sir, there's been reports of a -- a-a giant metal hooligan on a rampage.

I thought you said it didn't work, Murdoch.

It shouldn't.

Well, it bloody well does now! Come on!

We'll stop this bloody thing. Crabtree.

Sir, I don't think that'll be necessary.

Master Jones?


Are you all right?

I didn't mean to wreck the giant.

What's happened?

I was coming to see you at the station, but then I saw you.

I remembered you were down by the river with the giant.

So I followed you here.

I see.

And how did you get inside the automaton?

I snuck inside the building.

I know I'm not supposed to snoop, but I did.

There were people coming, so I hid in a room.

But they locked me in by accident.

And he was in there.

And then you got inside.

I wanted to bring him to you to prove that I was telling the truth.

Only it took me quite a while to make him work.

Well done, lad. Let's get this mess cleared up.

That won't be necessary.

I will be taking what is rightfully mine.

All of it.

Detective Murdoch, I surrender myself to you.

Very well.

George, arrest this man.

Step aside, sir.

Actually, gentlemen, your jurisdiction is no longer recognized in this case.

Excuse me, Mr. Meyers.

If you have any further questions, address them to the prime minister himself.

And as always, gentlemen, it has been a pleasure.

You can't let them take me. You can't!


Murdoch, leave it.

But --

That's an order.

Stop! This is wrong!

You can't -- Aah!


I just heard from the solicitor for the Crown.


Officially, our investigation is complete.

The incident on Front Street was drunken unionists rioting.

So Hammerton gets off?


Meyers has whisked him away to some secret location.

To punish him or to do his bidding?

Who knows?

If he builds another doomsday weapon, somebody else will just match it.

Where will it end, Murdoch?

A good question, sir.

I heard there was an automaton. How fantastic.

It was all a bit anticlimactic in the end, I'm afraid.


Still, I'd love to hear all about it.


I see this case has inspired you to start reading about steam men.

It's a gift for a friend.

I have somewhere that I need to be.

I'm sure the inspector can give you all of the details.

Of course.

Good evening.


Perhaps a wee nip of scotch might be in order, Doctor.


Mrs. Jones.

Oh, Detective.

Good evening, Detective Murdoch.

I brought something for Alwyn.

Oh, how thoughtful.

Why am I crying?

You're relieved, I'm sure.

I am.


Detective Murdoch.

Please, call me William.


Much better.

I hope you like pot roast, William.

I do, very much.

Well, this is my home.

After you.

Oh, thank you.

Oh, oh.