Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 6, Episode 2 - Winston's Lost Night - full transcript

The police are called to a local hotel where Detective Murdoch finds the body of Reginald Mayfair who, it appears, has been run through with a sword. Also in the room is his unconscious friend - none other than Winston Churchill, who is in Toronto to give a lecture. Churchill and Mayfair been out the night before and were both quite drunk - which perhaps explains why he can't remember a thing. Murdoch and Churchill set off to trace his steps and hopefully find the murderer in the process. Meanwhile, Murdoch faces a dilemma when Julia Ogden is unable to lie in court in order to obtain her annulment.

- Now, Henry.
- Sir, I...

It's all right. Don't be afraid.

- Ha, ha, ha!
- What's that, sir?

Something I've been experimenting with.

It's an Induction Balance Machine.

Okay, sir. And it turns on lights, does it?

'Cause, we have switches for that...

- It's capable of far more than that, Henry.
- Sir?

- It seems there's been a... Sweet mother of...!
- You see,

it can detect metal. It could
be useful in gathering evidence.

Sir, make it stop... please.

- What have you, George?
- Sir,

there's been a murder at the Palace Hotel.

Toronto Constabulary!

In a minute.

What the devil...?

Stop knocking, for the love of God!

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

Yes. You've made that deafeningly clear.

- We've had a call.
- What the devil?

- Reginald! My God, Reginald.
- Please. Please.

Don't touch the body. Do
you know who this man is?

His name is Reginald Mayfair.

- He was a friend.
- And you are?

Churchill. Winston Churchill.

What happened here last
night, Mr. Churchill?

I... I don't know.

- We went for drinks last night.
- And...?

That's all I remember.


Rigor mortis is just setting in.

Death would have occurred
sometime last night. He suffered

a superficial wound to the forearm.

But that's not what killed him.

It looks like he was killed by a knife.

A very large knife.

Possibly even a sword.

A sword?


I found this in the bedroom.

Mr. Churchill,

I'm afraid you are going to
have to come down to the station.

Murdoch! You've got Winston
Churchill locked up in our cells!

- He's awaiting my interview, sir. He's a suspect in the case.
- A suspect?

A suspect? He's Winston bloody Churchill.

He's in town to deliver a lecture tonight.

He may not make his lecture, sir.

The murder weapon may be a sword,

and a bloody sword was found
in Mr. Churchill's room.

What does he say about it?

He doesn't remember a
thing. He'd been drinking.

I've been there. Trust me,
Murdoch. Murder isn't in the man.

- I've read his stuff.
- As have I, sir.

All of the newspapers carried his
account of his escape from the Boers.

Oh, everyone goes on and on about
his escape from the bloody Boers.

It's his battle stories you should read.

They send shivers down your spine.

Did you know he was in the
cavalry charge at Omdurman?

400 Lancers against 3,000 crazed Dervishes.

Limbs flying everywhere. Bracing stuff!

You don't suppose he'd be willing
to sign my autograph book, do you?

Reginald Mayfair and I met in the Sudan.

He was with the infantry.
I was with the cavalry.

After the campaign, he emigrated to Canada.

Naturally we arranged to meet up

once I arrived in Toronto.

Mr. Churchill,

what can you tell us about last night?

We met at my hotel.

We had brandy and cigars.

Then we went to Reginald's club and...

That's it? That's all you remember?

Until I was awakened by
your knock this morning.

- The sword in your room?
- I've never seen it before.


Reginald was my friend.

I would never hurt him,

let alone kill him.

We have no reason to
doubt you, Mr. Churchill.

Nevertheless, until we learn
more about last night's events,

you will be required to stay here.

I should cancel tonight's lecture.

Nonsense. We'll have this
sorted out in no time.

- Sir...
- I have tickets, Murdoch.

If you remember anything,

- anything at all...
- Of course.


I want Reginald's killer
brought to justice.

I care more about that than
proving my own innocence.

Mr. Churchill...

I've collected some notable
signatures over the years

and it would be a great honour...

You wish me to sign your autograph book?

If that's no trouble.

I would have thought the
collection of autographs

more the province of pimply boys

and silly girls than a
police inspector tasked

with determining the identity of
the man who murdered my friend!

Why, you...


I've compared the fingermarks on the
sword to those of Mr. Churchill here.

- And?
- They're a match.


He was my friend.

Be that as it may, facts are facts.

Unless you can explain to us how
that sword got into your hand,

then you're looking good for the murder.

Perhaps I was a little hasty in suggesting
that you might make that lecture tonight.

I suggest you sit back down.

He was a young man.

Not a lot of adipose tissue
to insulate the corpse.

And given the nature of his wound,

I think we can assume that death
would have followed within minutes,

- if not seconds, after the blow.
- And?

So assuming a constant room
temperature of 70 degrees,

I've determined that the
fatal incident occurred

between 1:30 and 2:00 last night.

And the wounds?

As you know, there were
two. The one to the forearm

is superficial, but it
would have been bloody.

He also has some bruising
around his left eye.

- Suggesting he was in a fist fight.
- Yes.

But given the extent of the contusion,

I'd estimate that occurred at
least an hour before his death.

And the fatal wound?

Yes. I think you'll find
this very interesting.

The incision is two inches in width.

The weapon entered just
below the sternum, and exited

between the 7th and 8th costal.

He was run through!

Whoever did this certainly
meant to kill him.

Then we know for certain the
murder weapon was a sword.

Thank you.

- Ah, so that's the murder weapon, is it?
- Possibly, sir.

But have a look at this.

If this sword was used
to run the man through,

wouldn't there be blood across the
entire width, not just the edge?

- Perhaps he wiped it clean?
- Then why not wipe the entire sword?

He was drunk.

Sirs, Churchill's valet is here.

He's brought Mr. Churchill
some fresh clothes.

He has a bloody valet, does he?

Sir, I can't help but notice...

it seems you've turned against your hero.

I'd forgotten what an
arrogant toff he actually is.

He travels with bloody
servants, for God sakes.

Real men carry their own bags, Murdoch.

- Uh...
- Thank you, sir.


We met in the Sudan two years ago.

I've worked for him since that time.

During that time, have you
ever known him to experience

alcohol-induced memory loss?

Mr. Churchill doesn't remember
anything of last night's events.

- None at all?
- None that he'll admit to.

Well, I will say this. If Mr.
Churchill tells you he cannot remember,

then you can take him at
his word. He never lies.

Not even to spare one's feelings.


What can you tell me about
last night's events? Not much,

I am afraid. I escorted Mr. Churchill
and Mr. Mayfair to the Albany Club.

Mr. Churchill dismissed me after that.

What time was this?

Approximately nine o'clock.

Thank you, Mr. Ahmadi.

The constable will take the
rest of your information.

And remember, if there's
anything else that you recall,

- please don't hesitate to contact me.
- Of course.

Sir, according to guests

staying next to Churchill's
suite, there was loud voices

and clashing sounds at around 1:45 AM.

We also have a witness who claims

that she saw a man leaving
Churchill's suite

shortly thereafter at 2 AM.

- Did she offer a description?
- Only that he was Negro.

- That narrows the list.
- Excuse me.

I couldn't help but overhear.

I should tell you that Mr.
Churchill's boot man is negro.

His name is Jim Carver.

- Thank you, Mr. Ahmadi.
- Crabtree, find Mr. Carver.

I'd like to take a crack at him.
Oh, and bring the witness in as well.


Is that the man that you saw

leaving Mr. Churchill's suite last night?

Yes. That's him.

I didn't kill anybody.

I was just there to polish
Mr. Churchill's boots.

- At two o'clock in the morning?
- He always likes his boots waiting for him

first thing in the morning. I didn't
want to have to get up that early.

- Was Mr. Churchill in his room at the time?
- Yes,

I heard him snoring.

And you didn't notice a
dead body lying on the floor?

Mr. Churchill always leaves
his boots right by the door.

That's where I polished them,
right out in the hallway.

What time was this?

Round about 2:30.

- Not two o'clock?
- No, sir. I was still out at that time.

- It's not him.
- I agree. He's only been in Mr. Churchill's employ

for two weeks. He didn't
even know Reginald Mayfair.

Well, what about the time discrepancy?

Perhaps the witness was in error.
You say she identified Jim Carver

- as the man she saw leaving.
- Yet he's adamant he didn't arrive at the hotel

- until 2:30.
- Sirs.

Sirs, it's Mr. Churchill.

- He's demanding an audience.
- Demanding, is he?

- I'll give him bloody demanding.
- Sir...

Detective. I've found a clue!

I found this in my pocket.

It's a match cover. What about it?

Look inside.

- Vinwosni.
- It must be a name of some sort.

What kind of name is Vinwosni?

Indian, possibly? I spent some
time in India with the 4th Hussars.

We had a Vosniak, didn't we?

- Yes, sir. Wosniak.
- Wosniak.

Polish chap. Perhaps it's Van Wosni.

Gentlemen, we need to
find this Vinwosni fellow.

He may be able to shed some
light on what happened last night.

Sirs, I was unable to find
anybody by the name of Vinwosni

- on public records.
- It must mean something!

I'm beginning to wonder if
it's not the name of a person,

but of an exotic foreign dish,

- you know...
- So where do we go from here?

- I'll make inquiries at the gentlemen's club.
- Take me with you.

- Not bloody likely.
- Please.

What is the benefit of
keeping me behind bars

while his killer struts about freely?

I'm Winston Churchill.

- I'm hardly going to make a run for it.
- Tell that to the Boers.

That was different! I
was a prisoner of war.

Clearly I'm the most valuable
witness to last night's events.

Retracing our steps might
jar loose fragments of memory.

He has a point, sir.

Thank you, gentlemen.

My good man, will you be so kind
as to fetch my hat and stick?

I appreciate you releasing
me from jail, Detec...

Oh look, a bulldog. I always
thought they should be enshrined

as our national symbol.

- Because of their stubborn tenacity?
- No,

because they look so much like our queen.

Of course,

given my fondness for food and drink,

I may end up looking
like one myself someday.

Anyway, onwards.

I've been here.

Well, yes, I suppose you would have.

The Albany Club is just around the corner.

I'm inside the penumbra
of memory, Detective.

It's coming back to me.


Ah, welcome back, Mr. Churchill.

- Splendid speech, m'boy.
- Gave us genuine pause, it did.

I'm sorry. I don't remember.

Mr. Churchill has no recollection
of last night's events.

- Oh, had a merry one, did you?
- Don't worry, my boy,

we've all been there.

If memory serves, you
were halfway there already.

- Gentlemen, what did happen?
- Reginald came in

with Mr. Churchill, and
Edward here shouted out:

"Hail to the men who
exacted Gordon's revenge."

General Gordon. He was the Governor

- in the Sudan back in '84.
- Beheaded, he was.

By the Dervishes.

- Led by the fanatical Mahdi, as I recall.
- It took 13 years,

but Lord Kitchener finally defeated
the Dervishes at the battle of Omdurman.

Was that the revenge to
which you were referring?

Nay. It was the revenge against the
Mahdi himself that we hailed you for.

But the Mahdi was already dead.

Yes, and after the battle,
Kitchener raided his tomb.

Disinterred his corpse and
had it thrown in the Nile.

But not before he bestowed upon Reginald
the dubious honour of removing his skull.

- Good Lord.
- Kitchener intended to use it

as an inkpot.

We all thought it splendid stuff.

- Tit for tat and all that.
- And I spoke against it.

- You remember?
- No, but it's what I would have done.

You didn't speak against
it, sir. You roared!

This act. This act you hail so heartily

was barbarous.


It degraded not just the
men who committed it...

it degraded every man,

woman, and child of the British Empire.

You shamed us, sir.

Yes. It was a shame we deserved.

You spoke about what it was to be British.

How an empire

brings with it not only glory,

but a grave responsibility to
bring civilization to the world.

Barbarism is a trait which
lessens us as a people.

It makes us no better than our enemies.

We are Britons. Not thugs.

We are civilization!

God bless me, I had tears in my eyes.

- Yes. I believe even Reginald was moved.
- Where is young Reggie, anyway?

He's dead. Murdered.

Oh, good God in heaven!

Yes, gentlemen. That is why we are here.

We're trying to piece together
what happened last night.

There's not much to say, I'm afraid.

You and Reginald had
cigars, had a few drinks,

and then left. No hostilities?

- No. Everyone seemed very jolly.
- Mm-hmm.

Do you know where they went?

Did anyone follow them?

Anyone here by the name of Vinwosni?

Vinwosni? What the devil
kind of name is that?

People have the impression
that battle is glorious.

I myself was once invested
in the same impression.

At Omdurman, we faced 50,000 Dervishes

attacking in a front a half-mile wide,

all cheering for God, his prophet

and the Holy Khalifa.

In any other century, it would
have made a terrifying spectacle.

They never stood a chance.

Artillery and maxim
guns tore them to pieces.

They never got closer than 50 yards.

Kitchener then executed

the wounded and dying.

There was no glory in that victory.

What next, Detective? We can't
knock on every door in Toronto

and ask if Reginald and
I dropped in last night.

No. No, we can't. Oh.

- Perhaps a newspaper.
- Ah, good idea.

An advertisement. "50 dollars

for information on the happenstance

of Winston Churchill and his chum..."

No, no. There was an article yesterday

proclaiming your arrival to Toronto.

Perhaps there's also something
about what you were up to last night.


Bit of a step down from the front page.

"A society party thrown
by Mrs. Gertrude Miller

was enlivened greatly by the arrival..."

Who is Gertrude Miller?

She's one of Toronto's
leading temperance advocates.

- She just lives on Jarvis, around the corner.
- Brilliant, Detective.

Let's go.


Mr. Churchill.

Have you come to apologize?

If... necessary.

I believe I've had quite enough
of your apologies, thank you.

Show them the door.

Well. I confess I'm even more curious

- about what happened last night.
- What,

the slap didn't jar your memory?

Can't we bring her to the station

and extract the information directly?

Her fingernails should be easy to pull out.

No. We have an even better witness.

What else can you tell us, Mr. Purcell?

Well, I was just there to cover the party.

I wasn't expecting to
get much copy out of it.

Then you walked through the door.

Why would I attend a temperance party?

Well, I believe you'd been invited.

At any rate, you and your
friend came in half-drunk,

and when you learned there was
no liquor, you bribed the footman

into fetching a bottle of whiskey.

And what was Mrs.
Miller's reaction to that?

Well, that's when the fun started.

Mr. Churchill.

You've brought whiskey to my party?

I had no choice, madam. There
was none here when we arrived.

I'll have you know that abstention
is the philosophy of this house.

I'm sorry. I was unaware.

- Unaware?
- In my experience,

houses are not generally
capable of philosophy.

But it doesn't surprise me,
given their lack of intellect,

that the best they could
muster would be abstention.

Does not the Bible teach us

that alcohol is the enemy to virtue?

Does not the same Bible

also teach us the virtue
of loving our enemies?

I must insist that you put
down that drink at once.

Very well.

Mr. Churchill, you insult me.

Madam, I insulted only
your bovine philosophy.

If I intended to insult you,

I would have called attention
to your bovine intellect.

But I did insult your house,

and, for that slip of
the tongue, I apologize.

Well, that solves one mystery.

- What happened after that?
- Well, you both left...

Rather promptly.

- Where did they go?
- I'm sorry, I have no idea.

- Julia.
- William.

I thought you might be interested
to know that Darcy and I

- are due to see the Judge tomorrow.
- About your annulment.

- But I thought that wasn't until next month?
- Darcy wanted it done

before his trip. To allow the gossip
a chance to dissipate in his absence.

So this time tomorrow...

- I'll be a free woman.
- Detective,

I wonder if I might trouble
you for a word. Mr. Churchill,

- how wonderful to see you again!
- Julia, you've met Mr. Churchill before?

Last night.

Berty and Lois took me out to their
club and Mr. Churchill was there.

Or are you still going by
the name Reginald Mayfair?

Unfortunately, Reginald has been killed.

Oh, how dreadful.

I was calling myself Mayfair?

Your friend thought that given your fame,

it would be better to
sully his name than yours.

Do you know what became of them?

I have no memory of last night.

Mr. Churchill and Mr. Mayfair

were having a grand time
impersonating one another.

It was all good fun until the incident.

- The incident?
- Gertrude Miller's husband showed up

just as we were all leaving.

Mr. Miller?

- Which one of you is Churchill?
- That would be me.

I'll kill you! I will!


We'll have to have a
little chat with Mr. Miller.

So you admit to punching Mr. Mayfair.

I thought he'd insulted my wife.

For God sakes, I didn't kill the man.

Is he our man?

- Well, he certainly has the motive.
- Sirs,

Doctor, we contacted Mrs.
Miller. According to her,

Mr. Miller came home
directly after the incident

and was with her the rest of the night.

Well, she would say that, wouldn't she?

Still, it will be a hard alibi to break.

I'm sorry, gentlemen, but
I don't think it was him.

His wife had been insulted.

He felt the need to defend her honour.

He did so by punching the
man he thought responsible.

His anger should have been
ameliorated, not intensified.

- I have to agree.
- So where does that leave us?

Right back where we started, I'm afraid.

With Churchill as our number one suspect.

Well, that suits me fine.


the few times I've...
imbibed a little too much,

I must admit to a patchy memory.

But forgetting an entire evening?

- Could he have been drugged?
- It's possible.

He could also be suffering
from what is known

as traumatic amnesia.

Because he witnessed
the murder of his friend.

And the reality was so abhorrent to him,

that his unconscious mind has
blocked out all memory of it.

If that is the case, then
the memory is still there.

You just have to unlock it.

How do we do that?

We'd need him to re-experience
anything associated with last night.

If he has any sensation of familiarity,

ask him the first word that comes to mind.

Sir, here is everything

we found in Mr. Churchill's
suite as of this morning.

Thank you, George.

Mr. Churchill,

look closely at this.

What's the first word
that comes to mind? Shame.

- Shame?
- It's a good cigar. Shame it was wasted.

- Mr. Churchill...
- It was the first thought

- that entered my head.
- Try again.

Concentrate on the cigar.

Relax your mind and say the first Match.

Light. Smoke rings. A cigar
is just a bloody cigar.

Sir. Look here. Paper matches.

This is the type they sell at Murphy's pub.

Murphy's pub?

Do you recognize the name?

I don't know.

- What's the first word that comes to mind?
- Rule.

- Rule?
- Britannia.

You again!

You've got a bloody nerve

- coming back in here again.
- Gentlemen, gentlemen,

Toronto Constabulary.

- Still hiding behind John Law, are ya?
- Alright, back off, all of you.

I'll have no more trouble.

- What trouble?
- Why don't you ask him?

- I don't remember.
- Not surprised.

You were falling-down drunk.
As was your jelly-boned friend.


A whiskey for my friend and another for me.


This here is an Irish pub.

Make that two Irish whiskeys.

You're not welcome here, friend.

Oh, you're not my friend.
But the rest of these men are.

Drinks on the house!

Things calmed down for a bit after that.

Until Reagan started singing
his bloody rebel songs.

♪ Go back home ♪

♪ Ye bloody British ♪

♪ Go back home from whence ye came ♪

♪ And never set your bloody boots ♪

♪ On Ireland again ♪
♪ Rule Britannia ♪

♪ Britannia rules the waves ♪


No more singing.

Get back to your seats.

And that's where it might have ended,

but you...

had to open your big trap.

You should feel honoured

toto be part of the greatest
empire the world has seen.

- Honoured? Where is the honour in being conquered?
- Better to be

the arm of a great beast than
the scat it leaves behind.

Are you calling Ireland scat?

Perhaps you're not familiar
with the concept of metaphor.

Run. Now!

And that's the last I saw of them.

The rest of us chased
them down Queen Street,

until they took refuge behind a copper,

still singing Rule bloody Britannia.

What happened then?

The copper arrested them.

Here it is. 12:45 AM.

They were here. In our cells?

I thought there was something
familiar about this place.

- The arresting officer was...
- Jackson!

Did you arrest this man last night?

- Yeah, him and his friend.
- Bloody hell.

It was for their own
good. Singing Rule Britannia

in Corktown? They were
looking for a beating.

How long were they here?

I kept them in until the bars
closed and then I released them

with a strict warning. No more singing.

- What then?
- I went back on patrol.

Did you see where they went?

- Last I saw they was heading up Parliament Street.
- Parliament Street.

Does that sound familiar?

Say the first thing that comes to mind.


There's that name again. I wasn't
thinking about it. It just came out.

Maybe this Vinwosni fellow
lives on that street.

Oh, ho, ho!

Back to work, Jackson.

There's an after-hours speakeasy called

- Insomnia.
- What the devil is he doing?

- Just wait and see, Mr. Churchill.
- We keep shutting it down.

But, it keeps popping back up

with a different sign. This time,

they've inverted the name.


Where's my bloody swords?

Officer swords? Brass hilt?

He knows what they look like.
Those are my Grandpa's swords.

He used them in the War of 1812. And
they've got sentimental value, mate.

Those swords were taken as evidence.

They were used in the
commission of a crime.

Would that crime be murder?

Why would you ask that?

Well, the way you and your friend
were going at it last night,

I figured one of you would kill
the other. Ain't that right, Al?


Tell me everything you
remember about last night.

Barkeep. Some whiskey, if you please.

You no sooner sat down
than you started in arguing.

- About what?
- About some gal named...


Your friend had done
something terrible to her.

But felt he was justified on account of
what she had done to his friend, Gordon.

- That about sum it up, Al?
- Yup.

Reginald and I often debated the
desecration of the Mahdi's tomb.

- We'd never come to blows over it.
- Oh, it didn't end there.

- Then he started jibbing you about your mother.
- My mother?

Yeah, your mother.

All I'm saying is she
has a reputation, old boy.

She's getting married to a man half
her age. What does that tell you?

That love is not determined
by the year of one's birth.

Well, it tells me she needed
someone who could keep up with her.

Weapon of choice, sir.

Are you... challenging me to a duel?

Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?!

- Then what?
- Then they left...

and they took my bloody swords with them.

Take me in, Detective.

It would appear

that I am the man we are seeking.


What is it?

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't lie.

Julia, please speak plainly to me.

The judge didn't grant the annulment.

Why not?

Oh, William, it was all my fault.

He asked me, under oath,

if we'd consummated our marriage.

And I couldn't do it. I couldn't lie.

- I couldn't do that to Darcy.
- I see.

But Darcy says he'll consider a divorce.

A divorce.

Does it really make a difference?

We can still be together.
We can legally marry.

But not in the eyes of God.

Then damn God, William.

You know I've been intimate with men.

And now I'm going to be
divorced. You know this!

- Julia, please...
- This is who I am.

This is the woman you say you love!

- This isn't easy...
- I can deal

with the legal matters. You
work it out with your God.

I almost feel sorry for him.

Hell of a thing to kill your own
friend and not even remember it.

Then again, maybe it's best not
to remember something like that.

The memory loss could be caused by
something called traumatic amnesia.

Few things would be more
traumatic. It's a shame.

I had a feeling this Churchill
fellow was going places.

Detective. Do you have a minute?

Before I closed the Y-incision,
I thought I would weigh the liver.

Not strictly necessary,
given the cause of death

was obvious.

But I was curious to see the
immediate effects on the liver

of a bout of heavy drinking.

- Go on.
- And that's when I noticed

that the stomach was nicked.

I thought at first I had done it myself

during the excision. But just to be sure,

I decided to track the passage
of the sword through the body.

I'd thought about doing that anyway.

Not very often one gets a
chance to track a sword wound.

Go on...

I'll show you.

The sword entered here

and exited here.

Detective. The top of the stomach

sits here.

So how did this sword nick a stomach

that was sitting at least an inch
lower than the bottom of the blade?

- It couldn't have.
- Exactly.

It is my conclusion that the
sword that killed Mr. Mayfair

was curved.

Now you think he's bloody innocent?

Mr. Churchill's sword
was not the murder weapon.

Then how did it get blood on it?

I believe the two men did have a duel

which ended with Mr.
Mayfair's arm being cut.

The spillage of blood no
doubt sobered the men up.

And then someone else came in
after them, with a different sword?


How many bloody swords are
there in Toronto, Murdoch?

So we're back where we started.

In fact, we're back where
we started before we started.

I'd like to return to the Palace Hotel

with Mr. Churchill.

- To what end?
- Perhaps I can jar his memory.

If he is suffering from traumatic amnesia,

then perhaps he was a
witness to the murder.

Does anything come to mind, Mr. Churchill?

- Nothing. Nothing at all.
- Sir.

Have a look at this.

It appears to be some sort of writing.

It seems to have blended
into the wallpaper.

Why would somebody bother writing
something so difficult to see?

Because, George when this was written

it would have been bright red. It's blood.

It's since dried to the
same colour as the wallpaper.

I'm going to need my ultraviolet light.

Blood, even dried blood,
fluoresces under ultraviolet light.

- Why blood?
- Not just blood.

- Urine, semen...
- Scorpions... for some reason.

George, if you could get the lights.

Om... Omdurman.

Maybe the killer was taking revenge

for what happened at
the battle of Omdurman.

Or perhaps for the defiling

of the Mahdi's tomb. Reginald
played a part in that.

- Who would know this?
- Everybody at the Albany club.

But who at that club would give
a tuppence for the bloody Mahdi?

But the British Empire is not
what defines us as British.

Not to be praised, or honoured...

Your valet was there.

- The Arab fellow?
- My God.


Ahmadi is a Nile Arab.

I met him in Khartoum.

What is more, he's a Mohammedan.

When Kitchener defiled
the tomb, he defiled Islam.

Any Mohammedan would have been enraged.

Let's have a little chat with him.

I'm a Mohammedan, yes, but I'm
not a fanatic. I'm not a Mahdist.

You're from the Sudan, are you not?

- No. I am Egyptian.
- Really?

According to Mr. Churchill,
you met him in Khartoum.

Yes, but I am from Cairo.

Look at my face. Do I look like a Nubian?

- What do you think?
- He's right, sir.

Most Sudanese Arabs have negro features.

Hold it, Murdoch.

Our witness said she saw a Negro
man leaving Churchill's suite.

But she identified the boot
man as the man she saw leaving.

She probably thinks one
looks just like another.

It wasn't the boot man she saw leaving.

It was the killer.

- All I'm saying is she has a reputation, old boy.
- Love is not determined

by the year of one's birth. She's
getting married to a man half her age.

There was a Negro man at the speakeasy.

He would have overheard the argument
about the desecration of Mahdi's tomb.

He would know that Mayfair was responsible.

He could have put the knockout
drug in Mr. Churchill's drink.

Odd that Churchill never
thought to mention him.

He fought against the Sudanese.

He would have known what they looked like.

You're right, sir, that is odd.

George. Sir.

Where is Mr. Churchill now?

He said he wanted to return the swords

to their rightful owner.

Bloody hell.

I've come to bring the swords back.

Keef Halak.

I knew it was you.

I could tell by your face.

Were you at Omdurman? I was.

I've come to bring you to justice.

You can come willingly...

or you can try to stop me.

- All right! Stop!
- Dammit, man! I almost killed you!

- Put down your swords.
- I'll stop if he stops. I doubt he will... he'll hang either way.

So the way I see it. This is self-defence.

- This is revenge.
- Call it what you like, old boy.


- Kill him and you're dead.
- I am dead anyway.

This is for my people, whom
you degraded and slaughtered.

For your insult to the Mahdi and Allah.

The man you're about to kill

spoke out against what happened
at the battle of Omdurman.

He praised the Mahdi. Called
him a priest, a soldier

and a patriot. You're quoting my book!

Now, you can choose to
die as a man of honour

or as a murderer. Your choice.

This fight is not over.

He fought with the Mahdi.

He was there when Kitchener
desecrated the tomb.

What the hell is he doing here?

He killed one of the officers responsible.

He escaped through French North
Africa, boarded a merchant ship,

landed here in Toronto where
he took up a job as a barman.

And a year later another toffy-nosed
Redcoat comes waltzing through his door,

bragging about how he's turned
his Messiah's skull into an inkpot.

- What are the odds on that?
- I suppose remote enough

that he considered it a calling from
God that his work was unfinished.

I've just time to make my lecture.

Inspector, if you'd like me to
sign that autograph book of yours...

What, and join the ranks of
silly girls and pimply boys?

Inspector, of all the insults
I've uttered in the last 24 hours,

that is the one I wish I could forget.

If you still feel my
signature worthy of inclusion,

- I'd be honoured.
- Very well,

if you insist.

Well, you've had an eventful stay,

Mr. Churchill. Perhaps material
for your memoirs someday.

I rather think I'll restrict my memoirs

to the events I actually
remember, Detective.

This hasn't exactly been my finest hour.

Good God. Look at these signatures.

Nikola Tesla,

Harry Houdini, Buffalo
Bill, Arthur Conan Doyle.

Is this the signature
of the Prime Minister?

- I'm not sure I am worthy, Inspector.
- Ah, give it a scribble.

Who knows. Maybe you'll be
Prime Minister yourself someday.

I wish you peace and
good fortune, gentlemen.

It was a pleasure.

Until we meet again.

What did he write?

"To the man who made the rest of my
life possible. Winston Churchill."

Let's hope he makes good use of it.

Five, four, three,


one, good. That's enough for now.



I will stand by you.

If you divorce, I will marry you.

And your faith,

how will you reconcile that?

I'll accept the
consequences of my decision.

No matter what the Church says,

I refuse to believe that love,

any love, could be wrong.

And I love you.

And I you.