02x13 - Anything You Can Do

[bunniefuu]

What on earth are you doing here in British Columbia, Father?

I understand how you might -- you might have a few questions for me.

A few questions?

You bet I have a few.

If you give me a moment here, I'll do my best to come up with an explanation.

Aha!

Ow! Oh! Oh!

I believe an explanation is in order, but now might not be the best time.

Why are they sh**ting at me? It's got to be your fault.

My fault?

If it wasn't for you, I never would have considered coming out here for one moment.

That's not precisely true.

I believe your commitment to the m*rder investigation was an equally important factor.

Was it, now?

Morning, sir.

Morning, George.

This one appears to be an accident.

I wouldn't have called for you at all, except you've been requested by name.

By whom?

I haven't met the chap. Higgins has.

Well, whoever he is, he'll have to wait until I see the victim.

Do we have a name?

Humphrey Breen. He's a geologist.

Geologist.

Also seems to be an avid butterfly collector.

Spicebush swallowtail. Extremely rare.

Well, it would appear he fell out of the window while capturing it, sir.

Hmm.

Sir.

I've been ordered not to let anything be disturbed.

On whose authority, Henry?

Thank you so much for these very keen observations.

We greatly appreciate the aid of an informed and conscientious citizenry.

Ah, Detective Murdoch, I presume.

Yes, I am.

And who might you be?

Sergeant Jasper Linney, of the Northwest Mounted Police, at your service.

What exactly are you doing?

Interviewing the victim's neighbors.

And I shall be happy to share my interview notes with you in due time.

But first we must learn what we can from the body.

We?

There is no "we."

The Northwest Mounted Police has no jurisdiction here.

Now, I must insist on an explanation immediately.

The victim is alleged to have fallen from the third-story window --

An explanation as to what you're doing here and why you've inserted yourself in this case.

Of course.

I am investigating a m*rder.

A m*rder?

Where? When?

Six days ago, in Chilliwack Landing, British Columbia.

British Columbia?

Yes.

And you believe this death in British Columbia to somehow be related to Mr. Breen's?

I do.

I see.

Sergeant, I must insist that you terminate your interference in this investigation immediately and keep yourself available for questioning.

Of course.

And I shall be requiring your presence for interviewing as well, Detective Murdoch.

I believe the sh**t is approximately 30 yards away from us to the southwest.

The sh**t -- And there are at least three of them -- are approximately 45 yards from here to the southeast.

For Christ's sakes, they're sh**ting at the front.

We got to go out the back.

Okay, boys, there she is.

All right. Ready?

Back!

Well, geniuses, it looks like we got four sh**t out there now, doesn't it?

And they all want us dead.

Boys.

I'm deadly with a g*n.

Give us one.

My sidearm is our entire arsenal, I'm afraid.

What? Didn't you bring a g*n?

What kind of copper are you?

In Toronto, police detectives do not carry sidearms.

Further, I use my powers of deduction to solve crime.

Well, it's too bad you didn't think to bring a g*n.

Might I suggest you try thinking of something more productive?

Perhaps a way of evening the odds?

You know what? I was poking around in the mining office.

They got expl*sives in there.

expl*sives?

That might give us a fighting chance, huh?

If they're still good.

Who knows how old they are?

What are you doing?

Gonna stick a fork in them?

Oh, he was like that the whole way from Toronto.

Yeah, you're daydreaming, aren't you?

You were like that as a little fella.

It's like he's thinking of something, or perhaps someone, other than this case.

Ooh.

Thank you for an absolutely exhilarating experience.

Oh, it was truly my pleasure.

Shall we do it again later?

That would be wonderful.

Until then.

What do you have for me, Detective, on this glorious day?

A fall from a third-story window.

The result of an apparent overzealous attempt at capturing a butterfly.

An accident?

I assure you this was no accident.

Sergeant Jasper Linney, ma'am, at your service.

Dr. Julia Ogden.

And why do you think this man was m*rder*d?

There is no evidence that this was a m*rder.

There's no signs of breaking and entering.

No footprints inside or out.

And the victim's housekeeper insists that nothing was disturbed.

And yet I must insist that you treat Mr. Breen as the victim of a heinous crime.

Based on what?

The other victim.

There's another victim?

What are you talking about?

The spicebush swallowtail.

It was also m*rder*d.

I believe I can make everything abundantly clear.

It all began with the death of Uriah Doakes in British Columbia.

Mr. Doakes was last seen in the company of Mr. Humphrey Breen.

An assayer, Mr. Doakes was hired by Mr. Breen, most likely to evaluate an ore sample.

And how exactly did Mr. Doakes die, Sergeant?

Ah.

That is where matters become extremely interesting.

I have here the coroner's report.

If you will.

Mr. Doakes was drunk, unfortunately passed out on rail road tracks.

Another untimely death.

But accidental, it would seem.

Ah, but you see, Mr. Doakes, he hadn't touched a drop in years.

A moment of weakness, perhaps.

Possibly.

But based on rigor mortis, I suspect he was dead even before he found himself on those train tracks.

There's nothing about that in this report.

I base that assumption on my personal examination of Mr. Doakes' left arm at the crime scene.

His left arm? Sergeant, why his left arm?

Because that was the largest part of Mr. Doakes still intact.

Well, that is extremely interesting.

Mr. Doakes' arm was encased in part of a jacket.

In a pocket was a business card with the name and address of a Toronto policeman.

A Detective William Murdoch.

Curious. I've never met this man before.

Nevertheless, sir, he did have your card, and that is also extremely interesting.

Thank you, George.

So, based on this, you decided to travel all the way to Toronto to investigate?

I have made a pledge of honor to myself.

When a crime is committed, I will always get my man.

Murdoch.

Inspector.

A word.

I've just had a quick chat with Sergeant Linney's commanding officer.

He requested that we extend him every courtesy while we look into Breen's death.

Sir, I will do my best to cooperate with the sergeant, but he must remember that he is in our jurisdiction.

I'm sure I can count on you to remind him of that.

Yes, you can, sir.

And he also said that while it's bloody annoying, the man is almost never wrong.

I can't imagine having to put up with this kind of behavior on a regular basis.

Yet somehow I can.

Sir.

I've been thinking about Sergeant Linney's statement that he "always gets his man."

It has a nice ring to it.

I think that could make a catchy slogan for us here at Station Four.

I don't think so, George.

But, sir, we do always get our man.

Yes, but we don't feel the need to boast about it.

Where is Sergeant Linney?

He's off to the morgue, sir.

The morgue.

Yes, he wanted to see if he could be of assistance to Dr. Ogden.

Of course he did.

Inspector, does Sergeant Linney remind you of anybody in particular?

Yes, he does.

Disturbingly so.

So, you agree with my suspicion?

To the untrained eye, there's no indication that a crime has been committed.

Oh, Detective, do join us.

You'll be interested to know I've ascertained that one of our victims was m*rder*d.

Is there the slightest possibility it's Mr. Breen?

There is a tiny indentation where the butterfly's thorax has been pinched.

Sergeant Linney explained it's a method used by collectors to stun their specimens.

So there will be no visible damage when the creature is put on display.

Yes, I'm familiar with the practice.

Well, I knew there was something amiss when I smelled bitter almonds, suggesting poisoning by potassium cyanide.

Now, just a moment. Mr. Breen had no such odor.

And further, he would have been reddish in color --

Sergeant Linney was referring to the butterfly, not Mr. Breen.

Lepidopterists often use potassium cyanide in crystalline form in the bottom of butterfly k*lling jars.

Actually, they pour water over the crystals through plaster of Paris, releasing cyanide gas which kills the butterflies.

Regardless, gentlemen, how often does a collector have the good fortune of capturing a butterfly that's already dead?

So Mr. Breen is pushed out of the window, then?

And the butterfly planted in the net to allay our suspicion.

So I should continue my examination of Mr. Breen.

Well, I look forward to your results, Doctor.

Good day.

Good day.

Is there something else, Detective?

Yes, there is.

I was hoping to discuss a certain matter with you.

Of course.

The topic is of a personal nature.

I see.

Perhaps you should consider consulting Mrs. Jones.

That's part of what I wanted to discuss.

Oh?

Ah, Julia. Ah, Murdoch.

Mr. Poundsett.

I do hope I'm not intruding.

No, not at all.

I was just leaving.

Perhaps we could continue this at another time?

Yes, of course.

Humphrey was passionate about his butterflies.

I suppose if he had to die, that's the way he'd have chosen to go.

But why in the world are the police looking into his death?

I'm investigating the possibility of foul play.

I was wondering if you might know of anyone wishing to cause him harm.

No, no one.

He certainly never spoke of anything that one might interpret that way.

Do you know a Mr. Uriah Doakes?

Doakes, the assayer.

Does he have something to do with this?

He was k*lled shortly after meeting with Mr. Breen.

Have you any idea why the two might have met?

Of course.

Humphrey hired Doakes to do an independent assessment of an ore sample.

Ah, and this ore sample, what can you tell us about it?

It was for Arkona Mines.

A sample from their operation in Pringle Creek.

Was there anything unusual about this ore sample?

Not to my knowledge.

In fact, it was so ordinary that Humphrey didn't even bother reporting the details when he returned.

So, we have two men k*lled mysteriously.

Linked by an ore sample.

That is apparently of little significance.

I don't care what you say. We don't have any rats, and I won't be tricked into paying for something we don't even need. Now, off with you!

May I be of assistance, madam?

I don't need you sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong.

Yes, well, where were we, Detective?

Two men linked by an ore sample.

And where there are ore samples, there's often...

Big money.

Trust me, that's where this case is gonna lead us.

However, these ore samples were apparently of little value.

Or so this Vanderlay says.

It would speak to motive.

What else have we got to go on?

The k*ller's modus operandi.

Well-staged, well-researched.

m*rder with a personal touch.

The m*rder*r's enjoying himself.

I suppose.

This is starting to remind me of something.

I'm going to make a few inquiries.

And if I'm right, this case just got a lot more dangerous, me old mucker.

What are you doing with that junk?

You said to come up with a plan.

What are you suggesting?

You gonna invite them to dinner?

Is that aluminium?

Aluminium?

It's a new metal revolutionizing manufacturing.

But more importantly, it's the self-contained exothermic chemical reaction that's possible when it's combined with an oxidizer.

Potassium perchlorate.

We'll need to file down the aluminium somehow.

The livery.

If there are any tools to be found here, that would be the place.

Livery?

Oh, you'll be sh*t dead as soon as you go out that door.

I'll go first.

No, I'll go first.

Give me that.

Let's go!

Hurry up, Harry!

Harry!

I thought you said you could handle a g*n.

I might need eyeglasses.

Well, it's an ideal time to discover that.

All right, ready?

Go!

Hurry! Hurry!

Go! Go!

Come on!

Get down!

Let's go, boys!

Wait! Harry!

Harry!

Everyone all right?

Fine, fine.

Can you find a rasp?

I got two.

Harry, get down!

Here, Harry.

Start filing down the aluminium.

You don't need eyeglasses for that.

Wait, wait.

Use this to catch it all in.

It's awful quiet out there.

They're probably taking up new positions.

You poor fellas.

I feel sorry for you, though.

You must feel like perfect fools, huh?

Why is that?

Leading those cutthroats here.

Perhaps it wasn't us who led the cutthroats here.

I hope you don't think it was me.

Now, look here, we've traveled halfway across this country to investigate a crime.

And who just happens to be right in the middle of things when the sh**ting starts?

Oh, poor fella. You still don't trust me, do ya?

All right, what are you doing here, Harry?

Uriah Doakes.

You knew him?

Oh, yeah, I knew him from the old days.

And then I run into him in a bar in Chilliwack Landing.

He was drinking?

No. A sarsaparilla.

What's the matter with that?

Uriah gave me a hot tip.

He told me that Arkona Mining Operation, they were going to be buying up land around Pringle Creek.

And, boy, I thought to myself, "Oh, that's a chance to get in at the beginning.

And make myself a dollar."

Poor old Doakes.

I guess he didn't know what he was getting into.

I'm sorry, gentlemen.

I've never heard of any Uriah Doakes.

Should I know him?

He was hired by Mr. Breen to evaluate an Arkona ore sample.

We're a very large operation, Detective.

Forgive me if I don't remember everyone we employ.

Am I to understand you are unaware of an assessment by Mr. Doakes regarding your mine in Pringle Creek?

Yes, that's right.

Now, why are you asking me all these questions?

Mr. Fremont, we have reason to believe that both men were m*rder*d and their deaths made to appear as accidents.

Have you any idea why someone might want to harm Mr. Doakes?

As I said, I didn't know the man.

What about Mr. Breen?

He was a fine geologist and a convivial lunch companion.

His firm had investigated several promising sites for us over the years, but beyond that, I have no knowledge of him.

Now, if you'll excuse me...

And you have some basis, no doubt, on which to suspect Mr. Fremont?

Of course, it's not hard science, but I have observed that people frequently look to the left when they are telling a lie.

And I have frequently observed that people look to the left when that is the direction they are going in.

Do you notice something oddly similar with those two?

Now that you mention it.

Fascinating, Detective.

Ah, George.

I need you to find out everything you can about an Arkona Mining operation in the interior of British Columbia.

Specifically, Pringle Creek.

Yes, sir. Sirs.

A souvenir from childhood?

My father sailed around Cape Horn on a ship like that when he was a young man.

This was his.

Is he no longer with you?

In a manner of speaking.

My mother raised me on her own.

In fact, I only just met my father for the first time a few months ago.

Sergeant, might we return to the issue at hand?

Yes, of course.

Have you found something?

On the contrary.

There doesn't seem to be a Pringle Creek anywhere on this map of British Columbia.

Perhaps if I take a look.

Does discussing personal matters make you uncomfortable?

No, it does not.

You didn't glance to the left.

No, I didn't.

Well, then, I shall consider you a statistical anomaly, Detective.

But it appears you are correct.

It is nowhere on this map.

Perhaps Pringle Creek is like Germelshausen.

The mythical town from the Friedrich Gerstäcker novel that only appears for one day every century.

Gentlemen, while you've been discussing fairy tales, I've managed to find a real clue.

I've just had confirmation that Alexander Wilfritz is back in Canada after plying his trade in the States these last few years.

What trade would that be?

k*ller for hire.

Goes by the name of "Accidental Al."

Because he's a bloody artist at making his murders look like accidents.

He's as dangerous as they come, and he's also a master of disguise.

Disguise, you say.

Poses as a tradesman to get close to his victim.

I don't care what you say.

There are no rats here, and I won't be tricked into paying for something we don't need.

Now, off with you!

As I recall, his mustache was thinner, his hair longer, and it was brown not black.

I disagree. I am certain of my observations.

As I am equally certain of mine.

The rat catcher.

The rat catcher.

The rat catcher?

Mr. Vanderlay.

It appears we're too late.

"The Collected Works of William Topaz McGonagall."

It seems our Mr. Vanderlay had terrible taste in poetry.

I suspect the cause of death is nonpenetrating trauma.

Any signs of a struggle?

No.

But I'll know more after the postmortem, of course.

Oh, he was reading McGonagall?

Oh, dear.

I know.

Those ridiculous verses on railway bridges.

What a dreadful way to die.

Might I bring our attention back to Mr. Vanderlay?

Is there anything suggesting foul play?

Well, it is highly unlikely that anyone would voluntarily reach for a volume of McGonagall.

Suggesting he was k*lled, then the book was placed in his hand.

I suspect that would be difficult to prove in a court of law.

But it does, once again, suggest the work of Accidental Al.

I don't care what they call him back east.

If that Al gets ahold of us, he ain't gonna bother to make it look accidental.

Right.

That should be more than enough aluminum filings.

Now, you're sure that there are expl*sives in that mining office?

Sure as sh**t'.

My eyesight ain't that bad.

Regardless, perhaps I should provide cover this time.

Ready?

William!

Okay.

Oh, William! Boy, are you alive?

I believe I am.

Boy, you gave me a fright!

Where were you hit?

Well, Byron and Shelley.

Never underestimate the value of a good book.

Blasting caps.

Blasting caps?

Why not some dynamite?

Blasting caps contain potassium perchlorate.

Oh, I hope you know what you're talking about.

Blasting caps.

Ah, what luck!

The b*llet stopped on the chapter dealing with values, themes, and symbols.

It's the best part, as I'm sure Dr. Ogden would agree.

I concur with you about Byron, of course.

Such stirring depth and darkness.

But I must tell you, Sergeant, my heart belongs to Shelley.

"Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert, that from Heaven, or near it..."

"Pourest thy full heart with profuse strains of unpremeditated art."

Oh, hello, Detective.

Doctor, have you information for me?

Indeed, I do.

It appears Sergeant Linney and I share an affinity for the poets of the Romantic era.

What kind of poetry do you prefer, Detective?

I have a fondness for poets from the post-Restoration period.

Thank you.

Now, might we discuss the victim?

Yes, of course.

As I suspected, there's a nonpenetrating rupture of the myocardium.

So we know how he d*ed.

Yes, but there was something I discovered earlier.

Both his eardrums were perforated.

Tae Kwon what?

Tae Kwon Do.

And you can knock a man senseless by using this?

It's one of a number of mysterious defensive techniques from the Far East.

Sounds a bit dodgy to me.

Ah, I myself have seen men trained in the art render an opponent unconscious simply by simultaneously boxing both ears.

I suppose Accidental Al is quite capable of picking up a little trick like that.

The effect may only last for approximately 30 seconds, but that's more than enough time to place Mr. Vanderlay's body in a position to drop the bookcase on him.

So, our three victims, all connected by an ore sample and all k*lled by a professional assassin.

And you don't bring in the likes of Accidental Al unless the stakes are very high.

Arkona are running a swindle, gentlemen.

I can smell it.

My...

My suspicions exactly.

The problem is proving it.

Constable Crabtree, can you shed some light on this matter?

Indeed.

May I?

Gentlemen.

If I may draw your attention to the blackboard...

Don't push it, bugalugs.

Right.

Actually, all I've been able to ascertain is that Arkona Mines purchased a sizable portion of land in the interior of British Columbia.

Land which encircles a small waterway known as Pringle Creek.

Explaining why you couldn't find a town by that name.

So, if there is a swindle, we have nothing concrete tying Arkona Mines to it.

What's worse is we still can't prove that Fremont commissioned the murders.

And Accidental Al is still on the loose.

Gentlemen, our only concrete clue is Pringle Creek and whatever is going on there.

I shall depart immediately and investigate myself.

Sergeant, be careful.

They've k*lled three times already.

I will, Inspector.

Would you like a drink before you go?

I'm afraid I don't indulge.

Yes, well, somehow I'm not surprised.

Sir, there is one other thing.

I have a list of everyone who's recently purchased a land claim near Pringle Creek.

No doubt having gotten wind of Arkona's plan to invest there.

No doubt planning to sell those claims for a profit.

My suspicions as well.

Sir, there's one name on the list that may be of particular interest to you.

Sir, I believe I should accompany Sergeant Linney.

It's his jurisdiction, Murdoch, not yours.

I understand that.

But new information has surfaced.

And that's what?

My father's name has turned up on a list of Pringle Creek land claims.

And you think the old boy's in trouble?

Possibly.

Or worse, he's involved in the swindle.

Get on the next train with Linney.

But remember, this isn't just about your father, Murdoch.

There are murders to solve.

Thank you, sir. I will.

Oh, and what about Mr. Fremont?

You leave Fremont to me.

Dr. Ogden?

It's been a pleasure, Constable.

Sir.

Constable, been a pleasure.

George, I need you to look into something for me while I'm gone.

Of course, sir.

I need you to find out whatever you can about a Mr. Reginald Poundsett.

Oh, a personal request, huh, sir?

You're right, George.

I'm sorry. I never should have asked.

Oh, no, sir, don't give it a second thought.

In fact, if you'd like, I could have some of the lads suggest to him there's more than one way to visit the morgue.

Oh, that won't be necessary.

A simple inquiry into his background will suffice.

All I'm saying, sir, is he needn't stay that pretty.

Whoa.

Appears to be deserted.

Doesn't look like anyone's lived here for quite some time.

There's no way the ore sample Uriah Doakes tested came from this mine.

Agreed.

So, Arkona Mines buys up land, dirt cheap no doubt, and suddenly, they're testing ore samples for gold.

And should they suddenly find it...

The land's value would skyrocket.

Investors buy in.

But, as we know, there is no gold in Pringle Creek.

Eventually, investors get the bad news that the mine's vein has dried up.

Everyone loses but Arkona.

So, that is how the swindle works.

One question remains.

How do we prove it?

Make one move and I'll whack ya!

Dad!

Dad!

William?

Jasper?

Did you just...

Call him dad, yes, I did.

I definitely could use a drink.

I have been waiting here for one hour, Inspector.

And I do appreciate that, Mr. Fremont.

Your patience is commendable.

Why am I still here?

I've already told your Detective Murdoch everything I know.

You're here because I've seen quite a few mining scams.

Innocent people losing their life savings.

And I don't like it one little bit.

Arkona is a reputable company.

We have holdings on three continents.

I'm only interested in one holding.

Pringle Creek.

What of it?

I think you've got a con going on.

Big gold find mysteriously goes dry.

Investors lose everything.

And to keep matters secret, you k*ll the three men that could expose you.

That's absurd.

Is it?

For your information, Arkona have determined that the Pringle Creek operation has no chance of being profitable.

Have they, now?

Furthermore, we have curtailed all attempts to acquire investors.

Whatever losses were incurred will be refunded, so, you see, Inspector, there are no victims here.

Simply three tragic accidents.

Am I free to go?

Thank you.

So, Fremont just walks away?

All part of a larger plan.

A plan, sir?

Crabtree, Murdoch isn't the only one around here who can think like Murdoch, eh?

If you say so, sir.

This father you met just a few months ago, was it...

Yes.

And what name did he give you?

Harry Smith.

Smith, eh? How original.

I understand how you might -- you might have a few questions for me.

Now, if you give me a moment here, I'll do my best to come up with an explanation.

Aha!

Ow! Oh! Oh!

Whoa! Jesus!

I believe an explanation is in order, but now might not be the best time.

Why are they sh**ting at me?

It's got to be your fault.

My fault?

If it wasn't for you, I never would have considered coming out here for one moment.

Whatever you're doing, boys, be quick about it.

The sun sets, they'll make their move.

That's precisely what we're counting on.

Ah, perfect.

As policemen, I believe the marshal's office is a perfect place for a last stand.

If we make it there alive.

Go! Go!

Let's go.

Aah!

Think they bought it?

We'll soon find out.

This will work.

Work? What are you talking about?

We're about to even the odds.

How?

By letting them make the first move.

While we wait, perhaps there's a little something you'd like to explain to us.

Yes, yes, I been looking forward to having a little talk with you boys.

In my younger days, I was a bit of the seaman.

I sailed...

Sailed around Cape Horn.

Yes, we know. Please continue.

Five times. Shipwrecked seven.

By then, I'd had my fill of the seafaring life.

I put in at Vancouver.

Wonderful town.

I thought, "it's a good town to make a fresh start."

So I changed my name.

To Harry Smith.

Right.

And then I met Jasper's mother, Lucinda Linney.

Remarkable woman.

Lucinda was an unusual woman with unusual ideas.

She had no regard for the legal bond.

Making it that much easier for you to abandon them.

I didn't abandon her.

No, she abandoned me.

I didn't know that she was with child.

I had no idea that Jasper existed until he was a grown man.

Is this true?

It is.

So, William, once you and I reached our little understanding, I thought, "I've got to take myself to Vancouver and make things right with Jasper."

Then I thought, "I've got to make some money so that I can feel worthy of being his father."

You don't honestly expect me to believe that last part, do you?

You were right about the looking left.

I told you.

Inspector, I shall not tolerate another interrogation.

All further questions should be directed to my counsel.

Mr. Fremont, three people have been m*rder*d.

Two of them were in my jurisdiction.

I'm here to make sure there's not going to be another.

What are you talking about?

Well, it would be a dereliction of my duty if I didn't warn you.

Warn me? Of what?

Not what. Who.

Accidental Al.

When he finds out the police are onto him, he's gonna do what he always does.

Clean up any loose ends.

You didn't know that, did ya?

It's Al's trademark.

The only person who can point the finger at him is the bloke who hired him.

And we both know who's next in line to have a little accident, don't we?

I've heard quite enough, Inspector.

Yes, I'm sure you have.

He picked up the phone as soon as you left.

I'll bet he did.

It's me, Fremont.

I have a problem that we need to take care of.

Can't Wilfritz handle it?

No, he can't handle the problem.

He is the problem.

Got him.

While you're still in a truthful mood, Harry.

Perhaps you can tell us why you're really here.

I told you. Uriah Doakes.

He gave me a hot tip on Pringle Creek.

But something was wrong?

He came to see me, and he told me there was something fishy about the Pringle Creek land deal.

He told me about a Toronto mining company that wasn't on the up-and-up.

He said he was going to the police about the matter.

So you gave him my card.

I did.

And then, Uriah's dead.

Broke my heart.

He was a good man, Uriah.

I felt I owed it to him to look into the matter.

And that's how I ended up here.

How many of these have you got?

You know what to do.

Oh, this is too clean. They'll never believe it.

Son, know your audience.

You out there!

My sons are dying in here.

Please!

Just let me bury them in peace!

Sun goes down, they'll sh**t this place full of holes.

Let's hope this works.

Aah! Aah!

I can't see!

I'm blind!

I can't hear anything!

Right this way, gentlemen.

Easy does it! There we go!

So, you call that a grenade?

Derived from the word "pomegranate," because of the shape.

Based on the Byzantine concept dating back to the 8th century.

Of course, ours looked nothing like a pomegranate.

Nor did it explode violently. Rather, it was intended to stun.

The idea deriving from a Tae Kwon Do-like martial-arts blow.

Which disrupts the inner ear's...

Now, boys, boys, I'm not a scientist.

Sorry.

Sorry.

Fellas, this has been one hell of a family reunion.

That it has.

Indeed.

So, what will you do now?

Oh, I thought I'd stay on awhile.

Help young Jasper put his life in order.

Sounds like a fine idea.

Gentlemen.

If he gives you any trouble, arrest him.

It's worked well in the past.

Well...

Yeah.

Good.

I suppose there is much that we could talk about.

I suppose.

Would you rather we didn't?

Another fine idea.

There is one bit of brotherly advice that cannot wait.

Very well.

Dr. Ogden.

Any woman that can recite "To a Skylark" while cutting open a human heart is a rare woman indeed.

Make it right, William.

It seems there's a bit of a jurisdictional battle going on over who puts the noose around Accidental Al's neck, although we do have Fremont to ourselves.

Oh, that's good news, indeed.

Yes, it is.

Oh, and there's one other thing. Crabtree!

Welcome back, sir.

Thank you, George.

Well, tell him.

Sir, I have the information you requested on Mr. Poundsett.

Ah, yes, George.

I must apologize to you again for asking you to do that.

I don't know what I was thinking.

Bollocks.

It's plain as day to everyone that you've been pining.

Pining?

Definitely pining, sir.

However, moving on, I think you'll find the results of my investigation very interesting.

I still can't believe I'm about to do this.

You'll never have a finer day.

Now, are you sure you're ready?

Absolutely.

Julia!

Prepare the balloon.

William. What are you doing here?

I came to see you.

How did you find me?

I've had time to think about matters, and I must speak with you, now.

Julia.

William, I have a rather pressing engagement.

Yes, but...

Julia.

Julia, it can't wait!

Is something wrong?

Yes.

No, nothing is wrong.

But nothing is right, either.

It hasn't been since our falling out.

I see.

Do you think it's possible for us to start again?

I'm not sure.

Are you willing to talk about it?

Are you willing to see which way the wind takes us?

That could be anywhere.

Yes, William, it could.

Doctor, are you familiar with the details of the first recorded flight of a hot-air balloon?

Pilâtre de Rozier from the center of Paris on November 21, 1783.

Ah. That was the first manned flight.

Joseph and Étienne Montgolfier launched one two months before that.

The passengers were a duck, a sheep, and a rooster.

How fascinating!