06x10 - Twisted Sisters

[bunniefuu]

Sir.

These lads were on a training run when they discovered the body.

Training?

Yes, sir. For the upcoming Olympics in Paris, apparently.

Even though the club isn't sponsoring any track athletes.

Apparently they don't think we can b*at the famous George Orton.

(Emily): Excuse me.

(man): Emily Grace?

Fancy meeting you here.

Ralph?

It's been a long time.

I haven't seen you since...

I called off my engagement. Yes.

Dr. Grace?

We miss you at the club.

I must go.

Did you know that the Club is sending a croquet player to the Olympics?

Really?

Yeah.

Doctor!

Didn't that used to be your sport?

(Murdoch): Dr. Grace!

Sorry, Detective Murdoch.

Who was that chap?

My apologies, Detective. An unexpected reunion.

Um, upon first examination, it would appear this woman likely drowned.

And the wound on her head?

Oh.

Yes. Uh, that would suggest otherwise.

I'll need a full report, Dr. Grace, at your earliest possible convenience, of course.

Um.

(Murdoch clears his throat)

So, how did you know these chaps who found the body?

The Toronto Athletic Club.

Why?

George, are you jealous?

The Athletic Club. I've never been through the front door.

I was a member once.

But after I broke off my engagement to Jerome, I wasn't quite as welcome.

I do miss it sometimes. I was quite the croquet player.

Really?

Mm-hmm.

City champion two years in a row.

And now somebody from that very club is off to the Olympics?

So it seems.

Emily, that could be you.

I don't know, George.

I think you do.

Dr. Grace, your report?

Detective. Certainly.

Our victim did indeed drown.

And the head wound?

Occurred ante-mortem. The wound is a substantial one.

She would have been unconscious after such a blow and would likely have d*ed from it had she not drowned first.

So she was struck first, and then drowned.

I believe so. Also, the same phylum mastigophora were found present in both the water in her lungs and the lake.

So she d*ed where she was found.

Have you established a time of death?

Between 7 and 9 o'clock last evening.

Her name is Judith Winslow.

The photo came from her friend, Miss Sophia Lucas.

She reported Miss Winslow missing first thing this morning.

She hasn't budged since.

Dead?

I'm afraid so.

Miss Lucas, you and Miss Winslow live at the same boarding house?

On Isabella Street, yes.

Was she home last night?

No.

We had plans to attend the music hall, but she cancelled.

Do you know why?

I imagine it had to do with her work. And what work was that?

She was a secretary at the financial firm of Mr. Alvin Storey.

Did Miss Winslow have any enemies?

No.

She was the sweetest girl.

Thank you, Miss Lucas.

George, please accompany Miss Lucas home and begin a search of Miss Winslow's room.

Sir.

(streetcar bell)

(typewriter clacking)

Mr. Storey, do you know a Miss Judith Winslow?

Oh, yes, of course.

She works here. Right over here.

Oh, it seems she's not in.

No. No, she wouldn't be. You see, she's been m*rder*d.

Well, that is terrible.

Was Miss Winslow at work yesterday?

I believe so.

And what time did she leave here?

Seven o'clock, I imagine. That's when the ladies usually leave.

Did you happen to notice anything unusual about Miss Winslow yesterday?

Did she appear anxious, or different in any way?

I'm afraid I wouldn't know, Detective.

I never paid much attention to her.

(Ralph): Emily Grace.

How courageous of you. The sign-in is right here.

Are you on the team?

No.

Not me. I'm just presiding over the trials.

Truth be told, we've only had one competitor so far.

No one dared contest her. And who would that be?

Emily Grace.

Hello, Eustacia.

You seem surprised.

I can't imagine why.

After your ignominious departure, the croquet title went to me.

Well, you always did like my discards.

I'll remember those words while I'm strolling the Rive Gauche.

We'll see about that.

Sir,

I've found a couple of interesting things.

This is a, uh, diary of sorts.

The last entry was dated two days ago.

The day before she d*ed. "Maple Cottage."

And this is a train schedule for Kleinburg.

She has an aunt in Kleinburg whom she visits rather frequently.

Another thing, sir. It seems that Miss Winslow was also employed by the Toronto Gazette.

Doing what?

She was trying to be a reporter, but all the editor would let her write was the Lady Fay column.

Lady Fay?

It's an etiquette column, sir.

You know, how to dress the table for company and so on.

Apparently she wrote the one about which tie a man should wear to which occasion.

Did you know, sir, that white ties are only for formal events?

I almost bought a white tie once, but there was a green one there that seemed to bring my eyes out more, or so the lady said George.

Judith wanted to be a serious journalist.

She was always looking for the one big story that would make her a household name.

Apparently without much success.

Sir, perhaps she recently stumbled upon something.

And perhaps that something was in Mr. Storey's office.

You manage the assets of some of the city's wealthiest men.

That I do. Detective, I really don't have time for this today.

Well, perhaps we can have this conversation down at the station house, if that will help you better concentrate.

(Storey sighs.) Were you aware that Miss Winslow had aspirations towards journalism?

Well, if I had been, I never would have ceded to my sister's request and hired her.

We deal with sensitive information here.

Sensitive?

Yes, sir. Sensitive, but not illegal.

All of my clients' finances are completely above board.

I should very much like to verify that.

Oh, please do. Your time is yours to waste.

May I?

May I?

Any luck, Murdoch?

Sir, we've been through Storey's accounts.

Everything looks perfectly legitimate.

Miss Winslow may have been on to something, but I doubt it had anything to do with Alvin Storey.

Something'll turn up. It always does.

Sirs. There's been another m*rder.

It's another young woman, I'm afraid.

(Brackenreid): Her name's Ethel Morgan. She lives... well, lived... in a boarding house nearby.

A perfectly respectable neighbourhood.

And judging by her state of dress, a perfectly respectable woman.

I wonder what she was doing in a laneway this time of night.

Perhaps she wasn't here voluntarily.

(Murdoch): The k*ller made no attempts to hide her body.

She was drowned. And certainly not here.

Detective, take a look at this.

Two victims, two nights in a row, k*lled apparently the same way.

Not another sequential k*ller.

I certainly hope not, sir.

I found this in her skirt pocket.

It seemed strange enough to be of interest.

Yes.

That's of great interest, Dr. Grace. Thank you.

It could be an identifier of sorts.

Identifier?

These are unique pieces of what could be a larger symbol.

But to what end?

Pieces of a whole could mean that these woman are to him pieces of a larger scheme.

But until we know what the symbol is...

We have no way of knowing how many victims are forthcoming.

For once, Julia, I sincerely hope you're wrong.

Sir, the landlady says that she was a student.

Studied at that Baptist college up on Bloor Street.

McMaster University.

With an apparent interest in ancient religions.

Did you find any connection to Judith Winslow?

No, sir. The landlady had never seen nor... heard of Miss Winslow.

That is a beautiful typewriter. Look at that, sir, how smooth... the keys are.

Oh, and this pen, wow.

George, pack up Miss Morgan's things.

We'll have a closer look at the station house.

Sir, will do.

Sir.

"Meet me in my office at 5:30." Signed "MB".

Dated yesterday.

Hm.

Yes, Detective, I wrote this note.

I am Miss Morgan's thesis advisor.

What time did Miss Morgan leave you last night?

She never arrived.

Did that not strike you as odd?

Miss Morgan has other interests that often divert her attention.

She considers herself something of a crusader in the women's suffrage movement.

Which you oppose?

Quite the opposite.

There is not a single female Ph.D. graduate from a Canadian university.

Miss Morgan is on the cusp of greatness... if she would only focus.

Tea?

A scene from the Shahnameh, the Persian "Book of Kings".

That is the story of Zal and Rudabeh.

Their great love was sanctioned by the gods, but not by their families.

Love conquered prejudice, and they lived happily ever after.

A much more generous ending than Shakespeare's version.

(Murdoch clears his throat.)

You are Persian?

On my father's side, but I was born in India.

May I ask, is Miss Morgan in some kind of trouble?

She was m*rder*d. Drowned.

Drowned.

How awful.

Dr. Grace has determined that Ethel Morgan was drowned in her own bathtub.

Yes, sir. Unfortunately, that doesn't help us.

No connection, then?

Well, sir, we know that both women attended university.

Judith Winslow went to Victoria College and got a degree in literature, and Ethel Morgan was in the middle of her Master's degree in ancient religions at McMaster University.

So, they went to different schools, studied different courses.

No friends in common, no hobbies, nothing.

No, sir, but both women were k*lled exactly the same way, and both were in possession of this same identifier.

What about suspects? Alvin Storey?

No connection to Ethel Morgan.

What about the other fellow, Bahmanyar?

No connection to Judith Winslow.

Sirs, I've been going through the young women's effects.

And you've found something?

It might seem silly, sir.

Out with it, Crabtree.

Well, Miss Winslow and Miss Morgan were both in possession of the same fountain pen.

Yes, Crabtree, both girls could write.

Not exactly breaking the case wide open, are you?

No, sir, but this is a particularly fine pen, Even more fine than the Parker Gold Filigree Lucky Curve.

You see, sirs, the nib is made of gold.

This makes it more resilient to the acid in the ink.

I myself have been envious of this pen for some time, but on a constable's salary it's unlikely that George, how exclusive is this pen?

Sir, this particular one costs $20.

There's only one stationer in the city that sells them.

Yes, these most certainly came from us.

Wonderful.

Have you ever seen either of these two women?

No, but I've been in England for the last two months.

I just got back yesterday. My clerk might know more.

Mueller!

Good day. Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

What can you tell me about these fountain pens?

Wait...

St... stop!

All right.

Do you know these women?

She came into the shop a few weeks ago, with her father.

He bought our best typewriter and... and one of those pens.

And this one?

That's Judith.

She and I went to university together.

When did you last see her?

I don't know. A few days ago.

Look, I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself.

Couldn't help what?

I knew she wanted it.

You knew she wanted what, exactly?

The pen. I gave her this fancy gold fountain pen.

She couldn't afford it, and neither could I.

Julia?

Can you believe that of all the houses in Toronto, he chooses one a mere three blocks from me?

What are you talking about?

Darcy has purchased a house on Jarvis Street.

Perhaps he simply wanted to be closer to the hospital.

William, please. He knows full well that I live on Linden Street and that my route to work is directly past his new front door.

I don't think it was intentional.

I don't know what I find more infuriating, Darcy's blatant attempt to distress me, or your refusal to acknowledge it!

Miss Lucas.

Detective, I'm sorry to bother you, but I've remembered something that might be helpful.

Please.

The night before Judith d*ed, there was a letter waiting for her.

What was in the letter?

I don't know, but it was after Judith read it that she cancelled our plans to attend the music hall.

Hm. Do you know where the letter is now?

No, but I did catch of glimpse of it.

It looked as though it was written in a man's hand.

Ethel Morgan was to meet a man the night that she d*ed.

I'm sorry, did you say...

Miss Lucas?

No, I just...

Are you quite all right?

Uh, yes, yes. I should go.

William, your Miss Lucas knows more than she's saying.

Yes. It seems she recognized the name "Ethel Morgan".

Perhaps you've found your connection.

(phone ringing)

Detective William Murdoch.

[It's Sophia Lucas. I must speak with you.]

Meet me at 8 o'clock in Judith's room.

(Miss Lucas hangs up.)

Miss Lucas? Hello?

Where is she?

Sir.

You're needed.

Sir, this way.

Jackson, what's happened?

Best you see for yourself, sir.

Sophia Lucas?

No, it's not her.

(Jackson): Then who is this?

Do you know who she is?

The landlady identified her as Virginie Rousseau.

Dr. Grace?

Oh, I've found, in the case of multiple deaths, a simple system of organization makes the cold chamber much easier to navigate.

The foot is left exposed, and a quick reference card is affixed, allowing immediate access to whichever corpse is required.

How very organized.

And your findings?

It works quite well.

Of Miss Rousseau.

Yes, of course.

She d*ed at approximately 8 o'clock last night.

The manner of death was identical to that of Ethel Morgan's.

First she suffered a blow to the head, which rendered her unconscious, but not fatally so.

Then she was drowned.

So all three women suffered a blow to the head.

Yes. You'll be wanting this.

It was also in her pocket.

George, have you completed your interviews?

Yes, sir. Sir, we have a witness who saw a woman coming out of Miss Rousseau's room at 9 o'clock.

I showed her a picture of Sophia Lucas.

The witness confirms it was she.

Very good, George. Henry!

Find Sophia Lucas as soon as possible.

Yes, sir.

Sophia Lucas has played us for patsies, then.

Possibly, sir. But her voice betrayed genuine fear.

Or genuine acting talent.

She was the last one seen with the victim.

What is that?

A Persian eagle.

It is a Faravahar, a symbol of Zoroastrianism, the religion of Ancient Persia.

What does it represent?

A guardian angel, and reminder to follow the principles of Zoroaster, to be worthy of union with Ahura Mazda, the true, uncreated god.

A guardian angel? Seems like a strange symbol to place on the dead bodies of young women.

Professor, do you know of any other Zoroastrians in Toronto?

Pashti.

And if I did, I'd sorely like to meet them.

As far as I know, Detective, I am the only one.

Pashti.

Detective, your figure seems to be missing its tail.

Sir, there's a fourth piece.

That means there's a fourth victim.

We'd best find Sophia Lucas.

Crabtree, where's Miss Lucas?

She hasn't been seen since last night, sir, before she telephoned the detective.

Right. I'll get all the lads on it, whatever it takes.

Miss Lucas is neck-deep in all of this.

She's our best suspect.

Or our next victim.

Hm.

(Julia): Inspector.

Julia. Thank you for coming. George?

Ah, sir, our latest victim, Miss Rousseau, comes from...

Rye... mousky?

Rimouski, in Quebec?

That's the one, sir.

She came to Toronto to study at St. Hilda's College.

Apparently her parents would only allow her to attend an all-women school.

And there are such schools in Quebec.

Yes, but it seems she wasn't accepted into any of them.

She wanted to become a doctor, but consistently failed her exams.

Did she know Miss Winslow or Miss Morgan?

I don't think so, sir.

What about Miss Lucas?

Not as far as I can tell.

So our only common factor is that all three women were university educated. Could that be why they were being targeted?

It's a theory. It would fit with the non-traditional career paths each of these women had chosen... professor, doctor, journalist.

Right then, George, have a look at our recent cases.

See if there are any complaints from university-educated women who are being threatened or att*cked.

I know of a place where you could speak to many of these women themselves.

(Murdoch): And this is?

Toronto Adelphean Society, modelled after an American fraternity for women founded in 1851.

Amazingly, the Americans began educating their women long before we did.

I wish there had been a society when I was at school, but we were only a handful then.

Those were pioneering days. We have it much easier now.

Do you know Judith Winslow?

Of course.

Judith was like an older sister to me, not just a fraternity sister.

It was becae of her that I had the courage to become a student myself.

How very sad what happened to her. And the others.

The others?

Ethel and Virginie.

We've been quite devastated by it all.

Miss Gregson, are you telling me that you knew all of these women?

Why, yes. They were three of the founding members, along with Sophia and Amelia.

Sophia Lucas?

Yes.

In the beginning it was more like a secret society, with rituals and rules... white robes and all.

Now it's more of a study group, especially after what happened.

After what happened?

Three years ago, a member d*ed.

Amelia Richards. She committed su1c1de.

How, exactly?

She drowned.

Amelia was always frail. Poor thing.

Always had trouble with her lungs.

But it didn't stop her from doing whatever she wanted.

She was so close to graduating from university.

In the weeks prior to your daughter's death, was she at all unhappy?

She was happier than I'd ever seen her.

But so secretive.

How do you mean, secretive?

Going out at all hours, never telling me who she was with, or, worse, lying about it.

This was unlike her?

Oh, yes.

We'd always been very close.

Mrs. Richards, could there have been a man in Amelia's life?

I've often wondered that myself.

Because of this.

I found it after she passed.

It looks like a courting gift, though I've never seen the likes of it before.

(Murdoch): So you knew Amelia Richards?

(Bahmanyar): She was a student of mine, yes.

(Murdoch): As was Ethel Morgan.

(Brackenreid): And you surely know what happened to Miss Richards.

Yes. A tragedy. Prejudice can be hard to overcome.

Prejudice?

Yes. Female students are often subjected to derision.

I imagine it's not unlike being of a different religion.

People can be cruel.

Was Amelia Richards ever threatened?

I wouldn't know.

But you'd know about this.

Do you know who this belonged to?

Amelia Richards.

Do you know how she came to be in possession of it?

You said yourself that there are very few Pashti in Toronto.

Presumably this type of token would be very difficult to come by.

Mr. Bahmanyar, we know bloody well that you gave it to her.

She was my Rudabeh, my forbidden love, but her parents would have never sanctioned our union, and my religion does not allow marriage outside the faith.

It was hopeless.

She simply couldn't bear it.

Who else knew of your affair?

Not a soul.

I would have lost my job, and she would have been expelled.

How did you know Judith Winslow and Virginie Rousseau?

I don't.

Where were you the last three nights at 8 o'clock?

Here. Alone.

And it's Mr. Bahmanyar.

Oh, he's good for it.

Slippery bloody foreigner. Sir.

(woman): Ah, yes?

So, you are really going to try to take me on?

I am, whether or not you allow me to practice.

I have earned my spot on the team.

I object to you being able to contest it.

Considering my ability, I can't say I blame you.

No one here is going to cheer you on. Quite the opposite, I imagine.

I've arranged my own supporters.

Paid for, out of your very own little salary, I imagine, working woman that you are.

Who allowed that rabble in here?

Emily.

I hope I haven't missed anything.

Hello there. Uh, George Crabtree.

Um... how's the practice going?

I'm very much looking forward to the game tomorrow.

That's a nice suit. From Timothy Eaton's, is it?

My Aunt Begonia, actually. She's an excellent seamstress.

Homemade!

How quaint. I must say, Emily, he's so very perfect for you.

A match made in middleclass.

Well, Dr. Grace, this place is exactly how I imagined.

I know you're nervous, but I think you'll swing circles around this Eustacia Stokes.

In fact, I'm quite looking forward to watching you b*at her.

George, I think it might be best if you don't...

If I don't what?

Nothing.

If you don't want me to come, Emily, just say.

It's all right. I understand.

George...

It's fine. I take no of fence.

Henry, watch what you're doing. You're muddling up the evidence.

What are you talking about? This is Sophia Lucas' pen.

No, that's Judith Winslow's pen.

Well, then it's Ethel Morgan...

See, George?

It's Sophia Lucas' pen.

All three girls with the same pen.

Good work, Henry. Come with me.

That Kane Mueller from the stationery store has something to do with Sophia Lucas' disappearance.

This is where he lives. She's in there. I know it.

George.

That's him.

Henry, I'll wait here. You fetch Detective Murdoch immediately.

(woman): Thank you, officer.

(Man): You're welcome.

Sir!

We've found Sophia Lucas!

Lads.

(pounding on the door)

You can't come in here.

Get out of the way.

No, hey, no, wait!

Go this way.

(George): Miss Lucas! Miss Lucas!

(man): This one's clear!

(woman breathing shakily)

(man): Check the other end of the hallway.

(She gasps.)

He's going to k*ll me next.

Who?

Professor Bahmanyar.

Where is Kane?

Mr. Mueller is in holding until we get some answers.

He has nothing to do with this. He's just a friend.

I asked him to hide me.

Miss Lucas, please tell me, why is it you think Professor Bahmanyar is trying to k*ll you?

Miss Lucas, I know about the Adelphean Society.

I know about Amelia Richards.

Oh, you know?

Mm.

It was all a terrible mistake.

Judith and her rituals.

She wanted us to be like the Freemasons.

Then she found out about Amelia and that foreigner...

Professor Bahmanyar.

We were all disgusted, but Judith was really angry.

She said that Amelia was jeopardizing everything that women students had fought so hard for.

Not only would the dalliance have led to her expulsion, but she would have disgraced her family and us. Tell me about the night Amelia d*ed.

We wore white robes.

We'd never dressed for a ritual before.

We went to the lake.

We dunked her underwater six times... (Amelia shouting) one for every month she was involved with him. (Amelia shouting)

The sixth time she went underwater, she stopped breathing altogether.

We didn't know what to do.

But it was ruled a su1c1de.

No one asked any questions. No one else knew.

Only the four of us.

He must have discovered what we'd done.

Now they're all dead, all but me.

May I go now?

No.

No, you most certainly may not go.

What do you mean, I k*lled three girls? I did no such thing.

I didn't even know two of them.

We know you drowned those girls, the same way they drowned Amelia Richards.

Amelia? What do you mean?

Her friends learned of your affair, and her friends wanted to put an end it, so they "purified" her by repeatedly immersing her head underwater.

But her weak lungs.

Exactly.

They k*lled her, you k*lled them.

Amelia... m*rder*d. All this time.

Yes.

So she did not k*ll herself?

No.

Thank you, Detective.

Thank you.

Gentlemen, I believe he was sincere.

He genuinely did not know the truth about Miss Richards' death.

Excuse me, Doctor, but I think you've been taken in somewhat.

I watched the emotions on his face.

Only a very calculating person would be able to control himself so convincingly.

And there's been no other indicators.

And yet, Bahmanyar is the only person with any sort of motive whatsoever.

I'll agree the murders seem to be motivated by revenge, but perhaps not Bahmanyar's.

How about the lad who works in the pen shop?

No, I believe it was someone who knew what really happened to Amelia Richards.

But other than Sophia Lucas, they're all dead. Do you have the statement?

Yes, sir.

"We dressed in white robes."

Took themselves very seriously, didn't they?

Hilda Gregson mentioned white robes.

I believe she did. But how would she have known that?

(Amelia gasping and coughing)

Because she was there.

Miss Gregson, you're aware of what happened to Amelia Richards?

She committed su1c1de.

The truth... that she was drowned and left for dead.

You're also aware that three of the women that participated in that ritual are now also dead.

Drowned.

You witnessed the event, perhaps even sanctioned it.

I had nothing to do with it.

Where were you the past three nights between 6 and 8pm?

Here.

Studying. With any number of witnesses.

I didn't k*ll anyone.

I didn't k*ll Amelia.

No, but you watched her die and did nothing.

What could I do?

I couldn't tell anyone.

No one would believe me.

Hilda.

Are you all right?

So, Alvin Storey is Hilda Gregson's half-brother.

And you think he knows about Amelia Richards' death?

Yes, sir. And I believe my first instinct was right.

Judith Winslow was on to something. George!

Sir?

Before her death, Judith Winslow visited her aunt's cottage in Kleinburg. Maple Cottage.

Perhaps she left some notes there for safe keeping.

Crabtree, you're on the next train.

Sir.

So, you think Storey wanted Miss Winslow dead.

But then, why the other girls?

Well, sir, perhaps he k*lled the other girls to throw us off the track, thinking that we would link the other deaths to the first m*rder and Professor Bahmanyar.

That would make him a right evil bastard.

I'd be inclined to agree with you, sir.

And you don't know where George is?

He said he was off to Kleinburg.

Today?

Mm-hmm.

But that means he'll miss my croquet game.

Well, I could watch your game, if you'd like.

Uh, that's quite all right, Constable Higgins.

Of course.

(streetcar bell)

Have a look at these women. Do you recognize them?

And, uh, this.

Except there's one piece missing.

I wonder who that was meant for.

Her?

I don't know these girls.

You should.

They were all part of the Adelphean society with your sister.

If you say so.

As was Amelia Richards.

I know what happened to her.

My sister wasn't involved with that.

No, but she knew the truth, as did your secretary, Judith Winslow. Because you knew Judith Winslow had k*lled Amelia Richards, you knew you had something you could use against her.

Use against? She was a secretary.

A secretary trying to become a journalist.

And like any good journalist, she had found out something... something that could destroy you.

Tell me about Maple Cottage.

You keep them out of this.

I'm afraid I can't do that.

George.

Hello. Thank you for coming in.

Could you please identify this man?

It's all right. You can tell him.

He is my husband.

I see. Thank you.

But there's no record of your marriage.

We may not have been married in a church, but we are married all the same.

And Judith Winslow had found out the truth.

I don't know what you mean.

You don't have a shred of evidence.

(softly): Ah, yes.

We found this in your home.

(Judith): I know your secret.

Judith knew about my wife.

She was going to write a story about it.

She said I was a disgrace and that my wife was a... a "dirty Indian".

I told her I would tell everyone what she did to Miss Richards.

But she laughed at me, told me no one would believe it. I couldn't contain myself.

I grabbed her to shake some sense into her, but she stepped backwards and hit her head.

I took her to the lake and threw her in, thinking it would look like she drowned.

And what about the other two women?

I had to make it look like someone else k*lled her.

By pointing the evidence at Professor Bahmanyar?

If people had found out about Marianne, it would have destroyed me.

It would have destroyed my children.

I would have lost everything!

Damn it, man, I was protecting my family.

Any man would do the same.

I don't think that they would.

I'm going to see that you hang for this.

Professor? You've been dismissed?

Affairs with students are forbidden.

I'm being made an example of.

Oh, I see. Where will you go?

Perhaps Australia. They don't mind an indiscretion or two.

I wish you luck.

Thank you, Detective.

Thank you for setting my heavy heart free.

I spoke to my solicitor. Mr. Storey's assets will go to his sister.

She refuses to acknowledge the new family.

He intends to marry her legally before his trial.

At least then the children will be taken care of.

(Julia): I suppose that's something.

Emily, we have to begin.

Just another few minutes.

Obviously your man-for-hire found a better job.

Or have you finally realized you're outclassed... in every sense?

Look, we have to start now or you forfeit.

Emily! I'm sorry, I was detained.

Police duty.

Good Lord. A constable.

Even worse than I thought.

Thank you for coming, George.

I wouldn't have missed it.

Shall we?

(man): Well done, well done, well done!

Excellent sh*t, miss. Dr. Grace, it looks like you have your work cut out for you.

Well, it looks like the game really and truly is on.

(man): Hey! Excellent!

(appreciate laughter) Well done.

Hey! Oh-ho-ho!

(Emily clears her throat.)

Ahchoo!

Dreadfully sorry.

That's not very sporting, man.

Are you going to arrest me, Constable?

I should thank you, Ralph.

Your sneeze put me in an excellent position.

I suppose I should start saving my pennies for the Gallerie Colbert.

Yes.

Perhaps they are looking for a shop girl and a security guard.

I can just imagine the papers.

"Lady doctor and her pet constable take the gutters of Paris by storm."

Ugh!

Oh!

Oh! I'm so sorry. How dreadfully clumsy of me.

Oh, my foot. It's broken.

It's broken!

Oh, it is not.

(Eustacia): Ralph!

Uh... look, I'm sorry, Dr. Grace, but I have no choice but to disqualify you and ask you to leave the premises immediately.

Dr. Grace was about to win the competition!

Assaulting one's opponent is hardly the action of an Olympian!

Emily, you were about to win.

Of course I was.

So, what, you... threw away Paris for me?

Oh, don't go getting a swelled head over it, George Crabtree.

Good cr*ck!

(Emily laughing)