Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries (2012–…): Season 1, Episode 6 - Ruddy Gore - full transcript

Yes, Uncle.

Did you see him?

He was mugging upstage.
If he tries that tonight...

They don't appreciate
a true artist, Mr Copland.

Do you smell that?
Like flowers.

Dorothea?

It can't be.

No.

Stay away!

I shouldn't be long.
Do you want to come in?

Oh, it's him.
Dot?



Yes?

I'll see you inside.
Mm-hm.

A bit of greasepaint
will cover it, sir.

But you must hurry.
The curtain goes up in 20 minutes!

I'm fine. I'm fine, don't fuss.
Thank you, Lin, I'm in your debt.

As am I. No, please.
Happy to be of service.

Phryne!

She hangs upon the cheek of night,

like a rich jewel
in an Ethiope's ear.

You're a little old for Romeo, Bart.

Nonsense! Henry Irving was 45
when he played Romeo at the Lyceum.

Besides, with you as my Juliet...
age is immaterial.

Miss Phryne Fisher,
may I present Lin Chung.

Mr Lin.



He was kind enough to come
to the aid of our leading man,

who was set upon by thugs
outside the theatre.

I'm sure anyone would've done
the same.

Pleasure to meet you, Miss Fisher.
Good luck with the show.

You're looking ravishing as always,
dear girl.

You haven't changed a bit.

Hurry, Miss Leila.
15 minutes and counting.

Chookas, Mr Tarrant. Love the dress!

Unless you want me to miss the
curtain, tell me why you invited me.

Quite right. Tell me, Phryne, are
they true, the rumours about you?

Usually, I'm afraid.
But you're a detective.

That too.

I should have guessed free theatre
tickets would come with a price tag.

We have a ghost.

A ghost?

It's not just any ghost.

It's Dorothea Curtis.
I've heard that name.

Dorothea was a promising soprano.
She died 20 years ago.

The last role she ever played was
Rosie in Ruddigore in this theatre.

She died at her own hand
on opening night.

I found her in the dressing room.

She'd stabbed herself
through the heart.

That's unusual.
She was an actress.

If one has to play out a death
scene, Juliet's the classic choice.

Mr Tarrant, five-minute call!
Break a leg!

Bart.

I may have a reputation
for taking on difficult cases,

but... even I can't fix a ghost.

All this talk of spectres will pass
as soon as the curtain rises.

Trust me.

I can't believe we're sitting
so close.

Close enough to get a good look
at the handsome Gwilym Evans.

Is he handsome?
You hadn't noticed?

It's his talent I admire.
Which, I'm sure, is formidable.

If you want some advice,
I'd hide your admiration

of Mr Gwilym Evans' talents
when your constable arrives.

Hugh's coming?

It was a surprise for your birthday.
I thought you'd be pleased.

Sorry I'm late. Constable Collins
asked me to send his apologies.

His football game ended in a brawl.

He ended up arresting
half the opposing team.

I didn't pick you as a
Gilbert and Sullivan fan, Inspector.

Constable Collins
neglected to mention

the tickets were for an operetta.

A pleasant surprise then.

One for which he will
most definitely pay the price.

Perfect as always, pumpkin.

Evans.
Well, house is full to bursting.

Break a leg.
Indeed.

And I'll break yours
if you upstage me tonight.

This costume is not right. Hansen?

Parbuckle me, if you ain't the
loveliest gal I ever set eyes on!

There, I can't say fairer than that,
can I?

No! The question is,

is it meet that a total stranger
should thus express himself?

Now he's in love with her?
But they've only just met.

Where's your sense of romance, Jack?

♪ In sailing o'er life's
ocean wide ♪

♪ Your heart should be
your only guide ♪

♪ With summer sea and favouring wind ♪

♪ Yourself in port
you'll surely find ♪

♪ My heart says, 'You're
the prosperous lot, with acres wide ♪

♪ You mean to settle all you've got
Upon your bride.' ♪

So now she's getting engaged
to the other fellow?

Sh!

Is that what you call
a modern interpretation?

No. Walter Copland looked
like he was dying on stage.

Absolutely. Gwilym Evans
really should be the lead.

Phryne, come quickly!

Do you think anyone noticed
we went off book?

Interval did come a tad early.
How's the patient?

Can't someone
just give Walter a tonic?

Is this a usual occurrence?

Mr Copland!
There's a doctor down the lane.

If Copland isn't up for it, I know
his part. I'm happy to step up.

And who plays Richard?
Bradford knows all the parts.

Bra...!
He may not be much to look at,

but he can sing a damn sight better
than Copland.

That's just for rehearsal, sir.
I couldn't step out on the stage.

Nonsense. This is an emergency.

Look at him. He's three sheets
to the wind. Is he?

You can hold off on that doctor.
Looks like your man's dead.

Any enemies?
Surely you don't suspect murder.

We won't know
until we get the autopsy,

but contracted pupils, sudden coma,
could indicate poison.

If the press get hold of this,
I'm ruined.

Are you alright?
I'm... I'm perfectly fine.

Thank you once again
for the theatre tickets.

It seems we won't be seeing
the second act.

It's a murder, Jack. Surely you don't
expect me to just walk out.

One can only hope.

I need to look after
the interests of my client.

Mr Tarrant employed me
this evening to...

look into some strange occurrences
in the theatre.

I engaged Miss Fisher
right before the curtain went up.

How convenient.

I know this is a terrible time
for everyone. Just ghastly.

Not now, Gwilym!
It's just...

Don't you think Bradford
should get Walter's costume back

before they remove the body?
Whoever replaces him will need it.

Actors, Jack.

You need somebody who understands
their language.

And I speak fluent Thespian.
Ah.

I'll stumble through.
Thanks all the same.

Come on, ladies.
Stand behind the wings please.

Not quite the birthday celebration
I had planned for you, Dot.

Not worry, Miss. Hardly your fault
that poor man died.

I saved your show tonight!
You owe me!

I'll decide in the morning.

I'm sorry, in all the ruction,
we haven't yet had the pleasure.

No, we haven't.
Gwilym Evans.

Phryne Fisher, Mr Evans.

There were some questions
I was hoping I might ask you.

Anything to help a lady.

But first, may I present
Miss Williams?

She is a great admirer
of your talents. Charmed.

Do you think I might have
an autograph?

Dressing room.
Yes, sir.

Oh, it's for my mother.
Her name is Dot.

Mr Evans, shall we?

I was going to have a word
to Miss Fisher.

Oh. Miss Fisher... has to leave.

Did you see him? He spoke to me!
And that voice!

Those eyes.
May I?

Hmm.

Different hand.
Sorry, Miss?

I said Gwilym Evans
has a lovely hand.

I have heard tell of young ladies
being snatched from around here.

You mustn't believe everything
you read in The Argus, Dot.

There's absolutely nothing to be...

afraid of.

Well, that's just rude.

I do approve of a man who can fight

and still maintain
his sartorial elegance.

Shall we?

Um... Miss?
Come along, Dot.

Miss.

I am sorry. She wants to protect me
from the decadence of the west.

A losing battle I'm guessing.
Dot, try one of these.

Your skills with the chopsticks
are very impressive.

So are your fighting skills.

Sometimes in my business
it is necessary to employ them.

And your business is?
I'm an importer.

May I ask what you import?
Silk.

I didn't realise the silk business
was so dangerous.

Two fights in one evening.
Welcome to Chinatown.

There are those few here

who would rather rob their own kind
than make an honest living.

So that's what the skirmish
was about? An attempt to rob you?

And what, may I ask, were you doing
in the laneways at this hour?

I'm always interested when somebody
avoids answering a question.

As you know, we were at the theatre.

Until one of the actors up and died.

Your friend Walter Copland.
I only met him tonight.

Mr Lin, you'll get me hooked.

Thank you for coming,
darling girl.

Little earlier than I'm used to.

Did the Inspector keep you up
half the night?

Oh, he did.

I expect he asked you who might stand
to gain from Walter Copland's death?

He also told me I shouldn't speak
to you about the case.

And?

I told him there was no love lost
between Mr Copland and Mr Evans.

Don't let Dot hear you say that.
She worships the man.

And the reason for their conflict?
Nothing apart from the obvious.

Two rival actors competing
for the same role.

Creditors?

Painters, stage hands, orchestra,
even the actors.

Oddly enough, they all expect
to be paid.

What? They're not in it
for the love of theatre?

Only me.

You quite alright?
I've been better, my dear.

The truth is, Miss Fisher, I have
everything riding on this show.

Every last cracker!
If Ruddigore goes down, I'm ruined.

That's the end of me.

Apparently there's some tension
between your Mr Evans and Mr Copland.

I can't think what about.

Unless it was jealousy
of Mr Evans' talent.

Could it be jealousy
of the attentions of Miss Esperance?

That's impossible, Miss.
How so?

Well, Miss Esperance was engaged
to Mr Copland,

and Mr Evans would never dally with
the affections of an engaged lady.

Really?

They were engaged?
Hm.

Table Talk magazine does not lie.

Ah, I wondered when you'd be back.
Did you miss me?

I never get a chance to miss you.

It feels as if you're in my office
every second day.

To what do I owe the pleasure?
A development in our case. Our case?

I expect the actors let slip
about the ghost.

They did. Don't tell me
you suspect the ghost?

Might be a little difficult
to clap an apparition in irons.

I was thinking more about whoever
faked the apparition's appearance.

And given that it's a woman...
You suspect Miss Esperance?

At the time I didn't question
her indifference

to her fellow actor's collapse.

But is that the behaviour
of a fiancee?

Doing Ruddigore gave Walter and I
a chance to work together.

We didn't like to be apart.

So how long have you been engaged?

Oh, two is it? Just before we
began rehearsals. Yes, two months.

I would have thought most engaged
women could count out the minutes.

It wasn't my idea.

What wasn't?

It was just for an article
in Table Talk.

The engagement was supposed
to sell tickets.

Then... you weren't really engaged?

So much of what we do
is make-believe.

It was just one more thing
to pretend.

Mr Tarrant tells us it was your idea
to mount a production of Ruddigore.

Yes.
I wrote to him in England.

I thought it would be the perfect
opportunity for him to return home

after all those years away.

Did you see the ghost?
No.

When we finally heard about it I
looked for her, but she'd vanished.

Where were you
when the ghost appeared?

Downstage left. We were
in the middle of a dress rehearsal.

So Walter was the only one
who saw it?

No. His dresser Hansen was with him.

Following Walter around
like a puppy.

It just appeared out of thin air.
Walter recognised her.

He'd worked with Dorothea 20 years
ago. He told her to stay away.

This note?
Yes, that's it. Yes.

Rather unusual, isn't it,
for a ghost to leave behind

such a palpable item like a note?

I'm sure I have no idea
what ghosts do or don't do.

They don't usually do anything,
given they don't exist.

Oh, ye of little faith.

It wasn't just the note.
I beg your pardon?

That the ghost left behind.

When I returned from the dressing
room, the sand had vanished.

Not entirely.

Do you have any idea
who'd want to murder Walter Copland?

I shouldn't say,

but Mr Evans spent all last night
rehearsing Walter's role.

I hear you're taking on
Mr Copland's role.

The show must go on.

You weren't exactly on the best
of terms with Mr Copland.

The man was a ham.

Yes, it's a pity he's passed on,

but I'm not going to pretend
he was the world's greatest actor.

He could hardly stumble on stage
without a little help.

What kind of help?

The sort of help usually found
in a bottle.

You saw him take a drink
before he went on stage?

I didn't, but my dresser Bradford
saw everything.

He made a great show
of pretending

there was something wrong
with his costume.

But there wasn't.

It was just an excuse
to have another tipple.

And what was it he was drinking?

You would have to ask his dresser.
He was the keeper of the flask.

I believe Mr Copland had a drink
that night.

Walter would never compromise
his performance.

You're his dresser.

It's understandable you'd be loyal
to Mr Copland.

You'd know what he was carrying.
You're responsible for his costume.

Not just his costume.

The dresser is the actor's ally,
his closest friend.

We're trying to find out what
happened to your friend, Mr Hanson.

Is there anything
that you can tell us

that might help us get to the truth?

He had a drink
before the play opened?

It was for his nerves,
to calm him before he went on.

And who filled the flask?
I did.

I can only assume you were planning
to tell me about this.

No planning involved, Jack.
You know me.

You really can't go around
removing evidence from a corpse.

I'll try and remember that next time.
Am I forgiven?

Provisionally.
So, you think the dresser did it?

He had access to the flask.

If he was poisoned,
it seems likely he's the culprit.

Isn't it a bit easy,

given that everybody knew
he carried Copland's booze?

Quite right.
It must have been the ghost.

Are you sure
this is a good idea, Miss?

Walter Copland was killed
with an overdose of opium,

and I need to find out if there's
any connection with our Mr Lin Chung.

What makes you think there is?

For a start Walter Copland's hands
showed signs he'd used an opium pipe.

Add to that his scrape
with some thugs in an alleyway,

only to be saved by Lin Chung.

At the very least, our Chinese friend
knows more than he's letting on.

Would you care for champagne,
Mr Lin?

Yes, please.

You didn't get a chance to tell me
about the silk trade.

There's not much to tell.

I'm guessing my overly curious nature
is not a virtue in your culture.

I've always enjoyed explorations
beyond my culture.

Here's to... exploration.

I do have one question for you.

After a meal like that, it would be
rude not to answer one question.

Did Walter Copland ever buy silk
from you, or... anything else?

Anything else?
Opium?

You take me for an opium trader.
I'm asking.

Mr Copland
came to the same conclusion.

I'm Chinese, and so it follows that
I must know where to buy opium from.

That was why he followed me
outside the theatre.

Why were you at the theatre?

To show Mr Tarrant silks
for his next production, The Mikado.

So you didn't help Walter Copland
obtain opium?

I'm very sorry to disappoint you,

but I am an importer of silk
and silk alone.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

It's late.
It's early.

My apologies if I've offended you.

Thank you for your hospitality, but
I have an early meeting tomorrow.

Miss Williams, visitor for you.

Oh.
Hello, Dot. Sorry to bother.

I just wanted to pop in before work
to bring you this.

It's... for your birthday.

I know it's a little bit late,
but... Thank you.

I hope you like them.

They're... lovely,
very, ahem, useful.

Thought it might make up
for me missing out

on the theatre the other night.

Oh, ow.

Sorry. Kiss it better?

Constable Collins, how delightful.
Miss Phryne. Sorry, he was...

A birthday gift.
For our walks.

How romantic.

Uh, I have some darning to do.

Um... yes, me too. Not darning,
but other... important police work.

Did the Inspector find
Walter Copland's flask?

He... I... I can't say, Miss.
And were there traces of opium?

I'm not one for card games,
but a little advice...

don't EVER play poker.

If the Inspector asks anything,
I didn't breathe a word.

You didn't have to, dear Hugh.
I can read you like a book.

Speaking of books, I'm in a delicate
situation and I'd like your opinion.

The book was sent to me as a gift.

Obviously it has artistic merit,

but I'd hate to discover
it was in breach

of the Obscene and Indecent
Publications Act.

I... I... I suppose I could
take a look at it for you.

You might enjoy it. There's
an excellent chapter on kissing.

A whole chapter on kissing?
Oh, yes.

When it comes to seduction,

the East have a few thousand years
head start on us.

Ahem, Miss Phryne?
What is it, Dot?

Sorry to trouble you,
but Mrs Lin is here.

Said she wants to speak with you.
Oh, why didn't you let her in?

She won't come in. I've asked.

My apologies, Mrs Lin.
Please, join us.

You are Fox spirit. Fox spirit
take man property and waste it.

I assure you, I have no interest
in anyone else's property.

Lin Chung is promised to be married
to a good family in Shanghai.

Leave him alone or you will
be cursed until your dying day.

Fox spirit.

I quite like the sound of that.

Oh, here's one.
'Actress Takes Own Life'.

What date?
15 June 1908.

Sounds rather right.

Read on, MacDuff!

'Dorothea Curtis, while performing
in the opening night

of Gilbert and Sullivan's Ruddigore,

was found dead by her own hand
in her dressing room.'

Well found, old thing.

Here we go. 'Dorothea had been wooed
by two suitors.'

One of them
was a rather handsome fellow

by the name of Maurice Shepherd.

And the other? Well, well.

Why didn't you tell me
you and Dorothea were sweethearts?

- Did you love her?
- Passionately.

That wasn't enough.
Who was Maurice Sheffield?

Dorothea and I had just finished
Penzance. World was at our feet.

We'd both been offered roles
in London.

But she decided not to come.

She retired from the stage
for a year.

While I was away,
she was won over by Sheffield.

When I came back
she was engaged to him.

Then the three of us
were cast in Ruddigore.

But it became clear that
Dorothea and I still had feelings.

You got back together? I wasn't
going to let her get away again.

I asked her to marry me,
to break it off with Sheffield.

I'd wager Sheffield wasn't thrilled.

Dorothea said she'd give me
her answer the night we opened.

But instead she...

she sent me this note.

'My darling Bart, I cannot go on.
Please forgive me.'

The ghost's hand matches Dorothea's.

Oh, this is punishment!

I should never have gone
to London. I should have stayed.

This is where I found her.
She was late for an entrance.

I ran back,
swung open the door...

Do you have any notion of how
I might contact Maurice Sheffield?

He gave up the theatre
as far as I know.

Her death broke both our hearts.

Did Dorothea have any family?

A cousin. Her name was... Mobbs.

Miss Fisher.

Inspector.
What brings you back to the theatre?

A development in the case.
Do tell.

It turns out the beneficiary
of Walter Copland's will

is his dresser Mr Hansen.

I wouldn't get too excited.

Inheriting an actor's estate is not
exactly winning the Melbourne Cup.

What do you expect he'll inherit?

A fake moustache
and a stick of greasepaint?

It seems Walter Copland
was that rare thing,

an actor with independent means.

He came from a well-to-do family.

Open up, Hansen.

Oh, I'm sorry to disturb. I was
actually looking for Mr Hansen.

Well, he's not here.
This is Mr Evans' room now.

So Hansen's been let go?
I wouldn't know.

Bradford, my hat!
Yes, my lord and master.

No, I move down left and you follow.

That may be the way Walter did it.
Enough!

I will come back
when you are ready to rehearse.

Do me a favour, Miss Fisher?
With pleasure.

I thought you didn't like operetta.
I didn't. But I do now.

You just follow along
as best you can.

Where's my mark?
Right here.

Mistress Rose.
Master Robin.

Do you smell hyacinths?
See, that's not...

Oh, my God! Look out!

Phryne? Phryne?

Slowly. That's it.

Gwilym?
You were very lucky, my dear.

I'm afraid Gwilym is not quite so.

It was Dorothea, wasn't it?

Miss Esperance,
there is no such thing as ghosts.

This is just what happened
to Walter and now Gwilym.

There, there.

I know it's terrible, but we're
going to get through this. We must.

I smelt hyacinths,
just before the sandbag dropped.

My men will search the whole
theatre. Yes, yes, of course.

How's your head?
It'll be fine.

I just need a moment.

Not again.

What do you want?

Must you sneak around?

I heard something.
So did I, in the fly tower.

We found the rope
for the counterweight.

It was frayed all the way around.
Looks like an accident.

A very convenient one.
I agree.

Did you smell it?
The flowers?

It's hyacinths.

Now I really can't let you
out of my sight.

Why go to all the trouble
of faking a ghost?

It didn't look fake to me.

Well, who stands to benefit?
Is it to close down the show?

You know how superstitious
actors are.

Kill the leads
and you kill the production.

It had to be Hansen.

Even if he killed Copland
for the money, why kill Gwilym,

and why threaten me?

Wait, Jack. I know him.

Wrong neighbourhood for
sneaking about in the shadows.

I am aware of the neighbourhood.

Inspector Robinson. Mr Lin.

I was on my way to the theatre
in the hope you would be there.

Perhaps you'd like to join me
for supper.

Miss Fisher was on her way home.

Actually, Miss Fisher is feeling
a tad peckish.

I'd appreciate it
if you saw the lady safely home.

You have my word.

Miss Fisher.

I understand my grandmother
paid you a visit.

She's a charming woman,
your grandmother.

I've never heard her described
that way before.

She told me you are to be married.

The marriage is arranged.
It is between our families.

I've never even met the girl.

My family's been importing silk
for three generations.

Our business isn't what it was.

The family my grandmother wants me
to marry into is the Hus.

They're very powerful,
but they need respectability.

So... a marriage of convenience
to solve both families' problems.

She's in Shanghai, waiting for me
to agree to the contract.

You have a problem
with an arranged marriage?

My problem is marrying into a family
that deals in opium.

My father smoked opium.

Once he took to the pipe,
he was consumed by it.

First his family, business,
honour and then his life,

all turned to smoke.

I'm sorry.

It is a dirty business
and I want nothing to do with it.

But your granny is keen for you
to marry into the Hu family?

I had hoped to recover
my family's wealth.

But at what cost?

To marry or not to marry.
That is the question.

While you decide, I suppose there's
nothing to stop us taking supper?

Nothing at all.

I'm very sorry about Gwilym Evans,
Dot.

Why would anyone want to hurt him?

Perhaps it wasn't him
they were aiming for.

Miss?

At the time, I was wearing
part of Miss Esperance's costume.

You think he was killed by mistake?
There's one way to find out.

I think it's time we became
better acquainted with our ghost.

Dorothea Curtis has a cousin,
a Mrs Mobbs.

Doesn't seem right, Miss,
to spy on people.

It's all in the service of truth.

You'll have to stop being
such a goody-two-shoes.

Leila?

Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice.
Alice who, Miss?

I think we can assume
we have the right Mrs Mobbs.

Don't often get the chance

to meet Leila's friends
from the theatre.

Don't know why
Bart would put on Ruddigore again?

You think it's cursed?

No, just not very good. It's not
exactly HMS Pinafore, is it?

You were an actress?
Oh, I flirted with the stage.

It didn't return my affections.
No, I was busy with other things.

Like bringing up Leila.
Hm.

Were you in the production
of Ruddigore with Dorothea?

No, I'd retired by then.

And that would have been after
Dorothea's year away from the stage.

Was her absence
for the age-old reason?

I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.
Phryne Fisher.

So, what does a lady detective do?

Stir up trouble?

I'm investigating the murders
at the theatre.

And the ghost.

Leila didn't mention the ghost?

Dorothea's ghost.

Haunting the theatre.

No wonder the poor girl's
been such a wreck.

Dorothea gave you her baby
to raise as her own.

Hm.

How did you know?

Her reaction to the ghost
was the clincher.

I told her the truth about
her mother when she turned 18.

That's when she decided
to be an actress herself.

So the poor girl thinks
the ghost is her mother?

How horrible.

Do you have any idea of
the whereabouts of Maurice Sheffield?

Maurice was a charmer.
He... not very practical though.

He tried to talk our Dorothea
into acting in the cinema.

Thought he was
Cecil bloody B DeMille.

Really?
Hm.

Leila doesn't know anything
about her father. Not from me.

She doesn't know who her father is?

There's already been enough misery
from that story.

But it's Bart Tarrant?
Hm.

Do you think there is the slightest
chance the ghost really is Dorothea?

She always did like an encore.

Even if Leila
is Dorothea's daughter,

it doesn't change anything.

It gives her a reason
to seek revenge. On?

On the theatre
that took her mother's life.

Or perhaps she blames Bart.

Leila encouraged him to mount
Ruddigore, now he's ruined.

Do we have him?
He's in the interview room, sir.

We picked up Hansen at Spencer
Street. He was on the Albury train.

I killed him.
Gwilym Evans?

No, no, Walter. I killed Walter.
I told him it would end badly.

I mean, how could it go on
the way it was going?

You mean his opium habit.

He developed a taste for it
a few months back.

At first it was just the occasional
visit to Little Lonsdale Street.

I would have to drag him out
to get him ready for the show.

But he... Walter wasn't
the most agreeable person.

He could be insulting, so he
was no longer welcome in the dens.

That's why he needed someone
to buy the opium for him.

Walter thought the Chinaman
at the theatre could help. Mr Lin.

Your Chinaman?
But that just led to a punch up.

Walter was beside himself.

He couldn't concentrate,
he couldn't remember his lines.

To get him through,

I convinced the doctor down the lane
to give me laudanum.

And that worked?

I thought I followed the doctor's
instructions to the letter.

I must have put too much in.

I tried to help but I couldn't.
I should have found a way.

But you have to believe me.

I would never do anything
to hurt Walter, never.

He meant the world to me.

I didn't mean to kill him.
I didn't mean to kill him.

I checked with Mac.

The amount of laudanum
Hansen gave him

wasn't anywhere near a lethal dose.

We only have Hansen's word
on the amount.

He clearly loved the man,
why kill him?

Copland's estate
might be motivation enough.

As far as I'm concerned,
he can cool his heels in a cell

until a better suspect comes along.

Anyone could've spiked that flask and
put in enough laudanum to do him in.

Do you have someone in particular
in mind?

Anyone who knew about Copland's
dirty little secret.

You forgot to mention
your new friend sells opium.

Walter tried to buy opium
from some thugs in a laneway.

Lin Chung stepped in
when things got ugly.

It's quite a story.

It sounds like you're questioning
my judgement.

No, no. I'm questioning
your taste in men.

I didn't know you had such a talent
for the dramatic!

What are you doing?
I'm trying to create a ghost.

Any luck?
Not so far.

Thank goodness for small mercies.

Now I'm stumped.

If I were enough of a detective
I'd work it out.

I think you're far and away the
best detective in the world, Miss.

Thank you, Dot.

Perhaps there are some cases
that can't be solved.

Time just runs out
and there are no clues left.

Oh, Dot! Why didn't I see it before?
You. Are. Brilliant!

I am?

As we all know,

this theatre has had more
than its fair share of misfortune

over the past few days.

The source of that misfortune has
been the ghost of Dorothea Curtis,

who I will now summon before us.

It's Dorothea!

I could almost touch her.

But I'm sorry to say
there is no ghost.

Just trickery.

It's a thin curtain of falling sand.

Dot gave me the idea.

Like sand running through
an hourglass.

A scene from the one motion picture
Dorothea ever made

is projected onto the falling sand.

All very clever, but who did it?
Someone who knew Dorothea very well.

No, I loved her.
It wasn't Bart.

Dorothea, it's you. It's really you.

You left me, my love.
You... you left me behind.

I had so much to tell you,
but I never had the chance.

I had your child
and you never knew.

What? A child?

The killer is someone
who kept Dorothea's letters

and could imitate
her handwriting.

Someone who had full access
to the theatre,

enabling him to set up the projector,

and to spike Walter Copland's flask
with a lethal dose of laudanum.

Maurice Sheffield.

Sheffield? Is that you?

It's a trick, sir.
Someone stop this!

That's not his only crime.
I didn't kill myself.

You wrote that suicide note.
What?

That's ridiculous!
You can't believe this!

You're the only one
who could've faked the ghost.

You, who photographed Dorothea's
one foray into the cinema,

a picture that never saw
the light of day.

I should have killed you all those
years ago when I had the chance.

Why did you come back?

He stole her from me.
I tried to put it behind me, I did.

Then he comes back from London, like
he just did, and puts on Ruddigore.

So you murdered two innocent men.

I wanted him ruined.

His leading man, dead
on opening night, he'd be finished.

And Gwilym Evans?
That one was meant for you.

She was mine!

I killed her
so as you'd never have her.

Oh, you look so like her.

That's because
she's Dorothea's daughter, Bart.

And yours too.

Is this true?

I thought playing Rose
would bring me closer to my mother.

I never imagined
it would bring a father too.

Thinking of Gwilym Evans?

This is where he stood and sang
just a few days ago.

Did you... Did you like him?

I didn't even know him.

Dottie.

You're so beautiful.

I got your note.
I thought you should know.

I agreed to the marriage.
Congratulations.

But I wanted to explain.
There's no explanation necessary.

Nonetheless, you should know
I have my reasons.

Which, I'm sure, are honourable.

What my father lost,
I hope to regain.

And your new family alliance
will bring you that?

We provide the Hu family
with respectability,

and they provide us
with their financial resources.

And their opium.

The Hu family trade in many things,

and once I am in control,
I decide what is imported.

Is it that simple?

There is a Chinese proverb...

the reed which bends to the breeze
does not break.

And eventually that reed
will stand tall.

You're an idealist,
Miss Phryne Fisher,

although you hide it.

Guilty as charged.

To ideals.

And your Shanghai bride.

Congratulations.
Flattery from a policeman?

You'll turn my head, Jack Robinson.

But there is one thing
you didn't figure out.

And that is?
My aversion to operetta.

You know I like a mystery.
Let me see.

A bad experience on the stage.

Pirates of Penzance.

The reviewer thought my performance
as the Major General

was underwhelming.

Why don't you let me judge
for myself?

I can't remember a word of it.

What rot! Once you've learned one
of those songs, it's there for good.

I'm more of a Shakespeare man.
The stage is all yours.

'Age cannot wither her,

nor custom stale
her infinite variety.

Other women cloy the appetites
they feed,

but she makes hungry
where most she satisfies.'

Perhaps a career in the theatre
beckons after all, Inspector.

Think I'll stick to crime.