04x05 - The Calling

[bunniefuu]

♪ ♪

How is the patient
this morning?

Your future's at Scotland Yard.

I don't think
that's ever been in question.

I'm not talking about work.

♪ ♪

Bonjour, Eliza.

There's really no need for you
to be here.

I'm staying in London until this
ship is back on course.

WILLIAM:
I'm going to New York.

For a year?

WILLIAM:
This isn't goodbye.

It's goodbye for now.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

[thunder claps]

[whimpering]

[click]

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Morning, miss-- post.

Thank you.

♪ ♪

Goodness.
Indeed.

Good morning, Eliza.

Clarence.

I hope that's not full
of bills.

Applications.

We've had
an overwhelming response

to our advert
for new detectives.

I suppose my reputation
does precede me.

It's more likely they heard
of the female detective.

The advert was quite clear
who they'd be dealing with.

Remind me whose name
is above the door.

Yours,
and your sons'.

Well, no time
like the present.

Shall we begin?

♪ ♪

Oh, this one's good.


what does that tell you?

That he lacks ambition.

Unlike Mr. Samuel Walsh.

Can't spell the word
"detective."

Or the word "criminal."

Or his own name.

Him.

Fired him last year.

Him?
Too young.

He's too old.

Don't trust him.

Don't like him.

Him.

He's been in prison.

[groans]

[sighs]

Surely we can at least
agree on this chap.

I've said no to him
twice already.

Stop trying to sneak
him through.
We've been at this all day,

and so far you've liked
none of my choices.

Any more
than you've liked mine.

It'll be me
who works with them.

And me who pays for them--
I am the boss.

So you keep reminding me.

Surely some of the applicants
are acceptable to you both.

Ask him.

Ask her.

[door slams]

[door slams]

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

Good morning.

Morning.

I was just practicing
my handwriting.

Looked to me
like you were writing a letter.

Fine.

I was writing a letter.

To?

Barnabus.

[egg cracks]

Oh.

Hm.

Lizzie!

What are you up to?

[puts down bowl]

Why are you writing
to Inspector Wellington?

Because you aren't.

What?
He wrote to me.

He said he's sent you
three letters

and you've not replied
to any of them.

I don't want any breakfast--
I'll be late for work.

Lizzie, you've not spoken
of Inspector Wellington

since he's been gone.

Perhaps it might help
to do so.

You're clearly upset
and angry with him.

I'm not upset,
nor am I angry.

I'm absolutely fine.

♪ ♪

WILLIAM:
If we are to be together,

then I cannot remain
at Scotland Yard

with you a private detective,

nor can I be around you
anymore without...

Without being with you.

♪ ♪

[drawer opens]

♪ ♪

[knock at door, door opens]

[drawer closes]

Yes.

Uh, sorry to disturb,

but Mr. Nash would like you
to meet him right away.

What for?

To meet a new client.

What new client?

♪ ♪

Patrick.

Eliza.

What is this place?

This... is the future.

♪ ♪

[ringing]

Reception-- may I help you?

MAN [on phone]:
Reception?
Yes, sir.

MAN: Mr. Bracewell.
CLERK:
Certainly, sir.

Do you know much
about the telephone?
Not much.

I know it was invented in 1875
by Alexander Graham Bell.

There were,
of course, counterclaims

as to who first came up
with the innovation,

but Bell was the first
to patent it.

Nine years on,
it's really only the preserve

of the rich
and the privileged,

given how costly it is
to install and run.

Although this year
has seen telephone stations

installed in
various public places.

Shops, telegraph offices.

A yes or no
would have sufficed.

As you say, it's being made more
accessible to ordinary folk.

It's the new gold rush.

This place is
at the forefront.

So, why are we here?

The owner of Britannia
wants us

to negate some rather
bad publicity.

CLERK:
Yes, Mr. Bracewell.

Mr. Bracewell
will see you now.

ELIZA:
Extraordinary.

It certainly is.

NASH:
Britannia have
an engineering workshop

where they design new ways
to improve their product.

Two days ago, it was
destroyed by a gas expl*si*n.

Two men were k*lled: a young
inventor named Alfred Baker

and the co-founder
of the company, George Davidson.

So there was a gas leak.

According to the newspapers,

the police think Davidson
lighting his pipe

is what ignited
the expl*si*n.

But as for the gas leak,

it seems someone tampered
with the supply.

And the police believe
that this someone

works here at Britannia.

Not just someone.

Our new client,
Joseph Bracewell.

BRACEWELL:
My aim, Mr. Nash,
is to put a Britannia telephone

into every household
in the country.

Once we've done that,

we will move
into the international markets.

I applaud your ambition,
Mr. Bracewell.

I must confess,
I've not yet used one of these.

To, to help you fully,
Mr. Bracewell,

perhaps we should
try it ourselves.

Be my guest.

♪ ♪

OPERATOR [on phone]:
Good afternoon,
Britannia Exchange.

What number do you require?

Ask for the stock exchange.

Uh, the stock exchange,
please.

OPERATOR:
Connecting you now--
please wait one moment.

[chuckles]

Ask for the latest Britannia
share price.

CLERK [on phone]:
Stock exchange,
how can I help you?

Uh, please could you advise
on the current share price

for the Britannia Telephone
Company?

CLERK:
One and six.
One and six.

[inhales]

ELIZA:
Thank you.

Goodbye.

All this dire publicity
has caused the value

of my company
to fall by the hour.

Which is why I need you
to get the police off my back

and find out who is responsible
for this terrible deed.

They have a ridiculous notion

that I wanted George Davidson
dead.

Your business partner?

We founded the company
together.

I felt the time was right
to expand.

To buy out our rivals.

And Mr. Davidson
disagreed?

This disagreement
was a minor issue,

not reason for me
to k*ll him.

I gather the police
suspect you

because you were supposed
to attend this meeting

with Mr. Davidson,
but you didn't turn up.

♪ ♪

We had another argument
that morning.

I simply wasn't in the mood
to face him.

I spent the afternoon here
in my office.

But that was unusual,

was it not?

That you didn't attend
that weekly meeting?

Unheard of,
according to the newspapers.

Do not believe everything
you read in the newspapers.

Did you have any grievance with
the other man that was k*lled,

the, uh, the young inventor,
Alfred Baker?

BRACEWELL:
No.

And for your information,

Alfred wasn't meant to be
at that meeting.

We have to ask these questions,
Mr. Bracewell,

so that we're clear on
all the details of this case.

Well, in that case, let me
be crystal-clear with you.

I did not m*rder
George Davidson.

As for Alfred Baker,

he'd just designed the telephone

that would make this company
a fortune.

Why on Earth
would I want him dead?

NASH:
Why in God's name did you
interrogate him like that?

You clearly weren't going
to ask him anything useful.

I've never seen you so
in awe.

I was not in awe, I just
think him an impressive man.

A visionary.
I think him rather unsavory.

Ah, you disagree
with my judge of character.

Quelle surprise.

What of my judgment?

I'm the one who's going to be
running the office.

I should choose my own staff.
Oh, I see.

That's what this is about,
is it?

That's the reason
for this latest sulk du jour.

I do not sulk.
We will discuss this matter
another time.

Right now, we need
to visit the crime scene.

Finally, something
we agree on.

♪ ♪

Go fetch my carriage.

Detective Phelps--
just the man.

Inspector Phelps, actually--
well, soon to be.

You're taking over
from Inspector Wellington?

But there's been
no formal announcement.

Just needs to be
rubber-stamped.

And why hasn't it been?

Well, I'm sure
it's just a matter of time.

May I offer
my congratulations

on what will be
a well-deserved promotion.

So, I assume your presence here
is not just to keep me company.

As ever, you assume right.

We've been hired to investigate
the Britannia expl*si*n,

and we'd like to take a look
at the crime scene.

I take it your fire experts
have assessed the scene?

Still waiting.

They've been held up elsewhere,
which is a bugger,

'cause we can't progress
with the case

until they've had a gander.

Well, perhaps
in the meantime,

you might allow us to look
for ourselves.
Hm.

Good one-- now hop it!

I see the prospect of
a promotion hasn't endowed you

with any more decorum,
Detective Phelps.

Let me give you some advice,
Miss Scarlet.

I'm the skipper now.

So you need to start showing me
a bit of respect.

Oh, I've always seen respect
as something you earn.

[chuckling]:
Oh, how Miss Scarlet
does like to jest.

You surely know that our respect
for you is unimpeachable,

Inspector Phelps,

and we'd be
most grateful...

Under no circumstances
let them inside.

OFFICER:
Yes, sir.

Even if the queen
herself comes down here

and says you'll be hanged
for treason if you don't...

...still don't let them in.

♪ ♪

That went well.

Well, we're not all
blessed

with your powers
of duplicity, Patrick.

If by that you mean
charm and persuasion

to keep my business afloat,

well, then perhaps you should
try it sometime.

Whether you like it or not,

you have to learn
to play the game.

[exhales]

What is wrong with you
at the moment?

This can't just be
about the hiring of staff.

Is this about
your inspector leaving?

Nothing is wrong with me--
he's not my inspector.

What I'm about to say
you may not like--

in fact,
you definitely won't like it.

Well, then perhaps
you shouldn't say it.

The work you've had up until
now from Scotland Yard

has been on account
of your friendship

with Inspector Wellington.
I secured that work because
I'm good at what I do.

And I'm not disputing that,

but the fact remains, your
friendship helped a great deal.

But now Phelps is in charge,

he's not obliged
to tolerate you.

Tolerate me?

Do you want this business
to flourish

under your command or not?

[quietly]:
Yes, of course I do.

Then make it your business
to get along with Phelps.

And will you please
stop sulking?!

For the last time,
I do not sulk!

Good, because
my mother was a sulker

and it brings back
bad memories.

[both laugh]

[both exhale]

Fine.

What do you want me to do,
go back to him and grovel?
No.

That ship has sailed.

I'll attempt to obtain
crime scene photos

from my usual source.

Well, in the meantime,

let's do some digging
on our dead men.

I suggest we start
with the young inventor.

Speak to his widow.

See if anyone had a grudge.

♪ ♪

You both look very happy.

How long were you married,
Mrs. Baker?

Six months.

And it's Betty.

Your husband was an avid reader.

He had every book
on engineering imaginable.

They were his pride and joy.

Mrs. Baker...

Betty.

Can you think of anyone who had
a grudge against your husband?

And take your time.

Uh, Daniel Archer.

He, uh, works at Britannia.

Alfred started
as his apprentice.

He was full of resentment

'cause Britannia wanted to go
with Alfred's design

for their new telephone,
not his.

His boss, Mr. Davidson,
said he'd be famous.

He called it
"an ingenious invention."

And Mr. Archer
wasn't happy.

My husband believed he tried

to steal his plans
for the new telephone.

And what made him think that?

He hid them.

Under the floorboard
in his office.

As insurance, he said,

on account of it being
such a competitive industry.

Then, one day, last month,

he found Mr. Archer
in his office

looking shifty, my husband said.

When he'd gone,
Alfred said the rug

that covered the floorboard
had been disturbed.

How would Mr. Archer have known

where your husband
hid his plans?

Well, Alfred couldn't
work it out.

Mr. Davidson would never
have told anyone.

He was as worried as Alfred

about keeping the new design
a secret.

And where are the plans now?

Alfred moved them.

He didn't tell me where.

But he was certain
Mr. Archer was after them.

♪ ♪

NASH:
So, you're working
on your own design

for Britannia's new telephone,
Mr. Archer.

Hm, it will be
a great improvement,

most notably in terms

of sound quality
and reliability.

I understand
that Alfred Baker

had designed a new telephone,
as well.

They're calling it
the Upright.

[chuckling]:
Woeful name.

Well, whatever it was
to be called,

the design was applauded

by the powers-that-be
here at Britannia.

Alfred Baker was once
your apprentice, was he not?

And I taught him well.

Hm.

But to have your junior
surpass you...

Must have been
difficult.

Competition can be a good thing.

Mm, da Vinci and Michelangelo.

Uh, Ingres and Delacroix.

Well, Mr. Bracewell
said his designs

were going to change
the world.

But now he and his telephone
are gone,

so the road is clear for you,
Mr. Archer.

Mm.

I have work to do.

Can you tell us where you were
on the day of the expl*si*n?

Here, working
on my design.

NASH:
Hm, did anyone else see you?

You are not
the police,

and I'm not obliged
to talk to you.

And would you please
stop touching my things?!

♪ ♪

NASH:
Well, we now know
he has a temper.

First rule of being
a private investigator--

deliberately vex the suspect
to test their temperament.

Patrick,

I think I can
just about take you

advising me
on my business skills,

but do not presume
to lecture me on deduction.

There's an article in here

about Britannia's
current telephone.

Apparently, there are
three main issues:

cost, sound quality,
and a tendency to short-circuit.

No wonder Bracewell was
so desperate for a new model.

Clarence did some digging

on Bracewell's partner,
George Davidson.

And?

He has no family,
no close relations,

no financial issues
or known grudges.

Well, apart from the one

held by his business partner,
Joseph Bracewell.

Forget the client.

We need to concentrate
on Daniel Archer.

He has a clear motive,
he wanted to remove his rival.

And he has no alibi--
he should be our prime suspect.

[knock at door]

Delivery from your friend
at the Met.

Thank you.

Hm, these are good.

They're very good.

The crime scene?
Yeah.

How peculiar.

What?

That looks like the scorch mark
from where

the gas was ignited.

So?

Well, if, as the police suspect,
it was Davidson's pipe

that ignited the gas,

why is the scorch mark
on the opposite side

of the room from the bodies?

♪ ♪

Hurry up, you useless vermin!

We haven't got all day!

[people murmuring]

ELIZA:
Good morning, Detective Phelps.

Yeah, it was,
before you turned up.

We wondered
if the Britannia expl*si*n

had been assessed yet
by your fire expert.

They're now stuck with a factory
blaze in bloody St. Albans.

Get a move on!

NASH:
Dare I say it,
Detective Phelps,

you seem
a little overstretched.

That's one word for it.

Let us lighten your load.

We can help
with the Britannia case.

I don't need your help.

And let you take
all the credit.

♪ ♪

Ten minutes at the crime scene.

That's all you're getting.

Good, aren't I?

Something in this area
must have caused the spark.

♪ ♪

Someone has cut the insulation
off these wires.

Why would they do that?

[buzzes]

Prone to short-circuit
when connected.

It's one of the known faults
of the Britannia telephone.

That's what ignited the gas,
Patrick.

It wasn't Davidson's pipe.

It was a phone call.

Which means whoever made
that call is our m*rder*r.

♪ ♪


in London.

How do you know
these things?

I do research, Patrick--
you should try it sometime.

[sighs]

The question is:
from which telephone

was the fatal call made?

I understand the telephone
exchange log all call details,

so customers can
be charged accordingly.

So they might be able
to help us narrow it down.

It's worth a try.
Mm.

Provided we can persuade them
to show us their call log.

I suspect all calls

are treated confidentially,
and we don't have a warrant.

[in different accent]:
Inspector Bates, Scotland Yard,
at your service, madam.

[groans]:
Are there any other officers
available?

[in normal voice]:
Inspector Bates has
an excellent track record.

Well, he definitely works best
alone.

So, while he visits
the exchange,

I'll continue my research
into the telephone.
Mm.

See if I can glean
any further insight

into Alfred Baker's
new design.
[exhales]

What?

I much prefer it
when you're not sulking.

I don't sulk-- I brood.

I know we've been at odds
over the hiring of staff,

but you've not been yourself
lately.

Is it the inspector?

The fact that he's gone?
[page turns]

Inspector Bates is waiting.

♪ ♪

[door opens and closes]

[book closes]

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

[people talking in background]

Yes, madam.

Can I help you? Of course.

[people talking in background,
phones ringing]

♪ ♪

Good afternoon,
which number do you require?

Certainly, sir--
please hold.

[phones ringing]

♪ ♪

[in different accent]:
Mr. Underwood?

Yes?

Inspector Bates,
Scotland Yard.

How do you do, Inspector?

This is quite the operation
you got here.

Never seen one of those
before.

Uh, they allow me
to listen in.

Ensure that my operators
are performing at their best.
Hm.

How may I help you,
Inspector?

I'm investigating
the Britannia murders.

You read about them?

I have--
terrible business.

We need to identify the source
of a particular telephone call,

so I'd be grateful
to look at your call log

for the day in question,
the 21st of September.

Yes, Inspector, one moment,
I'll just fetch the logbook.

OPERATOR:
One moment.

Sorry, Inspector.

It just occurred to me,
I, uh...

Well, I should really see
your warrant first.

My warrant?

As you can appreciate,
all our calls are confidential.

It's more than my job's worth,
uh, to break protocol.

Unless, of course,
you have a warrant.

[in normal voice]:
All right, fine, I'm not
an inspector from Scotland Yard.

But if you allow me
to see the call log,

I'll make it worth your while.

If you're not a policeman,
then what the hell are you?

[phones ringing, Nash exhales]

I am a private detective.

A what?

UNDERWOOD:
And don't even think
about coming back again!

You're lucky I'm not
reporting you to the police!

[door slams]

[sighs]

A copy of Alfred Baker's
contract with Britannia.

Oh, um...

Oh, shall I...
Uh, yes.

Yep, got it, got it.

Thank you.

Have you read this, Clarence?
Yeah, briefly.

George Davidson
and Joseph Bracewell

were each going to receive


from this new telephone.

While Mr. Baker,
the genius that invented it,

just got ten percent.

Uh, my contact
at Britannia

insisted on a bottle
of Lynch-Bages '64

in exchange for that contract,

so, I, I will, of course,
be charging that to the company?

Oh, just charge it
to Mr. Nash.

"Upon death,

"an individual's share
of profits

will be distributed equally
among surviving parties."

You know what this means?

No doubt I will end up paying
for that bottle of wine myself.

No, it means
that Joseph Bracewell is now

entitled to all the profits
from Alfred Baker's telephone.

Oh, I'm...

I'm sorry to disturb you,
Miss Scarlet.

What is it, Betty?

I came back from visiting
Alfred's mother.

Poor woman's in such a state.

And as I walked in, I heard
someone going out the back door.

Terrified, I was.

But when I went to check,
whoever it was had already gone.

I did contact the police,
but...

They still haven't come.

They're a little overstretched
at the moment,

but you did the right thing
coming to me.

And are you sure
that nothing's missing?

Nothing that I can see.

They didn't touch
my jewelry case.

Not that I've got much.

Have you rearranged
these at all?

♪ ♪

That was Alfred's favorite set
of books.

Where's volume two?

It was
definitely there before.

♪ ♪

ELIZA:
Inspector Bates,
I presume?

[exhales]

I hear Inspector Bates
was thwarted,

so you resorted to plan B.
Mm.

NASH:
I went through all my files
twice

to see if I knew anyone else
who worked here.

So I hear-- you left the office
in quite a mess.

Clarence was not happy.
[breathes deeply]

So you found someone.

Mm, the night shift manager,
an Elmer Goodheart.

Not that there's anything
good about him.

A few years back,
I put him away for fraud.

His shift starts at 8:00.

And Clarence said
Miss Baker had a break-in.

What was taken?

The only thing missing
was a book.

"Inventions That Changed
the World," volume two.

And that's it?

Yes.

But I have a theory.

Oh, good.

I like when you say that.

It makes me feel warm inside.

Have you finished?

[bell striking hour]
Yes.

I think the book contained
the plans

for Alfred's
new telephone design.

The ones that
Daniel Archer was after.

Well, there he is.

Elmer Goodheart.

Sure he's going
to be delighted to see me.

[bell continues, door opens]

♪ ♪

That's the supervisor
I spoke to, Mr. Underwood.

[bell stops]

Mr. Underwood.
Hi, Charles--
thank you.

♪ ♪

[urging horses]

He's only a manager, and yet
he can afford his own carriage?

♪ ♪

[people talking in background]

Striking, isn't it?

It certainly is.

[footsteps approaching]

The 21st of September.

Appreciate your assistance,
Mr. Goodheart.

[footsteps retreating]

Handwriting is incredibly
neat.
Mm.

The expl*si*n happened
at 36 minutes past two.

Here.

A call was made to the
Britannia engineering workshop

from the...

Britannia Telephone Company.

Office of J. Bracewell.

Damn it.

[people talking in background]

On no account can we speak
to Mr. Bracewell about this.

Of course,
we speak to him, Patrick.

He's our prime suspect.

He's also a client,
and a well-paying one at that.

No.
[inhales]

We keep our sights
on Daniel Archer.

Joseph Bracewell benefits
financially from the two deaths.

He's admitted to being
in his office

with his telephone
at the time of the expl*si*n.

And both you and I agree that
whoever made that phone call

was almost certainly
the m*rder*r.

If we accuse Bracewell
of m*rder,

he will fire us
and we'll lose our fee.

But we'll be doing our jobs.

No, your job is to do

what's best for my business,
and I'm ordering you

to say nothing
to Bracewell.

Ordering me?!

Yes! We stay on Archer!

♪ ♪

[footsteps retreating]

[door opens, slams]

It's laughable.

He constantly corrects me
and tells me how to behave,

and yet what he's doing
is completely immoral.

I've never met anyone
so bloody-minded and pigheaded.

And before you say anything, no,
I'm not either of those things,

so, I'll thank you to
keep your opinions to yourself.

I didn't say anything.

You didn't have to.

Inspector Wellington
wrote to me again.

He wants to know
if you're upset with him.

Why is he asking you?

Well, he tried asking you,
and got no response.

Lizzie, no matter what you say,
I know that you're angry.

When you were a little girl...

I do not need a story

from my childhood
cleverly designed to teach me

a life lesson as an adult.

You have no idea
what the story was going to be.

It was going to be
about the dog, wasn't it?

Fine.

You know so much, you can
sort things out for yourself.

Nothing to sort out.

Inspector Wellington has left,
and when he returns,

we shall talk,
and in the meantime,

I have no intention
of replying to his letters.

Because you're angry
with him.

Fine!

I am angry!

He shouldn't have left!

He should have stayed
and we could have...

Could have what?

I don't know.

And there's your answer.

What is?

The reason why he left.

He went away for your sake,
as well as his,

so you both could have had time
to work out

what it is you really want.

He's a good man, Lizzie.

He doesn't deserve you
ignoring him like this.

Oh, so all the fault
lies with me, does it?

Thank you for your loyalty.

Lizzie...
I've fed up with you,

Patrick Nash, and everyone else
pointing out my faults,

and telling me how to behave
that I,

as though
I'm completely incapable

of making my own decisions!

[door opens, closes]

[sighs]

♪ ♪

[phone ringing]

[call answered]

CLERK:
Of course, Mr. Bracewell.

[phone hangs up]

Mr. Bracewell will see you now.

Do you often accuse your client
of m*rder?

I'm not accusing you,
Mr. Bracewell.

I'm just looking
at the evidence,

and it is compelling.

You stood to gain all profits
from the new telephone

on the death of Mr. Davidson
and Mr. Baker.

[inhales]

Well, I'm the bearer
of bad news.

Because if that call came
from this telephone,

then it couldn't have been me
who made it.

Because I was in Ealing.

Ealing?

It was at the
United Telephone Company.

I've been involved in secret
negotiations to buy them out.

Then why not tell myself
and Mr. Nash that

in the first place?

Because it's
a highly competitive industry,

and I didn't want
to harm the deal.

It's not yet been sealed.

Perhaps you could
also explain

how I can profit
from a telephone

that no longer exists.

Mr. Baker made a copy
of his plans,

which I'm sure
you well know.

I did not know.

Here's how this is
going to work, Miss Scarlet.

You will bring me
Alfred Baker's plans

immediately.

If you do not,

I will let Mr. Nash know
I'm firing his agency.

♪ ♪

Where have you been?

Ealing.

Well, while you've been
gone,

we received this telegram
from Mr. Bracewell.

He advises, albeit politely,

that we're fired.

How dare you disregard
my instructions.

You gave me no choice.

I was doing my job.

Your job is to build this
business, not lose us clients.

What the hell
is in Ealing, anyway?

Um, well, I was checking
on Mr. Bracewell's new alibi.

And?

It stands up.

[laughs, sighs]

Where are you going?

To try and persuade Bracewell
to reconsider.

If you are to run this agency,
you must first and foremost

be a businesswoman.

And I'll not be
returning to Paris

until you convince me
you understand this.

[door opens]
CLARENCE:
Oh, Mr. Nash...

Mr. Nash!

Miss Scarlet.

Not now, Clarence.

I have just had word
from my source at the bank.

He informs me that
Daniel Archer has been making

regular cash withdrawals
over the last six months.

I said not now,
Clarence.

Yes, but just
one more thing.

Mr. Archer took out
a large sum of cash

from his bank account
not one hour ago.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

[people talking in background]

♪ ♪

Pleasure doing business
with you.

[footsteps retreating]

♪ ♪

What on Earth...?

I found this in your drawer,
Mr. Archer.

It's Alfred Baker's
favorite book, I gather.

And one which was stolen
from his bookcase.

As I suspected,

this is where Alfred
hid the plans

for his new telephone.

You want to make
Alfred Baker's design

and pass it off as your own.

Alfred could never have
designed that telephone

without my tutelage, so...

Why should it be that
he gets all the credit?

I just witnessed you
giving Mr. Underwood something.

Money, I suspect.

Show me the contents
of that envelope he gave you,

and perhaps I won't report you
to the police.

♪ ♪

This is Pitman shorthand.

My father made me study it.

It's transcripts
from phone calls.

But all involving Alfred Baker

in conversation with his boss,
George Davidson.

This is how you knew where
he hid his plans, isn't it?

And to pass yourself off
as the inventor

of his telephone,
you needed him dead.

That's not true.

And you have absolutely no proof
that it was me.

♪ ♪

[door closes]

Well, the good news is, we've
managed to calm Bracewell down.

To do so,

I had to paint you as,
well...

Let me guess--
insubordinate.

On second thought,
it's perhaps best I do not

share with you the exact words
I used to describe you.

You were right.
[sighs]

Of course, I was.

About what?

Daniel Archer.

Now we just have to prove
that he's the m*rder*r.

♪ ♪

[people talking in background]

[phones ringing]

I thought I told you to leave.

And now I see
you've brought your wife.

I'm not his wife.

We know you're being paid

by people like Archer
to transcribe the conversations

of private telephone calls.

A call was made
to the Britannia workshop

on the 21st of September.

It caused the expl*si*n
there.

Did Daniel Archer
make that call?

Um, I don't know.

Look, I don't know anything,
I swear it.

Do these belong to you?

Yes, but they're just timesheets

for the girls.

It's not the contents
that interest me,

Mr. Underwood,
but rather the,

the neatness of
the handwriting.

We'd like to take
another look at the logbook

for the 21st of September.

The other days are varied
with different handwriting.

Various operators, I assume.

The day of the m*rder has been
filled entirely by one person.

You, Mr. Underwood.

Why?

I was told to.

[drawer opens]

When this blackmail letter

was delivered to me

on the night of that expl*si*n,

threatening to expose me.

It's ordering you
to amend the details of the call

made to the Britannia workshop

to say that it came
from Joseph Bracewell's office.

In order to do that,

I had to replace the whole page
in the logbook

and fill in
the entire day myself.

So where did the call
really come from?

From a public telephone
in Farringdon.

♪ ♪

Whoever wrote that blackmail
note must be our m*rder*r.

They clearly knew
about his sideline.

Maybe it's someone
who works here.

My thoughts exactly.

I'll go back in and
compare the handwriting

of the blackmail letter
against the call log.

While you do that,
I'll go to Farringdon.

With any luck, whoever runs

the public phones there
will keep records.

"A talented detective
with the utmost integrity."

What?

They were the words I used
to describe you to Bracewell.

♪ ♪

CLERK:
We don't keep records
of calls made.

How often is
this telephone used?

Not much.

People around here,

they don't really
understand it.

Hm.

You had a customer here
three days ago, on the 21st.

Early afternoon?

Mm-- do you remember
the person?

Absolutely.

♪ ♪

[quietly]:
Got you.

[phones ringing]

ELIZA:
B.L.

It's the same handwriting
as the blackmail letter.

B.L.

Elizabeth Landing.

She was an operator here
until about six months ago.

Left to get married.

Ooh.

[quietly]: Are you suggesting
that she was the one

that wrote me the letter?

Almost certainly.

Who is she?

Her fiancé worked
at Britannia.

Why has she signed her name
B and not E?

[breathlessly]:
Because she called herself
Betty.

[breathes heavily]

[exhales]

You wanted Davidson
and Bracewell dead.

But Alfred,
that was an accident,

wasn't it?

[voice trembling]:
Alfred was never meant
to be at that meeting.

But his boss must have
called him in last minute.

I had no idea.
[breath catches]

You stole the keys

to Alfred's workshop,

you primed the telephone
to spark,

punctured the gas pipe,
and left.

Knowing that
by the afternoon,

when Bracewell
and Davidson came

for their meeting,
the workshop would be a b*mb,

ready to explode.

And then you made the call.

[voice breaking]:
Ten percent!

That's all they gave him.

Ten percent for all the time
and all the work he put in.

I just wanted Alfred
to have what he deserved.

It was so unfair.
[gasps]

Do what you want with me.

[sniffles]

My life's over now, anyway.

I k*lled my husband.

[sobbing]:
My own beloved husband.

♪ ♪

PHELPS:
I said get in there,
you toe-rag!

Get in there!

OFFICER:
You bloody idiot!

I don't think I can do this.

We gave Phelps our word.

If we give Phelps the credit,
it could seal his promotion.

Is that really what we want,
to be dealing with him?

It'll be you dealing with him.

So you need to give him the win.

♪ ♪

ELIZA:
Detective Phelps.

Miss Scarlet.

Have you got something
for me?

The evidence is all in here.

And just remind me

who solved this case.

[inhales]

You did, Detective Phelps.

And did I get any help?

At all?

No, Detective Phelps.

[clicks tongue]

That's the right answer.

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

[people talking in background]

What's going on?

NASH:
Oh, I contacted
the applicants you favored.

They're here for
the interview.

Well, where are you going?

They'll be working for you.

You should be the one
to choose your staff.

Let's just call it
a show of faith.

[exhales]

Thank you, Patrick.

Oh.

I had that installed.

I thought it might
be helpful.

What, to keep checks on me
when you return to Paris?

Why must you always
think the worst of me?

I am simply a man at
the forefront of innovation.

Well, it's no matter.

The technology is
still far off being able

to place a call overseas.

But as a man at
the forefront of innovation,

you, of course, knew that.

Of course, I did.

[laughs]

[door closes]

[bell tolling,
people talking in background]

♪ ♪

What are you doing?

Helping.

So...

Are you still angry
with me?

Are you still angry
with me?

I asked first.

[work pauses]

[exhales]
[chuckles]

Oh, sorry.

I shouldn't have gone
behind your back like that.

I just thought

I was doing the right thing.

I know, and I understand
why you did it.

And you're right.

This, Inspector Wellington
leaving

has caused me some... upset.

And you miss him.

I'm only saying this
because I love you,

but I think replying to him
would make you feel better.

And I think you're right.

Oh, you're always right.

I keep saying that to Barnabus,
but will he listen?

Ivy, I hate cauliflower.

You'll eat what I cook for you,
young lady.

♪ ♪

Good evening.

My name is Miss Scarlet.

I believe you are...

An associate of my father's.

He said there'd be food.

Yes, I cooked a smoked ham
this afternoon.

I'll cut you a slice.

♪ ♪

Dear William,

I'm happy to hear
things are going well

for you in New York.

It's been
an interesting week here.

But, on balance, a good one.

♪ ♪

[click]

♪ ♪

FITZROY: Mr. Nash is wanted
in connection with a m*rder.

I have a warrant for his arrest.

PHELPS:
He was looking for someone

right before they were k*lled,

and then he disappeared.

NASH:
Leave this alone.

How can I
when you fled a m*rder scene?

I don't have time to explain.

What have you done, Patrick?

♪ ♪

♪ ♪

♪ ♪