Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 4, Episode 5 - Monsieur Murdoch - full transcript

A flamboyant Parisian detective arrives in Toronto and insinuates himself into the disappearance of a French woman visiting her married sister.

Please, just give her this note.

I'm afraid I have instructions not to
accept any more messages from you.

- I'm sorry.
- But why? I don't understand.

- You can't just...
- I said I'm sorry.

Please excuse me.

Ah, welcome back.

Ah, my good wife, you look splendid.


As do you, Monique.

Merci, Roderick.
I so wish for you to join us tonight.

Mmm. Unfortunately I can't, but you two
go ahead and enjoy the performance.


I forgot my camera.

I told Mr Carlton.

I'll be fast.

Fourth floor, please.

Fourth floor, please.

- Has Monique returned?
- No, ma'am. Is everything all right?

Monique Poirier, age 23, vanished
shortly before 8:00 pm last night.

She's here from France,
visiting her sister Sophie.

Sophie's husband Roderick Dalewood
is the hotel owner.

The Dalewoods live in suite 409.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

Thank you for coming, Detective.

Can you explain the circumstances

leading up to
your sister's disappearance?

We were in the lobby,
leaving for the theatre.

Monique forgot her camera,
so she went up to the suite to get it.

She never came back.

I see.
Do you have a photograph of your sister?

No, I'm afraid not.

I found this in the hotel, sir.

That's Monique's purse.

Her compact, keys, film.

Where is her comb? Her pearl comb.

And her camera, it was not in the room.

Well, someone may have found the purse
and stolen any items of value.

George, check with pawnbrokers
and camera shops.

Perhaps someone will try
to sell the items.


That's her room key. Suite 409.

And this one?

This is to room 212.

Sir, why would Monique have a key
to a room on the second floor

if she's staying on the fourth?

I don't know, George.

Doesn't seem to be
anything remarkable about this room.

Perhaps. But a key to this room was

in the possession of a woman
that is now missing,

which makes it a room of great interest.

Mmm. If only the walls could talk, sir.

George, please have
Monique's film developed.

It may give us some insight
into her disappearance.

- Sir.
- Thank you.

- Excuse me.
- Yes?

Who rented room 212 last night?

- Uh... No one, sir.
- No one.

When was it last occupied?

May 25th.

That's almost two months ago.

- Yes.
- Thank you.

Uh, you wanted
to see me, Detective?

Yes. You operated
the elevator last night?

By all accounts, you're the last person
to see Monique Poirier.

And that was around 8:00 pm?

Yes, sir, right before
the end of my shift.

I took her to the fourth floor
and then I waited for her,

and then she came back
about a minute later with a camera.

Um, then she asked to be let out
at the second floor.

Did she say why?

Oh, um, it's not my place to ask, sir.

Yes, of course.

Thank you.

Monique went to the second floor?
She knew I was waiting in the lobby.

She had a key to room 212 for a reason.

Mr Dalewood, why is room 212 rented out
so infrequently?

It looks out onto a brick wall.
It's our least desirable room.


Sophie, perhaps the detective would be
interested in the note you found.

I'm sure it's nothing.

There was a man Monique met
on the train from Montreal.

Somehow, he had the notion
that he should call on her.

But Monique made it very clear
she wanted nothing to do with him.

And what was his name?

Hmm. I believe it was David...

Odd. Deletran.

Deletran, what kind
of bloody name is that?

Is he another garlic-eating Frenchy?

I suspect not, sir.

Deletran is
a grammatically incorrect way of saying

"from the train" in French.

He was trying to be clever.

Oh, yes, I forgot.
You speak French, don't you?

Yes, sir. Educated by Jesuits
in New Brunswick.

Right, so this David was trying to be
clever. I can see why she sent him away.

In his note,
he cryptically lists his address

as number 23
on the street of willow trees.

There's a Willow Avenue in the Beach.

Yes, sir, I had it checked. It's owned
by an elderly couple, no David.

What about this hotel room, 212?

Maybe our missing young lady went there
to rendezvous avec David.

It's a possibility...

- Is he here?
- Excuse me, Murdoch.

Sir, I've developed the film
we found in Monique's purse.

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.

Pleasure, once again.

- Isaac Lowe.
- Isaac.

- Yes, of course. We met at...
- The policemen's charity ball.

Yes. I was slightly
in my cups that night.

Yes, well, you gave one hell
of a speech, impromptu as it was.

You made a favourable impression
on some very well-appointed people.

Well, it's nice of you to say so.
What can I do for you today?

I have a proposition for you, Inspector.

Follow me, Isaac.

It would seem Sophie was taking Monique
on a tour of the city.

Yes but, unfortunately,
the camera was never turned on Monique.

It would be helpful
if we had a photograph

to distribute to the other stations.


Ah, here we are
at the hotel, sir.


That's room 212, George.

And, contrary to what we've been told,
it was occupied recently.

I followed a man up here, sir.
He went into 212 using a key.

And you have no idea who he is?

No, sir. He's been skulking around
the hotel asking about Monique.

Toronto Constabulary!

Inspector Marcel Guillaume,
Securit? Paris.

Now, get these petits singes
off from me!

Get this what off me?

He just called you
a little monkey, George.

Not just him. You, too, monkey.

Let's do English, please.

Allow me the chance
to massacre your language.

What are you doing here?

I'm commissioned
by monsieur Pierre Poirier

to investigate the vanishing
of his daughter, Monique.

But she only disappeared yesterday.
How could you possibly know...

I was in Montr?al

for a conference
on international police cooperation.

And it's clear to me now
there is much work to do.


Miss Monique has
an obsession with room 212.

What did you find there,
monsieur Murdoch?

Nothing in room 212,

but this was apparently written
by a persistent admirer,

and we've determined that
he does not live at 23 Willow Avenue.

I would think not, monsieur Murdoch.

She returned
along the street of willows.

What the bloody hell is he on about?

It's from a song, Rue St-Vincent.

23 St Vincent. George!

I met Monique
on the train from Montreal.

We talked most of the way.

It felt nice talking to her.
She's very pretty.


And you wanted to see her again,
so you gave her your address.

Yeah. I told her where I lived
and she said,

"Oh, just like the song Rue St-Vincent. "

She sang it for me.

But you didn't hear from her,
so you went to find her

at the Queensborough Hotel, Mr Bishop.

How did you know she was staying there?

She asked me to visit.

But then I get word
she wants nothing to do with me.

Made no sense.

Where do you work, David?

At the Kemp Glass Factory.

Glass factory?

And you think a man like you
would interest a woman like Monique?

She is from a good family.

She confided in me.

What about?

She was worried about her sister.

Ever since she moved to Canada, Sophie's
letters to Monique seemed detached.

She thought
the marriage wasn't working out.

And when was the last you saw of her?

At Union Station.

I saw her meet with Sophie,
but it seemed cold.

They didn't even hug.

You have an electric car? Very nice.

Yes, thank you.

No, thanks to Gaston Plant?
and to Camille Faure,

because, without them,
you have no battery.

No batter, no electric car,
no photo to show.

Mrs Dalewood, if I may,
how is it you came to meet Mr Dalewood?

We met in Paris
when Roderick was there on business.

It was the start of a passionate affair.

We later exchanged letters, and,
within months, I proposed by telegram.

How's that for modern romance?

I sailed for Canada two weeks later.

That was last December.


You are the only one not smiling.

I was sad to board the ship.

Leaving behind my sister and father
to start a new life in Toronto.

How did your marriage affect Monique?

Not well. But it is my fault.

Being so far away, I closed myself
to her, hoping it would hurt less.

And may I see her letters to you?

Oh, forgive me.

I know those are
private words between sisters,

but it will help us understand Monique

and where she might have gone.

"My dear Sophie,

"it has been so long
since you've written,

"and your last letter was so brief.

"I'm worried that something is wrong.
Is it?

"Please, tell me. "

"Dear Sophie, only a telegram.

"Are you angry with me?

"Or are you unhappy with Roderick
and ashamed to tell me?"

A woman bears her heart
and you read her words like a newspaper.

"I am coming to visit.

"Please don't try to talk me out of it.

"I love you

"and I must see you. "

Well, whatever her concerns were,
they seem to have been allayed.

By all accounts, their visit
brought them closer together.

She probably didn't just run away.


You're here quite late, sir.

Just weighing up my options, Murdoch.

I've been asked to stand as candidate
for alderman in the next elections.

- How about that?
- Indeed?

My backers have deep pockets.

They're looking for someone
to uphold our shared values, etc., etc.

And what's their agenda?


I assume they're looking for a man
of law and order to clean up this city.

What else do they want, sir?

Well... What else could there be?

That's a very good question.

Uh, excuse me,
I need to see the detective.

- It's very important...
- Excuse me.

Detective Murdoch, I saw her. Monique.

In the East End. She was on the corner
of Queen Street and Broadview.

Are you quite certain it was her?

I mean, her hair was blonde
and her clothes were different,

but I'm sure it was her.


The desk clerk saw the woman,
presumably Monique Poirier,

crossing at Queen and Broadview.

Do we have a photograph of Monique
to show people in this area?

No, and it would take weeks
for one to reach us from France.

Actually, sir, I may have an idea.

It's possible Monique's father could
wire us a photograph.

But a telegram is for words.

Yes, telegraphs transmit dots
and dashes, which represent letters.

But they could easily represent
any values we assign to them.

- Values?
- Yes, let me demonstrate.

Any picture is simply a collection
of shapes and shadows,

the components of which can be
broken down to individual units.

All we have to do is assign each unit
a numeric value,

according to
where it falls on a grey scale.

Yes, sir, I see how the picture can be
converted to numbers,

but how do we
convert numbers to a picture?

We paint in each square, or unit.

How many do we need?

Eighty squares across
and down should suffice.

Sir, that would be a total of...

6400 squares, each square painted

at a rate of approximately
10 seconds a square,

that would amount to
20 hours of painting.

Uh, George, perhaps Constable Higgins
should assist you on this.

An excellent idea, sir.

Inspector Brackenreid,
this is Mr Edwin Drury.

Mr Drury heads
the consortium of individuals

who'll be financing your campaign.

Pleased to meet you.

Isaac says you're a man with personal
appeal, a man who can win elections.

What we need to know is
what kind of alderman you'll make.

A good one, I hope.

I keep abreast of the issues,

I'm familiar
with the workings of city government,

and, as a man of law and order,

I'm prepared to do
what's necessary to clean up this city.

What's your view
on the proposed subway project?

Subway. I, uh...

Haven't given it much thought.

But, as a police inspector, my focus
has been on the streets, not below them.

Well, of course your experience in law
enforcement is of great interest to us,

but this is the future of the city.

Boston just opened their subway.
Paris is building one.

A world-class city requires
a world-class subway.

Imagine an electrified railway running
underneath Queen Street

whisking people from one end of the city
to the other in a matter of minutes.

That would definitely
put Toronto on the map.

I'm glad you agree,
because our consortium is

very keen on seeing
the subway proposal approved.

It's set to come to a vote
after the elections.

the council is split on the issue.

We're hoping
that your vote will carry the day,

as our consortium owns
much of the land involved.

Oh, it's time.

Du vin, monsieur?


Sirs, we've received word from Paris.

"Nous sommes pleins D apostrophe... "

- George, please.
- Yes.


Oh, good! The father has agreed
to provide a photograph.

La Securit? will conduct
the coding and transmission immediately.


So now we have
time for lunch.

Sirs, a body's been found
at Union Station.

- It's a young woman.
- All right.


At first we thought it was a dead rat,

but then we noticed the stench was
coming from this trunk.

That smells
like sulphuric acid.

Inspector Guillaume,
Dr Ogden, our coroner.

Vraiment? I'm very impressed.

That a woman can be a doctor.

That a doctor can be so beautiful.


Decay has begun, obviously.

I'd say she's been dead
for at least 48 hours.

Someone tried very hard
to conceal her identity.

She had beautiful hair, though.

According to her sister,
Monique has dark brown hair.

The hair is like hers, but the face...

- Did they do this to her when she was...
- No.

She was dead before the acid touched
her hands and face.

Did Monique have any identifying
features on her body? Any birthmarks?

Yes, she had one
on the back of her neck.

That is why she always wore
her hair down, to cover it.

Like this?

That is her.


Who could have done this to you?

Do you remember the stakeout we did
of that postal box?

Oh, do I ever. That was
the most boring night of my life.

This is worse.

Really, Higgins? I don't find it so bad.

In fact, I think this could be
a recreational activity.

Think about it.
It allows anybody to be a painter.

You just need to know
which colour to put where.

This is in black and white.

Yes, but it doesn't have to be, Higgins,
and it doesn't have to be squares.

You could have whichever colour you like
in whichever shape you like.

We could call it "paint by numerical
value". We could sell small kits.

Couldn't sell worse
than your adventure novel will.

Oh, that's great, Higgins.
Very, very supportive. Encouraging.

So, how is our long-haired,
cheese-eating pond-hopper?

He's fine, sir. He has a certain
je ne sais quoi.

"Je ne sais quoi. " What does that mean?

I don't know.

So why did you just say it?

Sir, how was your political meeting?

Oh, that. Well...

They want me to champion
their subway proposal.

A subway? Fascinating.

Yes, we've just commenced building
a metro in Paris and it's fantastic!

Well, of course, there is
the cost of the subway to consider.

Right. Well, nothing's free.

Subway construction is very dear.
Heads have rolled because of that.

Yes, I've heard similar stories
coming from Boston.

Right, so what are you saying?
Stay clear of the whole deal?

No, sir. No, sir, not at all.

It's simply an issue of
who do you want to work for.

Are you representing the people
or your backers?


Death was by strangulation, possibly
garrotting with a piece of cloth.

Curiously, her stomach
and small intestines were empty.

She hadn't eaten in days.

She also has urine burns
in her pelvic area.

Suggesting she was tied up
for a prolonged period of time.

Very cruel.

Gentlemen, how are you faring?

Sir, if the woman in the trunk has
already been identified as Monique,

do we really still need the photograph?

Yes, Henry. We need to track
her movements after her disappearance.

Having a photograph could prove to be
quite useful.

Henry, could you turn the...


I see two shapes.

Yes, their father gave Securit? Paris

a photograph he had taken
on their estate

of both Monique and Sophie.

It was the most recent photograph
he had of Monique.

I see. Thank you, George. Carry on.

Sir. Oh, also, Constable Worsley
telephoned. They traced the trunk.

A porter picked it up early yesterday
morning from the Queensborough.

- Thank you, George. Shall we?
- Ah-huh.

This coroner...

You're in love with her, yes?

I beg your pardon?

Please, monsieur. It is obvious.

The way you sneak glances at her
when she's not looking.

The way she sneaks glances at you...

Ah, well, she's engaged to another man.

Then it is a perfect situation.

- How so?
- Well, she can be your mistress.

My mistress?

Monsieur Murdoch,

le mariage is about family.

You make babies with your wife,

but you make love to your mistress.

We received a telegram asking us
to bring the trunk down to the lobby.

- What time was this?
- About 4:00 am.

The trunk was taken
from what room?

Uh... 214.

Beside room 212.


She was tied to this chair.

And gagged.

The smell of ammonia. Urine.

The murder weapon, perhaps?

- Sir.
- Yes?

Who booked room 214?


A Mr J. Hill,

paid by mail, postmarked on the 22nd
of this month, but he never checked in.


Did he ask for room 214 specifically?

Yes, sir. People sometimes do.
It's one of our less expensive rooms.

Mmm. And when was the trunk delivered?


I have no record of that.

I see. Thank you.

- You have news, Dr Ogden?
- Yes.

Monique's murder reminded me of a case
I read about six months ago in Montreal.

I had the coroner's report sent
on the overnight express.

A Jane Doe in her early 20s was found
stuffed into a steamer trunk.

She was also strangled with a cloth.

Just like Monique.

Excellent work, Doctor.

It's good to have you back.

It's good to be wanted back.

And Darcy? He's well, I hope.

Yes, he got a position at the Victoria
Sick Children's Hospital.

Oh. Good.

Very good. Thank you.

Oh, sorry. Sorry,
I didn't get much sleep last night.

Did you get my message about the
unknown woman discovered in Montreal?

Oh, yes, Jane Doe.


But I'm confused.

How can she be unknown
if you know her name?

Ah, no, Inspector,
Jane or John Doe are names...

Will I see you tonight?

Well, it will depend on my case, ch?rie,
but perhaps we'll have dinner.

You were saying?

- That's your wife?
- Oh, no.

Her name is Cecelia.
I met her last night in the hotel.

So, you think Jane Doe and Monique were
murdered by the same man?

Yes, but as I was saying, Jane isn't...

I thought I heard another man's voice.

Good morning, monsieur. I'm Angelique.


You met her in the hotel last night
as well?

Oh, no. That is my wife.

I've seen it before.

Men who kill women like this,
they are usually pathetic men.

Infatuated with taking revenge
for what they cannot have.

- And what would that be?
- Love, of course.

Life is a contest, women are the prize.

But some men just try too hard.

Men like David Bishop.

Yes, who is recently arrived
from Montreal.

Jane Doe is from Montreal.

Perhaps he rented out room 214.

He went to visit Monique
and she rejected him

after she led him to believe
she had interest in him.

He must have been very disappointed.

So David Bishop
lured Monique to room 214.

He's done this before.
He has his reasons.

Inspector, David Bishop works
in a glass factory, yes?


To make glass,
you need sodium carbonate.

To make sodium carbonate,
you need sulphuric acid.

You went into my apartment?

What is all of this, Mr Bishop?

Art. I make hair jewellery.

Who makes jewellery out of hair?

I do. Isn't it obvious?

No, no, for me it's just very strange.

This one is dark brown.

Yes, it's Monique's.

She has beautiful hair, I asked her
for a lock. It's what I do.

You do this with all your victims?

- Make their hair into little ornaments?
- Victims?

The women you've murdered.

Murdered? Now hold on.

Where did you get
all of the hair for these, Mr Bishop?

From women I've met and from customers.


People who want to preserve
the memory of a loved one

in a decorative yet tasteful manner.

They think they're beautiful.

Oh, yes.

Just like Monique. Hmm?

Monique was beautiful, too, no?

What do you... What do you mean, was?

- Monique's dead?
- You know very well she's dead.

You killed her.

Just like you killed that woman
in Montreal.

I did no such thing.

Was she beautiful, too?

Is that why you kill them?

Because their beauty taunts you
and you cannot have them?

Mr Bishop, where were you
between the 5th and the 16th of March?

Montreal, perhaps?

I was in Moncton visiting my family.

This telegram confirms
that David Bishop was in Moncton

when Jane Doe was murdered in Montreal.

Who else has access
to this sulphuric acid?

Sulphuric acid is found in fertilisers,

Roderick Dalewood.

Yes? He owns an electric car.

Electric car...

No, no, no. What motive would he have
for murdering his wife's sister?

Monique was angry that Roderick
was to marry Sophie.

That's not enough.

Sirs. A pawnbroker just turned this in.
It was sold to him yesterday.

A pocket camera.

The same camera used by Monique, no?


There's film in it.

You develop
your own photographs? Impressive.

Well, well, well.

Sophie's husband enjoying
the love that dare not speak its name.

- It's a crime here, yes?
- Yes.

And, by taking this photograph,

Monique gave Roderick
ample motivation for murder.

Mon dieu.

You claimed to have
a torrid sexual affair with this man,

who clearly prefers men.

What exactly is the nature
of your marriage?

It was an arrangement
of mutual interest.

He didn't want sexual relations
and neither did I.

He placed an ad
and we exchanged letters.

So the story of your whirlwind romance
was a fabrication.

It's what people wanted to hear.

Even Monique?

Especially Monique.

That's why this was so perfect.

Who would ever know?

Did you know that Roderick was
a homosexual?

I am a French girl.
I know the ways of the world.

But it was never discussed.

But Monique knew. Or suspected it.

She took that photograph, no?

Not that I am aware of. Why?

We believe Monique learned of Roderick's
homosexuality and set out to expose him,

so she rented room 214 under
a false name to spy on room 212.

And then, when the time was right,
she let herself into room 212

and took this photograph.

Do you think he killed her?

What do you think?

- You are a homosexual, yes?
- No, I...

You hire pretty bellmen
who will lie with you

for the price of a bottle of champagne.

- No!
- Please, monsieur.

It is always dangerous
to lie to the police.

But it is stupid
to lie about that

which is not at issue.

Not at issue?

Not at issue?

This is not about making love to men.

This is about murder.

I didn't kill Monique!

Did she not let herself into your room,
Mr Dalewood,

and take these photographs?


But then what happened?

- She ran out.
- Where did she go?

- I don't know.
- You didn't follow her?

I tried.

But as soon as I got my clothes on,

Please, Mr Dalewood.

That's quite enough.

I believe you saw her go
into the room next door.

The bellboy told us you sent him away.

Then I believe you let yourself
into room 214 with your master key.

No, that's not what happened!

We found Monique's purse in the laneway
directly below room 214.

Why would she throw her purse
out the window

unless she knew you were coming
after her at that moment?

Do you know what I believe?

I believe Monique is alive.

Then who is the girl who was
stuffed into a trunk in room 214?

I have no idea.

All I know is Monique has set out
to destroy my life.

And she's not finished yet.

It is him. Who else could it be?

Who else has the motivation
and the means?

I agree, but there
are some inconsistencies.

If Monique threw the purse
out the window,

why did Roderick
not retrieve it immediately?

He would have needed
to bind and gag Monique first.


But whoever stole the camera
from the purse

did so in a very short period of time.

Perhaps we have a witness.

We need to speak to that pawnbroker.

I've decided not to stand for alderman.

At least not this election.
Maybe next time.

There won't be a next time,
you know that.

Tell me, Thomas, how do you feel
your career has progressed so far?

I suppose I've done all right.

Thomas, a century from now,

when Toronto is a teeming metropolis,

a young woman
will be whisked effortlessly

beneath the crowded street,
and she will give silent thanks

to the man who made that possible.

You. Let that be your legacy.

You reported that a woman sold
this camera to you yesterday.

That's right.

Big brown eyes, pretty, blonde hair.

She lives in a rooming house
down on De Grassi Street.

You know where she lives?

I've watched her go
in there a few times.

She's the kind of girl a man notices.

I was passing through the laneway
and saw the purse on the ground.

I thought it had been thrown out.

I'm not a thief.

Of course not.

Miss Wiggins,

you live on De Grassi Street, yes?

You must do your shopping
at Queen and Broadview.

I do, yes. Why?

Vous ?tes tr?s jolie.

I'm sorry?

Miss Wiggins, let's take a little walk
to my jail cell, shall we?

It was found property. I am not a thief!

Monique! I knew it.

She has changed her hair, but it is her.

I told you she was alive.

I've never seen this man before.

Who's Monique?

She looks so much like Monique.

It's astonishing, the resemblance.

But it is not her.

What are you saying?

Of course, it's her!

I would know my own sister, Roderick.

You are convinced this woman is Monique?

No, I believe
the real Monique was murdered,

and her body was stuffed
in that steamer trunk.

This Victoria Wiggins played
the role of Monique just long enough

for her disappearance and murder
to be pinned on Sophie's husband.

You are saying
Sophie killed her own sister?

Impossible, you're wrong.

I read the letters.
The sisters, they loved each other.

There's something else going on here.

Then whose body was in the trunk?

And why does her hair match
David Bishop's jewellery?

- We do need that photograph of Monique.
- Yes.

Gentlemen, how goes it?

It goes, sir. Almost finished.

Close enough. Let's have a look.

I don't recognise either of them.

I do.

George, take a photograph
of this telefacsimile.

- Sir.
- Inspector.


This is the woman we know as Sophie.

But I believe this is the real Sophie,
the woman smiling here.

Then who is the woman
who has been calling herself Sophie?

Where did you get this?

It was sent
by Sophie and Monique's father.

- When?
- Yesterday.

It is a telefacsimile.

A new technology invented
by monsieur Murdoch.


This is Monique,
and this is Sophie.

it appears she's not you.

You met Sophie on the ship, didn't you?

Here she is to your right
the day you sailed.

And, during the course of the voyage,
the two of you became friends.

Very good friends.
The kind who tell secrets.

She told you about the arrangement
she had with her wealthy fianc?.

A man whose bed
she would never have to share.

A very good arrangement indeed,

so you decided to take her place.

And once the ship docked in Montreal,
you killed her

and stuffed her body in a steamer trunk.

You can't prove any of that.

Please, madame.

Or should I call you Jaqueline?
Jaqueline Chiasson.

Oh, yes, you remember her, don't you?

She is wanted by the French police
for murder in Normandy 10 months ago.

The French consulate here is
sending us her photo as we speak.

And I wonder what she will look like.

If you're willing to make a confession,
we can help you avoid the noose.

But perhaps she would prefer
the guillotine. Oh, it's up to you.

It seemed so perfect.

A new identity,

new life.

But then her sister had to come
and ruin it all.

Oh, but that's when you turned a problem
into an opportunity.

Kill Monique, and frame
your husband for her murder.

And then you would have
all of his wealth once he was hanged.

That was a most devious plan.

You knew your husband dallied
with the bellman in room 212,

and he would do anything
to protect his secret.

So you made it appear
as if Monique was caught spying on him

and was killed for it.


That's when your accomplice
Victoria Wiggins, came in.

You needed someone to play
the role of Monique.

When the real Monique was bound
and gagged in room 214 for three days.

I felt bad for her, but what can I say?

It wasn't my sister.

What a remarkable notion, William.

You've outdone yourself.

You know, sir, I foresee a day

when telefacsimiles will be created
automatically by machine.

Huge simile machines
that would take just minutes.

Dr Ogden, if there is one image
I will take home to France,

it is of you looking at me.

Jaqueline Chiasson, also known as
Sophie Dalewood.

Such a tragedy for the father.

Yes, to fear for a missing child

only to discover both daughters killed
by this woman.


Thank you, Inspector Guillaume.

The pleasure was mine.

Now I can attest at the next conference

international police cooperation is
not only possible, it's already a fact.

William, just a little joie de vivre,
that's a good thing.

I'll try.

Please do.

Mademoiselle. Monsieur.

Merci, Se?or Guillaume.

Whatever was that about, William?

He believes
I should try to be more French.

Well, shouldn't we all?



Have you made a decision
regarding your run for alderman?

I've just come from a meeting
with the backers.

I've thought about this subway issue
six ways from Sunday.


Well, it's not just
the one subway line, Murdoch.

They're talking about
one up Yonge Street as well,

maybe even one across Bloor.

Hmm. That's an ambitious undertaking.

Yes, I know.

And if it goes wrong, there'll be a mob
howling at my door.

But any city without a subway
will get left behind.

So I'm going to do it.

I'm going to run for alderman.

In that case, let me be
the first to congratulate you, sir.

My best wishes
for a very successful campaign.

Thank you, Murdoch.

I'm in it now, aren't I?

Yes, sir, it would appear you are.