15x20 - Pendrick's Planetary Parlour

[bunniefuu]

(PENDRICK): To live in the
modern world is to bear witness

to an unfolding miracle.

A short while ago, information
moved at the speed of a ship.

Now it moves at the speed of light

across a telegraph network
that spans the globe.

A letter written in Toronto
can be printed in New York,

as can images.

Now imagine doing all that
from the comfort of your home

without the use of a telegraph operator.

Sending the message to a
friend on another continent

and receiving a reply within seconds.

Impossible, you say?

But the technology already exists.

All it took to put it
together was some imagination

and a little bit of money.

Make that a lot of money.

(ALL LAUGH)

(ALL GASP)

This is the Pendrick Portal.

It's a window into a world we're calling

Pendrick's Planetary Parlour.

Please, step forward. Don't be shy.

It appears I'm receiving a message.

Would you look at that, it's
our Chief Operating Officer,

Garth Trent, from his
home in Parkdale, Ontario.

(ELECTRONIC BEEP)

Another message.

This one appears to be from France.

It's my friend Jacques from gay Paris.

(ALL LAUGH AND APPLAUD)

Bonjour, Jacques.

Ça va bien ?

(ELECTRONIC BEEP)

Another message.

From Mr. Cormac, one of our
Parlour users here in Toronto.

You're sending worry?

I think we've got
enough of that already.

(ALL LAUGH)

(TICKING, THEN ELECTRONIC BEEP)

(GASPS)

Or should we be worried that...

W... what's happening?

Dear God! Mr. Cormac's being
m*rder*d before our very eyes.

(ALL GASP)

Struthers!

- What should I do?
- Call Station House Number Four.

- Tell them to send Detective Murdoch.
- Yes, sir.

(ELECTRONIC BEEP)

Sir, all she said was

they were all witness to a m*rder

that happened across town.

Across town? Then why are we here?

Because this is where
they witnessed the m*rder.

- How can that be?
- Sir, when James Pendrick is involved...

Detective Murdoch. Constable Crabtree.

Thank you for coming so quickly.

James Pendrick.

I believe you've met Ernest Harding.

Ah, yes. You created a version
of Babbage's Difference Engine.

Analytic Engine, actually.

And people often make that mistake.

Mr. Harding's machine
is an integral component

to my latest venture.

And just what is that venture, James,

and how does it involve m*rder?

It might be easier to show than to tell.

(ELECTRONIC SOUNDS)

What on earth is this device?

Images and text are
processed by the computer

and then transmitted to local receivers,

which are connected to a network.

We call it cellular telegraphy.

I've retrieved the
transmission of the m*rder.

I... it's been recorded?

All our transmissions are first recorded

- to a coil of magnetic wire.
- (ELECTRONIC BEEP)

What am I looking at here?

Electrons, Murdoch.

(CLEARS THROAT) What am
I looking at in this image

and, more importantly, who is this?

(PENDRICK): His name is Vincent Cormac.

He was a participant in our Face Space.

Face Space?

When a group of people gather together

in a mutual conversation,
we call it a Chat Space.

When they transmit images,

we call it a Face Space.
It's just marketing.

Ah.

And how well do you
know this Mr. Cormac?

I didn't. He was chosen
at random to participate.

He was a professor of mathematics.

I'd met him a few times.

(WHIRRING)

"Worry, I'm sending it."

It's a bit cryptic but
clearly, he was under duress.

A warning, perhaps?

(WHIRRING, THEN BEEPING)

Good Lord!

Sir, could this be some sort of hoax?

Possibly.

Where did this happen?
We should go there now.

Garth Trent, our chief operating
officer, would have that information.

He was also part of the
Face Space. Struthers!

- Yes, sir?
- Have you contacted Mr. Trent?

He telephoned. He's on his way.

Very good. Thank you.

(ELECTRONIC SOUNDS)

What's this now?

Sir, that looks like the
grin of the Cheshire Cat.

It could be the k*ller's icon.

Icon?

His representative symbol.

Lately our users have
taken to using icons

instead of their faces.

(TRENT): I came as soon as I could.

(PENDRICK): Detective Murdoch, this is

our chief operating
officer, Garth Trent,

and the son of our main investor.

Pleasure.

I take it you know where this happened.

Mr. Cormac's address is
listed as Agnes Street.

Sir, that's Miss
Beazley's boarding house.

It's just around the corner.

Who are you?

Oh, Margaret Brackenreid.
I'm just here to assist.

Brackenreid.

I know that name.

My husband's a police inspector.

They were looking for Bobby.

And they found him.

What?

(SIGHS)

It's number .

(SIGHS)

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

Mr. Cormac? Police.

- So, not a hoax.
- No.

Sir. Take a look at this.

What is it?

Well, he was a mathematician,

but this seems much more
diagrammatic in nature.

George, notify Mrs. Hart
that we have a victim,

bring Mr. Cormac's machine
to the station house

and take a photograph of this.

Sir.

Very good, George.

Could you copy this onto my blackboard

exactly as it's depicted
in the photograph?

Sir, I was going to go down to
Miss Beazley's boarding house

and dust for fingermarks,
take some statements.

I can do that. Agnes Street, isn't it?

Thank you.

(SIGHS)

Have you gained access
to the machine yet?

- Not yet.
- We need to reconfigure

- the passcode manually.
- What's in here, then?

Hopefully Mr. Cormac's
latest transmissions.

So you can send a message to
anyone in the world with this?

If they have a Portal, yes.

We currently have a thousand machines.

We want to make that a
million. And then a billion.

You're not half ambitious, James.

I want to bring the
world together, Inspector.

The free exchange of ideas
between people and peoples.

I just want to send a message
without talking to anyone.

(CRABTREE): Oh, but sir, it
could be so much more than that.

I mean, if anyone can
send a message to anyone,

then, presumably, anyone
can send a message...

To everyone!

Books could be transmitted.
Newspapers. Sports scores.

If images could be transmitted,

what's to keep you from
browsing the Eaton's catalogue,

placing your order directly
from a Pendrick Portal?

Well, George, I hardly think
people will want to read a book

- from such a device.
- (PENDRICK): What else do you see?

Why not a global university?

You could attend from anywhere,

a treehouse, a lighthouse, a yurt.

Come work for me.

Uh, but, sir, I already have a job.

- I'll double your salary.
- Oy!

You're right, Tom. I'll triple it.

You think about it, Mr. Crabtree.

(HARDING): I've gained access.

(ELECTRONIC SOUNDS)

I haven't been able to
get into two sections.

What? Why?

Ah, Mr. Cormac seems to have

reconfigured his machine
to prevent access.

I need to override his instructions.

Are you able to imprint to
paper what you have thus far?

I appreciate you coming to pick me up.

- Excuse me, Mrs. Farrow.
- Hm?

What do you know about my son?

- You?
- Bobby.

Bobby Brackenreid.

I've never heard of him.

- You mentioned him by name.
- Margaret!

Not now.

(SIGHS)

You must be so excited.

- Is that what this feeling is?
- Isn't it?

Well, I don't know,
Effie. It's a big change.

Permanent change.

And then, you know,

there's my friendship
with Detective Murdoch.

I'm sure your friendship will survive.

You'll just have to get
used to calling him William.

(BOTH LAUGH)

I don't think I'll ever do that.

According to the transmission log,

Mr. Cormac's previous
communication was at : p.m.

It says, "Don't worry.
I'm sending it now."

If the k*ller was able
to send his own icon,

then he was likely a
Parlour user himself.

Icon?

(BRACKENREID): Ah.

Well, I've spoken to everyone

at Mr. Cormac's boarding
house, no sightings.

But his neighbour heard someone
walk past her door at : .

Heard? That could be anybody.

Well, if it was the k*ller,

that's one full half
hour before the m*rder.

And if the neighbour heard
no sign of a disturbance,

then it was likely someone
known to Mr. Cormac.

Success? Gather round, we
may have something here!

I've managed to access some
of the blocked sections.

(BRACKENREID): Bloody hell. He's naked.

Small wonder he wanted
to keep that hidden.

- (CHUCKLES)
- (KNOCK ON THE DOOR)

Uh, sorry to interrupt.

Uh, Detective, Inspector
might I have a word?

Sirs, as you both know, six years ago

I withheld information
during an investigation.

At the time, it was to protect
Edna Garrison and her son.

But I was told because of that,

I would never make detective.

Is that still the case?

I can't honestly say it isn't, Crabtree.

Right. Well, I appreciate
your honesty, sir.

George, Mr. Pendrick's ventures

- seldom work out.
- Yes, I'm aware of that.

And I thank you both for
everything you've done for me.

Would have been the
last moment I saw him.

- Tearing a bookcase apart.
- I agree.

Uh, Mr. Pendrick.

If your offer still stands, I accept.

Wonderful. I am so pleased.

Harding, meet our new director
of creative development.

Oh, well, welcome aboard, Mr. Crabtree.

Thank you.

- Congratulations, George.
- I'll bloody miss you.

But you never heard
that from me, Bugalugs.

Our loss is their gain. Good luck.

I wish it was me that was leaving.

Right. Well, a pint then, to celebrate.

Oh, not tonight, Crabtree.
We've got a case to solve, hm?

Let's discuss this.

Higgins, when you're done?

They have me doing your job as well.

Right. Well, uh...

Another time, then, and, uh,

and best of luck with the case.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Right, then.

So, Cormac was trading in p*rn?

Not just p*rn.

There were conversations about
adulterous liaisons and prostitution.

- Not just a mathematics professor.
- Hmm.

I don't want Pendrick's
Parlour to be associated

with this type of business. Is
there anything we could do about it?

Hey!

- It's the decon-recon sequence.
- The what?

For reasons of security,
outgoing messages

are scrambled with a simple algorithm.

This is it.

How did Cormac get it?

Well, he figured it out.
He's a mathematician.

He should never have
been given a Portal.

(PENDRICK): So, he had
access to every transmission,

every private conversation.

- A Peeping Tom, then?
- Perhaps.

But why did he record
only the transmissions

that were potentially
damaging to the senders?

He was blackmailing them.

Bloody hell. There's your
motive right there, Murdoch.

Dear God!

People sent these to each other?

They assumed the exchanges were private.

Well, I have a photograph
or two I could send to you.

(BOTH LAUGH)

So you think he was
compiling all of these

for blackmail purposes?

He recorded these separately
from his other transmissions.

What were they about?

Mundane things.

Cats.

Pictures of cats.

Jokes about cats.

And Cormac wasn't the
only one, nearly everybody.

Well, how odd. I wonder why.

George will have a theory.

How are you feeling about that?

Feeling?

I wish him all the luck in
the world in his new venture.

You'll still be friends, William.

Morning, Detective.

Have you been here all night?

(PENDRICK): We're just wrapping up.

We gained access to the
final blocked section.

I printed off the contents.

- A cipher?
- Ah, not a cipher.

But a code of some kind.

But why encode it in the first place?

Perhaps he feared that
if he could spy on others,

others could spy on him?

(ELECTRONIC BUZZES AND BEEPS)

- (PENDRICK): What is happening?
- Someone's taking control of the machine.

- How?
- I don't know, but he's erasing the recorder!

Quickly, pull the plug!

Do you mean to tell me that
the intruder can not only spy

on our Face Space transmissions,

but they have access
to the actual machine?

That's why each machine is
protected with a passcode.

A passcode?

A secret key, a passcode
known only to the user.

So, someone knows Mr. Cormac's passcode,

possibly the k*ller.

I'm going to have to take this machine

back to headquarters and analyze it.

Right, then.

Begin.

_

- _
- (LAUGHS)

My goodness. I don't know.

What are my options?

_

_

(STRUTHERS): George Crabtree, I presume.

- Ah, yes. We met yesterday.
- Not by name.

I'm Melody Struthers,
Assistant Machine Instructor.

I'm not sure what that means.

It means I write coded
instructions for the machines

and Professor Harding gets the credit.

Ah!

This used to be his desk.

I'm over there in the
operations section.

We'll be working together.

You come up with brilliant ideas

and I'll explain in boring
detail why they can't work.

Well, that sounds a lot like my old job.

(LAUGHING)

Sir?

I thought Professor Harding took
this back to their headquarters.

It's not Cormac's. It's ours.

Ours?

- Why would we... ?
- It's the future, isn't it?

Sir, they are demonstrably not secure.

We have a passcode.
Come here. Come here!

Keep it to yourself: It's Wednesday.

The team! Football. Sheffield.

Ah, yes, yes, yes. No
one will ever guess that.

Look at this, someone sent out a photo

of a cat hanging from a clothesline.

Bloody priceless!

(LAUGHS)

Sirs. I've spoken to the Parlour
users Mr. Cormac spied on.

They all have alibis except
for naked photograph man.

He's in the interview room.

Clothed, sir.

Oh, good. Good.

Uh, Henry, copy this to my blackboard

exactly as it's written, please.

Sir.

(LAUGHS)

Oh, yeah.

My goodness.

This is your front door.

Yes. The images renew every six seconds.

How about that?

And what's all of this?

Each light represents a cell,

each blink represents a transmission,

machines transmitting

to cells on three continents.

What about the costs of
overseas transmission?

We transmit in units of seven bits,

which allows for very high speed.

And who are your users?

Oh, volunteers, mostly. Some random.

Some specifically chosen.

Ah. Welcome Mr. Crabtree.

Look, I've told the front
staff, now I'm telling you.

No contact with Pendrick or
Harding until further notice.

Is this about the Cormac m*rder?

That's none of your concern.

You're not a copper anymore.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Where'd you get that?

You transmitted this?

I sent it to a lady friend.

Is that why I'm here?

You're here because
you are under suspicion

of the m*rder of Vincent Cormac.

I don't know anything about that.

The data of this image
was found in his machine,

we believe for the
purposes of extortion.

You believe what you want.

I didn't k*ll him.

(OGDEN): Margaret?

Donna Farrow?

Margaret, this is private information!

She knows something about Bobby.

She said they found him.

Who found him?

I don't know! But I need to find out.

It may be something you
don't want to hear, Margaret.

Are you prepared for that?

I have to know.

I'm his mother.

Ah, sir.

- It's all done.
- Very good.

Now, there's a pattern here somewhere.

If you say so, sir.

There's a symmetry of sorts there.

And this one is almost a palindrome

except for the A and the N.

(WATTS): Uh-huh.

A...

N.

A, dot, dash, N, dash, dot.

Uh... Each half is the mirror
of the other in Morse code.

That's it!

Henry, convert this entire
sequence to Morse code.

We need to make a visual
representation of this.

We'll need a grid,
roughly squares by .

And in the fields, instead
of inserting dots and dashes,

you will then colour the
square or leave it blank.

(SIGHS) Yes sir.

I'll get some paper.

Good luck.

Yes. Thank you.

(BEEPING)

_

_

(SCOFFS)

_

_

(INTRIGUING MUSIC)

_

(BEEPING)

(TYPING)

_

_

_

No.

(TYPING)

_

_

_

_

A belated welcome, Mr. Crabtree.

How are you settling in?

Very well, thank you.

Is everything all right, sir?

I'm not a knight;
there are no sirs here.

Call me James.

Quickiepedia?

Yes. I'm thinking...

a compendium of all human knowledge

written and edited by
Parlour users themselves.

The knowledge of
experts, available to all?

And quickly.

It's ingenious.

You rekindle my faith, Mr. Crabtree.

Oh, sir! Come and see this.

I wrote out the Morse code as you asked.

It looks like a smile.

Henry, bring in Mr. Pendrick.

Sir.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

What is the function of
the Cheshire Cat grin?

Figuratively, or literally?

(CLEARS THROAT) Bits of information,

if sent in a specific sequence,

will do something. What
does this sequence do?

Well, sent as code,
it could be an address,

or a set of machine instructions.

But a transmitted image is just
that: it has no coded value.

What if we were to send
this sequence as text?

Let's try it.

- We'll be needing that, Inspector.
- Not right now, I'm afraid.

I'm in negotiation
with a Nigerian prince.

What?

Well, he's about to be overthrown

and he wants to hide
his fortune in Canada.

He's willing to pay me
, $ as a consultancy fee.

The originating cell is from Niagara.

You mean Nigeria.

N... no, Niagara as in Falls.

It seems to be some sort
of confidence scheme.

Oh, bloody hell.

- Then, who is it then?
- Don't know.

They're masking their identity.

(CLEARS THROAT)

Ah!

All right.

First sequence.

Ah, six, five...

five, five...

And seven more fives.

Oh. Yes. And... a nine.

(BEEPING)

Uh, next.

Zed, ten fives and then three.

We're in someone else's machine.

Whose?

A man by the name of Milton Jarvis.

But his last transmission
was... two months ago.

Wait a minute.

Someone's trying to get in.

- Milton Jarvis?
- No.

Someone else.

Operator, give me Pendrick headquarters.

Run a scan on Cell , Unit .

I want to know who's transmitting.

We're conducting a trace.

- Ah!
- Ah!

Yes, yes.

Thank you. Very good. Keep a record.

The originating cell came
from a man named Sam Waters.

- Isn't that the naked man?
- Indeed, sir.

We now have more than just motive.

We need to bring Mr. Waters back
in and confiscate his machine.

Imagine you could type
"chicken soup recipe"

and find different recipes
shared by various users.

That information would be
stored on individual machines.

We don't have access.

Yes, but imagine every user
had a line to a Pendrick machine

dedicated solely to storage.

You send your chicken soup
recipe up the line, I send mine.

We all upline our recipes
and there they are, stored,

to be accessed by any user, at any time.

We would need dedicated connections;

dedicated addresses;

an automated index to
allow for quicker searches.

So, it's possible?

It's possible.

Dedicated storage?

Magnetic wire is cheap.

Land is cheap. Power is cheap.

I see huge upfront costs
without defined profits.

- Well, yes, but surely the benefit...
- To whom?

Mankind.

That is exactly the
kind of dreamy thinking

that will obliterate
my father's investment.

Tell me how this will make money.

Well, it will make the Parlour better.

You'll sell more machines.

I don't see that.

Well, that's fine. I'm sure James will.

James!

Oh...

Yes, I see. You've had the,
um, "we're a team" chat.

Teams have hierarchy.

James may be the owner,
but I am your boss.

You'll address me as Mr. Trent.

Oh, and, by the way, um,

no eating at your desk.

We have a lunchroom for that.

How did he know I was eating at my desk?

Small men focus on small things.

His father bequeathed him
his interest in this company.

Immediate profit is all he cares about.

(SIGHS)

(INTRIGUING MUSIC)

This was transmitted at the
moment of Mr. Cormac's death.

It is a binary representation of this.

It also contains a sequence
that provides direct access

to the machine of one Milton Jarvis,

whom we have learned is
living abroad currently.

Binary...

- representation?
- Don't play me for a fool, Mr. Waters!

You are deeply connected
to the m*rder of a man

for whom you had motive to k*ll.

I didn't have motive.
You've got it wrong.

Cormac wasn't trying to extort me.

We were both trying to catch
the man who was extorting me.

About a month ago, I received
a copy of the photograph I sent

and a message asking for $

or else the photograph
would be made public.

The next day, I got a
message from Mr. Cormac.

He'd been monitoring my transmissions.

He told me the man who was extorting
me had access to our machines.

We called him Mr. X.

Cormac wanted my help
to trap him. I agreed.

That's why he was m*rder*d.

You believe by this Mr. X?

Cormac told me he was close
to discovering his identity.

He'd found a way to track
him. He'd compiled evidence.

But he needed to hide it where
Mr. X wouldn't think to look.

In the machine of a man living abroad.

And why the Cheshire Cat grin?

We needed a code Mr. X wouldn't guess.

And why transmit it during

Mr. Pendrick's address to his investors?

I've no idea.

He sent it to me in a Chat
Space a half hour earlier.

: .

His last transmission was to you.

(INTRIGUING MUSIC)

_

(BEEPING)

_

_

_

_

"Could you be the Cheshire Cat?"

"Because it happens
that I've failed you."

Curious?

"Meet me on the bench
across from Pendrick HQ."

Is it possible

that Vincent Cormac
was k*lled at : p.m.,

but his m*rder was
transmitted minutes later?

You think that's what happened?

It would explain the gap
on the primary recorder.

Is it possible?

You have to edit the recording directly;

transfer the content
to the other recorder;

find a way to align the
text and the image...

They're stored separately.

And then you'd have
to manually roll back

the timing mechanism on
the secondary recorder.

You'd need physical
access to the machine.

How long would all of that take?

- minutes?
- Ah...

I could do it in five.

He was k*lled minutes earlier?

I believe so, yes.

Why go to all the trouble
of making it appear

that he was k*lled during
Pendrick's demonstration?

I've been giving it a
great deal of thought

and I can think of only one reason.

He wanted an alibi.

What better alibi than to
be in the company of everyone

watching the m*rder being
committed with their own eyes?

That includes everyone that was
attending the investors' demonstration.

It just so happens that
Miss Beasley's boarding house

is only two blocks away
from Pendrick headquarters.

It would have taken minutes,

leaving minutes to get to the
demonstration, shake hands, be seen.

It's tight.

But it opens up a whole new
field of potential suspects.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

(INTENSE MUSIC)

At : , I was charming
the pants off investors.

Professor Harding can attest to that.

Actually, I cannot.

I was, uh, waylaid by
matters relating to Babbage

and I arrived at the
demonstration just before : .

Babbage? The inventor
of the Analytical Engine?

Yes. But, in this case,
it's the name of my dog.

- Is Babbage all right?
- Oh, she got lost again.

- She's getting old.
- Oh, dear.

So, you don't have an alibi?

No, I don't.

I absolutely could
have k*lled Mr. Cormac,

changed the recording and made
it to the investor demonstration.

But I would like to
stress that I didn't.

I've got nothing to tell you.

I know you know about my son.

It's my husband's business

and he don't like me talking about it.

You said they found Bobby.

- And I've already said too much.
- Please.

I'm his mother.

I just want to know if he's alive.

- Please.
- He's alive.

Least he was when they found him.

Where? Where is he?

Wh...

(SIGHS)

(SOFT MUSIC)

(BELL TOLLING IN THE DISTANCE)

(INTRIGUING MUSIC)

You're the Cheshire Cat.

Ha! I guess that makes
you the Curious Cat?

You left me waiting.

Well, you're here now.

Have a seat. Let's talk.

What does the Cheshire Cat smile mean?

Nothing.

- It was bait.
- Bait?

A few months ago,

I became aware of a lurker
in one of the Face Spaces.

- A lurker?
- Trespasser;

uninvited participant.

So, I conducted a scan and caught him.

He turned out to be Vincent Cormac.

The m*rder victim.

But I soon learned
that Cormac was himself

trying to discover the identity
of a man he called Mr. X

who could break into
individual machines.

Why didn't you go to
Mr. Pendrick with this?

Because...

Mr. X had access to
information stored on machines

that aren't connected to the Parlour.

So, he worked for Pendrick Enterprises.

For all I know, it could
be Pendrick himself.

So that's when I said,

"Miss Struthers, you had to come in

- and talk to Detective... "
- Yes, of course, of course.

Well, thank you both for coming in.

George, if you could please excuse us.

Oh, right. Yes.

Yes, of course.

- Miss Struthers.
- Yes.

Please help me understand
this, uh, "bait" gambit.

I wasn't looking for the man
who would show up to meet me.

I was looking for the
man showing up to see

who was showing up.

To meet you.

Ah, but if the plan
was to trick the k*ller

into reacting to the symbol
of the crime he'd committed...

The symbol was just
to get his attention.

It was this verse that
was meant to trap him.

"Could you be the Cheshire Cat

because it happens that I've found you."

- I don't understand.
- Oh, you're not meant to.

But Mr. X would.

How so?

The first letters of each
line spell out the passcode

he was using to break
into individual machines.

One universal passcode?

It works on every machine.

And how did you come
to have this passcode?

We tricked him into transmitting it.

That's why Cormac sent the
image of the Cheshire Cat.

- Well, that wasn't meant for Sam Waters?
- No.

It was all a trick to convince Mr. X

we were on to him.

We knew he'd be reading Sam's machine.

We knew he'd try the
codes Cormac transmitted.

And when those codes didn't
grant him access to the machines,

he would be forced to use
his universal passcode.

Yes. I was doing a scan the whole time.

As soon as he transmitted
the passcode, we had it.

You then used this riddle to
force him to expose himself.

Yes.

But he didn't take the bait.

The bait?

Why this sequence?

Could be random.

The odds against someone
typing in that exact sequence

would be a trillion to one.

A cipher, maybe, sir?

Perhaps.

Might be as simple as going
ahead or back a letter for each.

So: B, A, B, B, A...

G. (WHISPERS): A, B, C, D.

E. Sir!

Cabbage!

(BOTH): Babbage!

Very good. George... Oh, I'm sorry.

Henry! Bring in Professor Harding!

- This is your passcode?
- Yes.

How... How did you... ?

It acts as a universal key.

It granted us access to
every machine we've tried.

You designed it that way so
that you would have access

to other machines for
the purposes of extortion.

Mr. Cormac found out and you k*lled him.

You then delayed
transmission of the m*rder

to provide yourself with an alibi.

There's no override
sequence. No, I tried that.

The back flow sequence? No.

It's in the machine itself.

It's in every damned machine.

What do you say to these
charges, Mr. Harding?

I did this. It was me!

Is that a confession?

Mr. Harding! Mr. Harding, stop!

Mr. Harding!

- (PANTING)
- Professor, what are you doing?

Oi!

years ago I discovered a man

by the name of Karl
Schreyer using my computer,

so I installed a passcode
into the machine itself.

But when we moved to the new interface,

passcodes became electrical
and I forgot all about it.

- I... it was...
- A backdoor.

To every machine we ever built.

That's how he was able to get in.

- Mr. X?
- Who?

How did he get your passcode?

Sir, I think I know how.

I think he observed Mr. Harding
entering it into his own machine.

There's a photosensor in
the ceiling above my desk,

which used to be
Professor Harding's desk.

Photosensor?

A camera capable of
transmitting images in real time.

To whom?

Garth Trent. He used it to spy on me.

In fact, that's why
he didn't take the bait

for Miss Struthers' trap.

He was watching me through the camera.

Mr. Trent was a participant at
your presentation, was he not?

He suggested it.

Thinking it would give
him the perfect alibi.

Hold it.

Trent was transmitting from Parkdale.

He couldn't have k*lled Cormac

and made it to the Face Space.

What if he wasn't?

What if he wasn't in Parkdale at all?

What if he was in Mr.
Cormac's room the whole time?

I suppose he could have relayed
the Face Space transmission

from Cormac's machine.

Well, let's bring up his
Face Space transmission.

(INTRIGUING MUSIC)

George.

Blackboard.

He never left Cormac's room.

Right. Let's arrest the bugger.

(SOMBRE MUSIC)

A confession could spare you the noose.

What do you want to know?

How did you know Professor
Harding's passcode was universal?

I didn't.

I only meant to break
into Harding's machine.

So you obtained his passcode.

And when I did,

I found that I'd broken
into the wrong machine.

But the passcode still worked.

It worked on every machine that I tried.

(SIGHS)

Why, Mr. Trent? You had everything.

You had a stake in the company.

My father squandered my inheritance

building a thousand Pendrick Portals.

Did you no longer
believe in the venture?

I never did!

Pendrick has no head for profits.

All that he cares about is progress.

So you found another way.

I had access to every secret.
I could have made millions.

I... I got impatient. I...

I wanted to test it.

And in so doing you
attracted the attention

of the one person who
could track you down.

It was him or me.

(CRABTREE): You're folding the company?

I envisioned a better
world, Mr. Crabtree.

I built a tool that was
meant to bring us together.

Instead, it was usurped by
criminals and charlatans.

I keep making the mistake of thinking
people are better than they are.

Well, I'm truly sorry, Mr. Pendrick.

I'm sorry, too.

And I made you quit your job
and now I've dashed your dreams.

Oh, not at all. As much as I
appreciated the opportunity,

turns out, I'm a copper after all.

Hm.

(GENTLE MUSIC)

(CITY HUBBUB)

Sorry it didn't work out, Crabtree.

Sir.

I don't suppose my old
job is still available?

The thing is, Bugalugs,

we've already promoted Baker
up to constable second class.

Ah.

But, luckily, we have an opening
for constable first class.

It pays less than Pendrick,

but it's a good bump up on
what you were making before.

We've also inquired
with the chief constable.

If I and the inspector draft
letters of recommendation,

they will waive the prohibition.

You won't make detective
this year or even next year.

But the door will no
longer be closed to you.

Welcome back, George.

Good to be back, sirs.