Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 1, Episode 7 - Body Double - full transcript

Sir, let's have another look.

Oh, that's remarkable.

What's the ruckus, gentlemen?

Ah, sir, you have to see this.

Murdoch.
I might have known.

It's called a Kinetoscope, sir.

And I suppose
it can detect guilt

or differentiate between strands
of hair and whatnot, can it?

No, no, but the interesting
thing about hair follicles

is they're actually
receptacles...

Murdoch, I'm off to the theater.



Not even you can ruin it.

The theater, sir?
You'll love the Kinetoscope.

It shows a moving picture
of a...

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I've
heard all about this nonsense.

We have Shakespeare playing
at the Grand,

and you'd rather watch
a man with a head cold sneeze

every 10 seconds.

It's every 5 seconds, sir.

5 seconds.

Take your seats,
ladies and gentlemen.

The show is about to begin.

Please take your seats,
ladies and gentlemen.

The show is about to begin.

Evening.



After you, ladies.

Take your seats,
ladies and gentlemen.

The show is about to begin.

This is a sorry sight.

A foolish thought
to say a sorry sight.

There's one did laugh
in's sleep.

And one cried, "Murder!"

"Murder!"

What is it she does now?

Look how she rubs her hands.

It is an accustomed action
with her,

to seem thus washing her hands.

I have seen her continue in this
a quarter of an hour.

Yet here's a spot.

She speaks.

Out, damned spot!
Out, I say!

One, two.

Why, then 'tis time to do it.

Hell is murky.

Fie, my lord, fie!

Aah!

Bravo!

Fantastic!

Nobody move!

Must have made
quite an entrance.

Audience lapped it up.

Ignorant sods thought it was
part of the play.

- What play is that?
- The Scottish play.

Scottish play?
I thought it was "Macbeth. "

Murdoch!

You don't say the real name
in a theater.

The play's a bit cursed.

So it would seem.

Any idea how long
he's been deceased?

The body might have taken a year
or more to reach this state,

but after that,
it could be any length of time.

And the gender?

Choffin' hell.
He's wearing trousers.

There's only one way
to find out.

You won't find anything left
in there.

Judging by the pelvic bone,
I'd have to say male.

Who owns this theater, sir?

Stella Smart.
Lead actress in tonight's play.

Ah, Lady Macbeth.

Murdoch, the curse!

Right. She doesn't need
any more bad luck.

We'll need to speak with her.

The cast are
in their dressing room.

First, let's have a look

at where our friend
has been hiding all this time.

1, 2, 3,

4, 5, 6, 7.

We're going to need
our lanterns.

Hope you're not afraid
of heights, sir.

It's a storage area of some
sort, for props and rigging.

Looks like the maid must have
been given the day off.

6... 7...

8...

9, 10.

The roof's been leaking
for some time.

The floor's been cut.

And nailed back down again.

Ah, hang on a sec.

What's this?

Sorry!

Looks like our victim
left behind his jacket.

Listen, Murdoch,

I'll ask all the questions,
right?

- Sir?
- They're actors.

In my experience,
you need to tread softly.

Your experience, sir?

Remember, these people
are a sensitive lot.

Ellen, you ungrateful cow!

- Don't you call her that!
- Arthur will say what he feels!

Yes, sensitive lot.

- Yes?
- Toronto Police Department.

We need to ask you
some questions.

Come in.

I'm so sorry you had to overhear
our little tiff.

A poor performance
can be quite trying.

I should think a dead body more
trying than a poor performance.

I'm sorry.

It's been
a very difficult evening,

what with that horrid thing
coming down.

Which marred your otherwise
perfect performance.

Thank you.

That horrid thing you refer to
was a man,

and we have reason to believe
he was murdered.

Murdered?
In my theater?

The body was hidden
between the floor joists.

You don't have any idea how it
got there or who it might be?

No, no.
I'm sorry, no.

How long have you owned
the theater?

Well, ever since
my first husband Virgil died.

Arthur and I manage it together
now, don't we, Arthur?

We do, we do.

So, you two are married?

Well, I kept
my first husband's name.

Virgil was a very important man,
and I wanted to honor him.

It was best for Stella's career.

So, how long have you been
with the theater?

We've all been here for years.

I did my very first performance
in this theater.

And how long ago was that?
20, 30 years?

Murdoch!

22.

And how long have you been here?

6 years.
I started playing Juliet.

- And you?
- The same.

- I was Romeo.
- My Romeo.

I've been here four years.

How long has the body been here?

Undetermined at this point.

So, it could have been decades?

Or not.

It's quite possible you knew
and worked with the victim.

Who had access to the room
above the stage?

Well, anyone, I suppose.

Stagehands mostly.

We've even caught vagrants
sleeping up there.

Remember the vagrant?

Oh, yes.
The vagrant.

We'll need a list
of all the stagehands

that have worked here
in the last few years.

- Could be a long list, sir.
- Then you better get started.

Sir, what about the cast?

What about them?

I'll need to look at them, too.

Fine.

Sir, you seem quite taken
with Mrs. Smart.

She's an outstanding talent.

I haven't missed a single
production she's been in

since I arrived in Toronto.

I'll need to look at her also.

Mm.

Look into all the actors
and stagehands.

And vagrants as well.
Check them all.

I'll get the men right on it,
sir.

Clue?

Sorry, sir.

Perhaps.

It's a newspaper headline,
or at least part of one.

Sir, might I ask you a question?

Certainly.

This Shakespeare.

The boys and I have been reading
up on it, for the case and all.

We're finding it
a bit perplexing.

Well, the language is archaic,

but that's only part
of understanding Shakespeare.

The hard part, I hope.

It's more about opening
your mind

to the message in the words.

Oh, opening one's mind, eh?

The more pressing question is

"What message
is in this headline? "

Well, that's an "S" obviously.

Yes.

Uh, could be a "T."

No, "S" and "C" are givens,

so this would need to be
a vowel.

- "K."
- "Sick. "

- "C" again.
- Yes.

"C."

That's a tough one.
Tough sequence, really.

You know, this could make
a really wonderful game.

Concentrate, George.

Let's write the obvious ones.

- "N."
- "N."

"Sick Cauldron Orange. "

- No.
- Close, close.

I'll need you to get me
some newspapers, George.

May 11, 1892.
Right.

Now we know when.

All we need is the who.

And the why as well, I guess.

Like, why was he interested
in a children's hospital?

Maybe he wasn't.

- Ohh!
- "Alas, poor Yorick!

I knew him, Horatio. "

A little morgue humor.

Uh, yes, very funny.

Here, put some balm
on your upper lip.

It'll help mask the stench.

And what has Yorick to say
for himself?

Quite a bit, actually.
There's evidence of arthritis.

Age, approximately 40 years.

Did you happen to notice
anything unusual

on the upper torso?

Very good, William.

There's a nick
in one of the ribs.

Any idea of the weapon?

A dagger, perhaps?

Possibly something
with a duller edge.

Whatever it was,

it likely slid past the rib cage
and penetrated the heart.

And did you find anything
that might help identify him?

I believe so.

- Dentures.
- Ivory.

It's fine workmanship, too.

Dr. Murphey?
Dr. Murphey?

Detective William Murdoch.

I need to ask you
some questions.

We'll have to make it quick,
Detective.

Leave them alone too long
and they run.

I understand the impulse.

Would you happen to recognize
these?

Of course.

An artist never forgets
his work.

Now, remember,
Murdoch, this woman is...

Sensitive, sir?

Just let me handle things.

Have you any news
about last night?

As a matter of fact, yes.

We believe the victim died
on or around May the 11th, 1892.

Do you remember anything
about that period?

May '92.

We were doing the Scottish play,
and I was playing the lead.

The reviews were excellent.

Oh, you are too kind.

I would have thought
something more important

might have come to mind.

No.

Mrs. Smart...

that was the date of the passing
of your first husband.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God, you're right.
Virgil!

Oh, I must have put it
right out of my mind,

but what has Virgil to do
with anything?

Because the body that fell
onto the stage was...

Virgil?

Stella? Stella?

Are you all right?

But that thing can't be Virgil.

I was at his funeral.
I saw him buried.

Shh, shh.

And you never looked directly
at the body?

No, no, actually never.

Not even at the wake?

No, I couldn't bear
to look at him,

so I requested a closed casket.

Shh, shh, shh.

Mrs. Smart, do you have any idea

why someone might have wanted
to harm your former husband?

No, none.

We found a scrap of newspaper
in his clothing.

On it was an article

about the building boom
in Toronto's downtown.

Increased construction.
Increased property value.

I fail to see the significance.

Your theater is in that area.

So?

So, the theater's value
would have been extremely high.

What are you suggesting?

Perhaps your former husband
was trying to sell.

Well, it might explain
some things, Stella.

What sort of things?

There were some shady sorts
coming and going,

looking for Virgil.

Could they have been interested
in the theater?

Well, it's not something
we're proud to admit,

but the theater was in some
financial difficulty back then.

There are some people who prefer
to watch vulgar variety acts

rather than experiencing
true theater.

Perhaps someone knew
of our financial situation

and they hired these thugs
to force Virgil to sell.

Oh, God, poor Virgil.

We'll look into this,
won't we, Detective?

Yes, sir.

Inspector?

If that was Virgil's body
that fell from the rafters,

then whom did I bury?

It's so difficult to find
a good skeleton these days.

Now I have two.

- Strange.
- Isn't it?

Oh, I mean the case.

Oh, how so?

The motive is unclear to me.

Unclear?

Yes, apparently, there were
some questionable sorts

trying to intimidate Virgil
Smart into selling the theater.

You don't think
that was the case.

Why hide the body
in the theater?

There are much better places
to hide a body.

Exactly.

And what's even more troubling

is even if they did murder
Virgil Smart,

they didn't end up
with the theater.

But his wife did.

Yes, she did, didn't she?

Male, mid-40s, I'd estimate.

It's curious how similar
the victims are.

Note the pelvic girdle,
almost identical in length.

Likewise, the femur and tibia.

Roughly the same
in height and stature.

It's not just that.

Mr. Smart had an elongated
frontal lobe.

It's very unusual.

Now take a look
at our unknown friend.

Very similar.

The two must have borne more
than a passing resemblance.

Coincidence?

Possibly.

Any identifiable features?

I couldn't get much
from the teeth.

I might find more later.

Whoever he is, his identity
could hold the key to this case.

I imagine you'll have a devil
of a time finding a name.

A body with characteristics
very similar to Virgil Smart's.

Yes, yes.
I'm not stupid, Murdoch.

There's also a company of actors

who may know
who this second victim is.

Does that mean
you're coming around, then?

Not entirely.

But I will concede that they're
our only link to the murderer.

I'll bring them in
for questioning.

Mrs. Smart.

Please tell me what happened
the day that Virgil died.

Must I?

I'm afraid so.

Would you care to take a seat,
ma'am?

Thank you.

We were rehearsing
for the Scottish play.

We were rehearsing
for the Scottish play.

Having never worked harder
in our lives.

Soon,
all performances were booked.

No doubt due largely
to yourself.

Do stop.

The city had never seen
such a success.

Oh, how we celebrated!

We celebrated.

Oh, how we celebrated!

Oh, how we celebrated!

As usual, Virgil locked himself
in his office

to go over
the evening's receipts.

Normally, he'd join us
after a spell.

But this time,
he failed to do so.

So, of course, Stella sent Ellen
to seek him out.

You understand, I adore Stella,

but that woman
can do nothing herself.

So I sent Ellen to seek him out.

She knocked at his door.

- There was no answer.
- We became worried,

and our evening of splendor
turned to one of distress.

What if he was ill?
What if he had collapsed?

We needed to get inside!

Luckily, there was a constable
just outside.

This constable,
do you recall his name?

Constable Morrison.

Called himself Morrison.

Morrison, I believe.

The door broke in with a crash.

There was Virgil.

Slumped over his desk.

Facedown.

Not moving one muscle.

Ellen ran for the nearest
doctor, of course.

And the doctor,
do you recall his name?

Yes, as a matter of fact.
Dr. Watkins.

- It was Watkins.
- Watkins.

Dr. Watkins.

The news Watkins delivered
was tragic.

Virgil had died
of a heart failure.

We were all devastated,
of course,

but we had to stay strong
for Stella.

I couldn't bear to look
at Virgil, my beloved husband.

I know this is extremely
painful, Mrs. Smart,

but we must do this
for Virgil's sake.

There's only so much
a woman can bear.

You loved him, didn't you?

As Juliet would say,

"Our love was as deep
and boundless as the sea. "

Every question, every detail.

Everything clear,
organized, and precise.

They remember the name
of the constable

that came to their aid,

even the doctor that determined
the cause of death,

everything.

Stress has a way
of fusing memories.

I remember when I was a wee boy,
I broke my leg playing rugby.

I still remember every detail
of that doctor's room.

Even the way he smelled
of tobacco and peppermint.

One person I could understand.

But four people,
each with identical memories?

It's almost as if they were...

Rehearsed.

Precisely.

"Fillet of a fenny snake,
in the cauldron boil and bake. "

Sounds like
one of my mother's recipes.

- George.
- Sir?

I need you to find
a Constable Morrison.

Morrison?

Yes, he attended the death
of Virgil Smart.

Find him and bring him around

to the Grand Theatre
this afternoon.

Consider it done.

Uh, sir?

Shakespeare.

He's really just writing about
the human heart, isn't he, sir?

Well observed.

"A kind heart he hath.

A woman would run
through fire and water

for such a kind heart. "

"Merry Wives of Windsor. "

I'm impressed.

You're the first.

The Jesuits thought I was far
too analytical for literature.

Nonsense.

I heard you're looking
for Dr. Watkins.

I am.
Do you know him?

I'm afraid he's dead,
but his reputation lives on.

His reputation?

Dr. Watkins had a knack
for misdiagnosis.

It was he who determined

Virgil Smart died
of heart failure at his desk.

Even he could not have mistaken
heart attack for death by knife.

Unless it wasn't Mr. Smart
at the desk.

- Our other unknown body.
- Exactly.

That would fit with my findings.
His hyoid bone was crushed.

The unknown victim
was strangled.

Yes.

And Dr. Watkins
could have mistaken that

for a heart attack.

So, if, as you suspect,

the two bodies were
somehow switched, then...

All the more reason
we need to find his identity.

I think I have a way.

Oh, and, um...

Let's see, somewhere...

Aha!

Clay?

Is this really the time
for arts and crafts?

No.
His.

His what?

Wilhelm His.

The German anatomist
who re-created Bach's face

by determining the average
tissue depth over each bone.

I thought you could use this
to...

Re-create our poor man's face.

It's brilliant.

Well, I broke in the door,
and he was lying on his desk,

just over there.

And you're quite sure the door
was locked from the inside?

I'm positive.

The key was found on the desk.
The bolt was shot home.

- Did you examine the body?
- No.

No, a doctor was called for
straightaway.

Three floors up.

No fire escape.

What are you looking for, sir?

The victim was strangled.

I very much doubt
he did it to himself.

But there was no one in here.

And you can see for yourself
there's no place to hide.

Oh, but I think there is.

Um, sir?

If I may...

Well done, George.

What do we have here?
A love nest?

Lead us not into temptation,
George.

Yes, sir.

There is some
broken glass here, sir.

It looks to be a wineglass,
Detective.

Sir.

Bloodstain, I believe.

Gentlemen, I believe
what we have found here

is the real murder scene.

So, this old theater

is finally giving up
its secrets, is it?

And that of Virgil.

I believe he used this room
for trysts.

Stabbed here.

We've found fingermarks
on three wineglasses.

Two on the table and one thrown
against the wall here.

Lover's quarrel,
jealous husband.

We also found a letter opener

that appears to have been
wiped clean,

likely of blood and fingermarks.

It's disappointing.

Sir, it could lead to an arrest.

No, no, no, no, no.
I mean this world, this theater.

There are other theaters.

Not like this theater.

A real stage that gives voice
to the Bard.

Nowadays, it's all singing
pirates and bloody hypnotists.

Every art has an evolution.

Evolution?

To stand on stage
and recite his words

is nothing less than
a privilege, Murdoch.

One I trust you've had.

I did take to the stage.

Just the once, amateur theater.

I was terrified the entire time.

When the final curtain fell,

I wanted to do the whole thing
all over again.

What part did you play?

Second clown.

"Hamlet. "

One of my favorites, sir.

Did you think to pursue it?

Once upon a time, maybe.

Then I joined the regiment,
met the wife, had the bairns.

The bairns?

Children.
No regrets.

If we close down this theater,

I'm helping put another nail
in the Bard's coffin.

The man has been around
for 300 years, Inspector.

Something tells me
he's not going anywhere.

Carry on, Murdoch.

I wondered where the old dog
was doing his mischief.

And I suppose it wasn't his wife

he was entertaining
in that room.

Stella?

Good gracious, no.

So, you knew Virgil was seeing
other women?

Suspected.

Any idea who these conquests
might have been?

Oh, any woman who set foot
on that stage was fair game,

as far as I could tell.

- Miss Granger?
- Ellen?

Not that I know of,

but anything's possible.

I'm sorry.
I haven't been much help.

Actually, you've been
a great help. Thank you.

I don't see how.

But thank you for the tea,
Detective.

No.
Thank you.

So, you had no knowledge
of this secret room?

None whatsoever.

Did Miss Granger?

If you are implying what I think
you are, I must warn you.

I will defend
my fianc?e's honor.

No offense was meant, really.

I'm trying to establish who
might have been in that room.

Dozens of women, I'm sure.

- But not Ellen.
- Of course.

Could this have been
one of them?

I could hardly recall
one in particular, sir.

Thank you.

Miss Granger, did Virgil
ever entice you into his room?

Really, Detective.

How could you suggest
such a thing?

Well, it seems he lured nearly
every woman he knew there.

I'm not every woman.

Excuse me, Detective.

Virgil and I had no secrets.

But Virgil did have
a hidden room.

And one with
rather suggestive decor.

Inspector,
you've demonstrated nothing

but the qualities
of a gentleman.

Until now.

My apologies, Mrs. Smart.

Besides, what possible need
would Virgil have

for other women?

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I am going to be late
for my matinee.

Could I ask one last imposition
of you?

I really do not think so!

Not even an autograph
for an admirer?

Oh, all right, very well.

Thank you.

Well?

See for yourself.

It simply means that she was
in the room at some point.

And for some reason got angry
enough to throw a wineglass.

As the Bard would say, Murdoch,

"Foul whisperings are abroad. "

- Inspector.
- Doctor.

I have your head.

Oh. And?

See for yourself.

Oh.

Is there something wrong?

I thought it turned out
quite well.

No, no.

The quality's exceptional.

What's the matter?

Nothing.

Just that, now that I know
what he looked like,

so many other questions
come to mind.

Who was he?

Did he have a family?

Do they miss him?

And why did this man
have to die?

And dash'd the brains out,

had I so sworn
as you have done to this.

If we should fail?

If we should fail?

If we should fail?

We fail!

Is something bothering you
tonight, Stella?

Whatever do you mean, my dear?

She means you missed two cues.

I think we need someone else
to play the Messenger.

That actor's a disaster.

I hope I'm not interrupting.

Detective.

What were you doing
in the wings?

Has there been some development
in the case?

Yes.

Yes, I was hoping you might
help me identify someone.

Of course.

So, you do recognize him?

It's Eddie.

Yes, it's Eddie.

Eddie.
Eddie Green.

Green.

I'll admit I'm relieved
that you do recognize him.

Why is that, Detective?

Because Eddie was buried
in Virgil Smart's grave.

Eddie Green.

He had a small part
in "Othello. "

Eddie only had small parts.

He was utterly lacking
in talent.

I don't know why Virgil kept him
around as long as he did.

As long as he did?

Well, a few days
before Virgil died,

he cut Eddie from the cast.

He seemed quite upset
about being fired.

And when Mr. Green disappeared,

no one thought to inquire
where he'd gone?

Oh, we all just assumed

he'd gone to seek his fame
and fortune elsewhere.

They're all in this together.

They all knew about Eddie?

Every last one of them.
I'm convinced of it.

Even Stella Smart?

Not one of them
was surprised or upset

to hear
about Eddie Green's death.

- What evidence do we have?
- Fingermarks.

But that only proves...

That they were in the room
at some point.

But they did lie
about being there.

Motive?

Something to do
with the sale of the theater.

That's circumstantial, at best.

What next?

They're a troupe
putting on a performance.

So?

What would happen if their lines
were all suddenly rewritten?

They'd have to improvise.

Yes.

And perhaps, when unscripted,

they might all tell
a different story.

Oh, Stella.

This is most peculiar.

Why on Earth would he want us
in costume?

Thank you all for coming.

Detective,
what is the meaning of this?

I need your assistance
in solving this case.

Assistance?

I fail to see how dressing
in costume can help.

I must agree.

Besides, we've already told you
everything we know.

And I appreciate that.

However, what I hope to do,
with your help,

is re-create key moments

leading up to the discovery
of Virgil's body.

What on Earth for?

I believe
I'm overlooking something.

And I hope that
by restaging these events,

whatever that is
will become apparent to me.

Detective Murdoch,
this is highly unusual.

I'll admit that, Mrs. Smart.

But this case is highly unusual.

Can I count on your assistance?

All right.

Good.

So, you were performing
the Scottish play.

- And no doubt you were...
- Brilliant.

We all were.

Of course.

So, the curtain came down,
but Virgil failed to join you.

So you sent Ellen
to seek him out.

Well, yes.

Here's my first question.
Why send Ellen?

- Well...
- Wait. No.

Ellen, I believe you said,

"That woman can do nothing
for herself. "

Wasn't that it?

Perhaps something
to that effect.

Well, there.

That's one question answered
already.

- Moving on.
- Virgil!

Virgil!

That's enough.

So, you got no answer?

Correct.

What were you thinking?
What were you feeling?

Well, I, uh, feared for Virgil.

Of course, of course.

And, Mr. Wellesley,
where were you?

- Backstage.
- Right.

So, what did you do next,
Mr. Martin?

I ran for the police officer
to help break down the door.

Right.

So, fearing for Virgil's life,

you decided not to seek the help
of any stagehands or Arthur,

but rather chance finding
a constable on foot patrol.

Yes.

Somewhat out of character
for you,

but, all right,
we'll go with that.

You found a constable.

- Morrison!
- Sir?

Ah.
You all remember him.

Now, Constable Morrison
is not an actor,

but I'm sure if he just
lets himself be natural,

he'll be of great help to us.

Constable Morrison,
what did you do?

Well, sir, I tried the knob,
but it was locked,

so I put my shoulder to her,
like this.

The door was quite flimsy.

Pity you didn't give it a go.

At any rate, what happened next?

We followed the constable in.

You... Shall we?

Oh, my!

Really, Detective.

This is in very poor taste!

I'm sorry to upset you,
Mrs. Smart,

but it's only
Constable Crabtree.

Oh!

Ma'am.

George, in character.

We took the liberty
of dressing him like Virgil,

applied a little makeup
and a mustache.

George.

Uncanny.

At first glance,
even he could pass for Virgil.

Constable,
is this how you found the body?

Precisely.

Thank you very much.
You may go.

I fail to see the value
of this exercise,

other than upsetting my wife.

Actually, I find it
quite illuminating.

No one rushed to Virgil's aid.

I was in shock.

Besides, it was clear.
He was dead.

Really? Because I couldn't
have been certain.

Not by merely looking at him.

That's why we sent
for the doctor.

And he told you he died
of a heart attack?

Quite so.

But he shouldn't have.

Because Virgil died
of a knife wound.

Oh, my!

- What?
- That's impossible!

Not if it wasn't actually Virgil
slumped over the desk.

Well, if that wasn't Virgil,

then whom do you propose it was,
Detective?

Eddie Green.

Who had been strangled.

Are you suggesting that we
all mistook Eddie for Virgil?

No, no.
You didn't.

Only the doctor and Constable
Morrison needed to assume

that they were looking
at Virgil.

So, are you saying
that we willfully deceived

those two men?

That we were part of, what,
some Machiavellian plot?

More Shakespearean, I'd say.

And what possible reason
could we have for this?

Ah, yes.
Underlying motivation.

I believe that's what
you call it in acting.

And I think we will find it
here.

I believe you've met
other members of our cast.

Inspector Brackenreid as Virgil.

And playing the object of his
affections, Dr. Julia Ogden.

It's a pleasure to meet you,
Mrs. Smart.

I've seen enough.

Surely, the sight of your
former husband in this room

shouldn't surprise you.

You have been here before.

We found your fingermarks

on a wineglass
not unlike this one.

Yet you told
Inspector Brackenreid

you had no knowledge
of this room.

Stella meant that she...

Arthur, shut up.

Perhaps it's the casting
that's bothering you.

Dr. Ogden,
could you please step out?

With pleasure.

Miss Granger, could you take
her place, please?

Me?
Why me?

Because we also found
your fingermarks

on a wineglass in this room.

That's impossible.

Just do it, Ellen.

That's better.

Um, Inspector, if you could get
closer to Miss Granger...

Make me believe you are,
in fact, seducing her.

Yes, well, uh...

Now, Mrs. Smart,
if you could help me

by entering the room
ever so quietly

as if you suspect your husband
of an indiscretion

and wish to catch him
in flagrante delicto.

You steal into the room.

And there before you
is your husband

seducing the young,
beautiful Miss Granger.

What would your character do,
Mrs. Smart,

if she suddenly realized
that this young upstart

had designs on everything she
had worked so hard to achieve?

Her roles, her husband.

Bravo.

- Well done.
- Stella.

Mrs. Smart,
why were you enraged?

It was as if my actions
were not my own.

And I understood Lady Macbeth
as I never had before.

I don't even remember driving
the letter opener into him.

I really must insist
that you stop at once.

"False face must hide
what the false heart doth know. "

Oh... very good.

I wanted to turn myself in,

but the others
talked me out of it.

She doesn't know
what she's saying.

Why did the others convince you
not to confess the truth?

We would have lost the theater.

Hardly a reason
to kill someone for.

I don't expect you
to understand, Detective.

You're not an actor.

But without the theater,
we are nothing.

- So, you came up with this plan?
- No.

- No, we came up with this plan.
- That's not true.

We didn't do anything.

This plan,
it included Eddie Green?

Oh, poor Eddie.

He was just hanging about, not
wanting to leave the limelight,

and Arthur strangled him.

- Stella, for God's sake!
- Give it up, you old buffoon!

That's when Eddie's body
was switched with Virgil's.

Yes, yes.

So, Arthur locked the office
door and remained here

in the secret room
with Virgil's corpse

all the while Constable Morrison
was in the office.

That's why he couldn't help
David break down the door.

Crabtree, Morrison!

Take these actors
to the station.

Mrs. Smart?

I'm very sorry, but you do
realize I have no choice.

Of course.

You were, and will always be,
spectacular.

Thank you.

But this wretched,
wretched play,

it truly is cursed.

Eddie Green.

Yes.

No family?

Apparently,
the theater was his family.

Oh, not a particularly
close one.

No.

Besides a name on a playbill,

what is there
to remember him by?

We'll never know what would have
become of Eddie Green.

He was robbed of that.

I'm surprised he's not being
buried with the paupers.

And with no family,
who paid for the headstone?

William,
did you pay for his burial?

"Life's but a walking shadow,
a poor player,

that struts and frets his hour
upon the stage

and then is heard no more.

It is a tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury,

signifying nothing. "

"Macbeth. "

Luckily for us,
our spirits live eternal, eh?