1, 2, 3, 4,
5, 6, 7,
8, 9, 10,
11, 12, 13, 14,
15, 16, 17,
18, 19, 20.
Ready or not, here I come!
Sir?
Aaaah!
Panic has many signatures --
shortness of breath, a rise in blood pressure,
stiffening of the limbs.
If human physiology changes under duress,
then why not use this to our advantage?
By using this thing?
It's called a pneumograph.
It measures physiological change associated with duress.
Yes. But to what end, sir?
When people lie, their body also undergoes duress.
So if we use your "new mograph" thingy...
Then we can scientifically measure whether a man is lying.
I've got one of those at home. It's called a wife.
I said scientifically.
Regardless, I believe that one day a device such as this
will help determine whether a suspect is lying.
Do you really think that any court of law
will ever believe such claptrap?
Well, this is hardly the first lie detector, Inspector.
African tribes used to have suspects
pass around a bird's egg to measure nervousness.
Ancient China used rice to gauge saliva flow.
In Mesopotamia --
All right. All right. I'll take you word for it.
But that doesn't mean that this
Frankenstein contraption actually works.
Perhaps it's time for a demonstration.
George?
Okay. Eyes on the marker, gentlemen.
I'll ask the detective a series of questions.
And the liquid will rise if he is answering untruthfully.
Is your name William Murdoch?
Yes.
Do you live at 22 Ontario Street?
Yes.
Do you attend church on Sunday?
Yes.
- Every Sunday? - Yes.
Well, I did miss the one Sunday
because of that bout with the kidney stone.
Gentlemen.
What have we here?
Uh, Detective Murdoch
is just giving us a demonstration
of an intriguing new device -- a lie detector.
How fascinating.
Would you mind if I observe?
Uh, perhaps we should continue this another time.
Nonsense, Murdoch.
I believe you were in the middle of making a point.
Yes.
George, proceed with the questions.
Maybe Dr. Ogden would like to ask the questions.
I'd be delighted.
Do you, or have you ever, marched with the Orangemen?
Bugger that. Here's a better one.
Is the detective in love?
Fun and games are over, lads.
- George. - All right, sir.
- Let's go. - George!
- Come on, lads. - Right away, sir.
I don't think anybody noticed that, sir.
With you and her and the liquid.
Get me out of this thing!
Given the condition,
I'd say he's been in the water less than eight hours.
What do we have here?
Distinctive bruising on the upper thigh.
He was beaten.
There's no sign of yellowing,
so it was delivered within the last 24 hours.
Could you help me roll him?
He's a rower. King's Club man.
Not just any rower, Detective.
Are you familiar with the Hartleys?
The bankers? Only by name.
Then introductions are in order.
Meet Richard Hartley.
Oh, my God.
You recognize the victim?
Of course. It's Richard.
For the record, please state the victim's entire name.
Richard Hartley.
And also for the record, your name.
Minerva Fairchild.
And your relationship to the deceased?
We were engaged.
It is also noted
that the victim's parents are traveling abroad,
so next of kin is unavailable for identification.
George, please cover the body.
I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Miss Fairchild.
I don't understand.
Richard was an excellent swimmer.
How could he have drowned?
We have reason to believe that Mr. Hartley was assaulted
just prior to his death.
Assaulted? By whom?
That's what we're trying to determine.
When was the last time you saw Mr. Hartley alive?
Richard and I had had lunch at the rowing club
after his morning session.
Session?
Richard was on the men's eights rowing team.
They're training for the upcoming Olympics.
I see.
Do you recall seeing anything out of the ordinary yesterday?
Nothing.
Well, he did have a bit of a row with his coach.
- His coach? - Hamilton Kane.
And what was this argument about?
I don't know for sure.
He and Coach Kane didn't always see eye to eye on matters.
Mmh. And after the argument?
Well, he and his teammates were gonna celebrate
Richard's joining the team.
- He was a recent addition? - Yes.
- And their plans? - Gentlemen's only evening.
And that's the last you saw of him?
Yes.
My God, if...
If I'd only known that that would be
the last I'd see of him.
Constable Crabtree will see you home.
- This way, ma'am. - Thank you.
Oh, Minerva, I'm so sorry for your loss.
Thank you.
If you need anyone to talk to --
I'll be fine. Thank you.
Poor thing.
She seems to be bearing up quite well.
When you're a Fairchild, you can never let your emotions show.
No, I suppose you can't.
Yes. Yes. Absolutely, sir.
What's that, sir?
I'm afraid we're having problems with the line at this end.
I can hardly hear you, sir.
Prick.
That was the third call from the chief constable in the hour.
Have I got something to tell him?
Not as of yet.
The Hartleys are on their way back from the bloody pyramids.
They'll want answers when they get here.
They may not like what they hear.
Which is?
That their son was beaten and drowned.
Are they connected?
Well, it could be random, I suppose, if their son was --
That was a rhetorical question. Of course they're connected.
So someone grabs the rich tosser, gives him a pasting,
then chucks him in the lake, correct?
That's the way it appears to me.
So, what's the course of investigation?
Once I get the result from the postmortem,
I'm off to the King's Rowing Club.
Fine. But remember this is the King's.
Kid gloves, Detective. Kid gloves.
William?
Ah, Doctor.
I have preliminary results.
I tied off the bronchial tubes and weighed the lungs.
We can safely conclude the cause of death was drowning.
But unlikely accidental.
Yes. I took another look at the bruising.
Whatever the weapon was, it had a hard edge.
It also caused a number of small abrasions.
Was there any indication of self-defense?
Yes, there was some bruising on the arm,
suggesting he tried to ward off the blows.
I also looked under his fingernails.
There were no traces of blood or skin.
I did find this, however.
- Sand. - Mixed with clay.
Likely from the beach where he washed ashore.
- Anything else of interest? - Just one thing.
There was a deep laceration to the instep of his left foot.
My best guess is he stepped on something --
a shell or a piece of glass.
Whatever it was, he would have left quite a blood trail.
We'll keep an eye out for it. Thank you, Doctor.
William, if you're going to the club,
you might want to speak with the concierge beforehand.
He can be quite persnickety.
You're the second person to express concern.
I am a detective. I should think I'll be fine.
I'm sorry, sir.
I don't see your name in the register.
That's because I'm not in it.
I'm afraid there's no admittance without a membership card.
This is my membership card.
Then you'll need to use the tradesmen's entrance.
The tradesmen's entrance?
- I'll have you -- - I'll handle this, Owens.
Hamilton Kane. Coach of the men's eights.
Please forgive Owens.
We've been having some trouble with riffraff of late.
- I'm sure you understand. - Of course, of course.
I can see I might easily be mistaken for rabble.
May we speak somewhere in private?
Terrible tragedy about Richard.
These boys become like family.
I can imagine.
I spoke with his fiancée, a Miss Fairchild.
She told me she overheard you and Hartley arguing yesterday.
We were arguing?
Well, yes, I suppose we were.
Richard was known to have a few with the boys.
I was keeping him in line,
what with the Olympic trials only days away.
Did your lecture work?
Well, you try to play the parent,
but that only goes so far.
When was the last time you saw Richard?
He and the rest of his teammates were in the clubhouse.
Did any of his teammates ever quarrel with him?
As I said earlier, Detective, these boys are like family.
In my experience,
conflict can arise in even the closest of families.
Not this one.
Could I please have the names of these teammates?
Why don't you just talk to them directly?
We had a few drinks at the clubhouse.
Spirits were high.
I was under the impression
this went against your coach's wishes.
If we listened to our coach, we'd never have any fun.
And when did you last see Mr. Hartley?
Shortly after 10:00.
Did he give you any indication as to where he was going?
Home, we assumed.
Is there anyone he didn't get on with?
Well, there was one person, sir.
A former member of the men's eights.
Name's Horace Briggs.
- Former member? - Uh, yes, sir.
Richard Hartley took his spot in the boat.
And why was this Mr. Briggs replaced?
Horace could be difficult.
So we made an adjustment.
Ah. Where might I find him?
Mr. Briggs?
Detective William Murdoch.
Pleasure, sir.
I see you know how to handle an oar.
There's nothing quite like the feeling
of gliding across the water.
Seems as though you were born to it.
I practically was.
I've rowed every day I could since I was a boy.
Oh, do you have the time, sir?
- Half past 4:00. - I'm late.
Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?
Not at all.
It's one of the oldest sports in the world.
Been traced all the way back to ancient Egypt.
Is that right?
The warrior Amenhotep
was renowned for his feats of oarsmanship.
Some people even call it the sport of the gods.
Well, clearly you love to row.
Must have been quite a disappointment
to be bumped from the boat.
Yes, sir.
I was told your personality clashed with your teammates.
- Only Richard Hartley. - And now he's dead.
I had nothing to do with his death,
if that's what you're implying.
Losing out on a chance at an Olympic medal --
That must have made you angry.
Around here, you learn to roll with the punches.
I see.
Were you drinking with the others
the night that Richard drowned?
I'm afraid I don't have clubhouse privileges, sir.
I don't understand.
You belong to the club, don't you?
In a manner of speaking, you could say that.
Where were you last night, Mr. Briggs?
At home with my mother.
I had to be up at the crack of dawn.
To row?
No, sir. I wish I was.
To work.
He's the gardener?
Not just any gardener,
but one they apparently made room for on the men's eights.
According to the books, Horace Briggs owns
nearly every rowing record in this club.
Well, in that case, why would a team lose its best member?
That's what I intend to find out.
What do you have for me, George?
I've confirmed that Richard Hartley
and his teammates were drinking here until shortly after 10:00.
I have a list here of the men he was with.
- And the search? - Currently ongoing.
Nothing unusual so far.
No sign of a blood trail yet, I'm afraid.
Oh, sir, you have to try one of these.
I've had four this morning. It's the damnedest stuff.
- What is it? - Coffee.
I've only ever heard of it. Big in Europe, apparently.
Terribly bitter.
I thought so too at first, but it grows on you.
Why on Earth would they serve this when we have tea?
- I don't see this catching on. - Oh, I wouldn't be so sure, sir.
I will say this one last time.
I need Horace Briggs' work schedule.
Not without written permission from the board.
Then I will have no choice but --
Detective!
Miss Ogden.
What a pleasure it is to see you again.
Has Detective Murdoch been troubling you?
- You know each other? - We're colleagues.
I see.
Investigating Richard Hartley's death.
And here I was just about to give the detective
our work schedule.
- Thank you, Dr. Ogden. - You're welcome.
I took another look at the abrasions
on Richard Hartley's thighs.
I was able to extract this sliver.
I thought you might want to see it.
I think I know where this came from.
A rower's oar?
Mmh. What do you think?
Well, the straight edge of an oar would be consistent
with the bruising and abrasions on Mr. Hartley's body.
But who would have done this?
A rower named Briggs
had recently been replaced on the team by Mr. Hartley.
He must have resented that terribly,
especially with the Olympic trials approaching.
Imagine being that close to glory
only to have it ripped away from you.
Men have killed for less.
- Can you prove it? - I believe so.
In fact, I have an idea
where I might be able to find the murder weapon.
I didn't know you were a member here.
My family is.
You must find it quite stimulating.
Actually, I find it tiresome.
Oh.
Here we are.
Blood.
It's still wet.
The beating occurred hours ago. That should be long dry.
This sliver is definitely not a match.
It would appear someone is trying to frame Horace Briggs.
Trying to frame him?
So it would appear.
- Any idea who's behind this? - Not yet.
But whoever it was would have had access to the storage area.
So workers or maintenance men.
Or a club member.
Why would some dandy at the club want to kill Hartley?
I don't know.
But by his own admission,
Horace Briggs and Richard Hartley
did not get along.
Making Briggs the perfect candidate for a frame-up.
- Who else knew about that? - His teammates, for one.
- Are they behind this? - Good question.
Exhibit A. One oak oar, slightly faded.
Suspected weapon in the beating and murder of Richard Hartley.
Property of Horace Briggs.
- That's not possible. - You were angry.
Richard Hartley had taken your spot in the boat
and cost you your chance at Olympic gold.
No.
So you fought, and you hit him with the oar.
No.
I would never do that.
Why not?
Because as much as I might have been resentful
that Richard took my spot,
I would never say anything, let alone do anything, about it.
Why?
'Cause he'd have me removed from the club.
And the club is all I have.
That's not much of an alibi, Mr. Briggs.
You have to believe me, sir.
No.
I know you didn't do this, Horace.
In fact, someone was trying to frame you.
Frame me? Who would do that?
Oh, I think you have a very good idea who.
They told me that I would never row again if I talked.
There are no lakes in jail, Mr. Briggs.
The time to talk is now.
It seems it was an initiation.
They were welcoming Richard Hartley
to the rowing team.
Drinking, spankings to the bottom, that sort of thing.
These things have been going on at the club for years.
- It's just harmless fun. - Not this time.
Well, if things did get out of hand,
that would explain the -- the bruising on his arms.
What, defensive wounds from fending off blows?
Exactly. Are you going to arrest these boys?
I need more evidence.
And for that, I require a crime scene.
Do you know where they might have held these initiations?
I'm afraid they were held in utmost secrecy.
Part of the ritual.
But I do know someone who can help.
Five. Dig deep.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
You caught me, Detective.
Caught you?
Well, I have to sneak a puff when I can.
Why is that?
Mrs. Hartley thinks it's unladylike.
And you do not say no to a Hartley.
No, I suppose you don't.
Do you mind?
It seems Richard was involved in an initiation
the night that he was drowned.
An initiation?
With his teammates.
And we believe it may have factored into his death.
Did you know anything about this?
No.
Richard liked to keep his little secrets.
You have yours as well.
Don't we all, Detective?
Detective Murdoch?
Dr. Isaac Tash.
Julia tells me you're in need of a tour.
Yes, yes.
Shall we?
This brings me back.
The games my rowing mates and I would play.
With all respect, Dr. Tash,
I fail to see how plugging a newcomer full of ales
and humiliating him accomplishes anything whatsoever.
It builds camaraderie.
And how exactly does spanking accomplish that?
We all have our nonsensical traditions, Detective.
Why must a man wear a suit jacket
on a blazing hot day, hmm?
Point taken.
May I ask how you met Dr. Ogden?
Julia and I studied medicine together at Bishop's.
Oh. You knew her well?
Yes. In fact, very well.
Were you involved?
We were young and foolish and full of passion.
She was quite the pistol.
Mmh.
And you -- Have you, uh, worked with Julia long?
It'll be two years come March 12th.
How odd you remember the date.
Actually, it's the murder I remember.
Clayton Bowles. Age 14.
Murdered both of his parents
and hung himself from a tree in the backyard.
Nasty business, this murder.
To be a doctor is one thing, but a pathologist...
I do wish our Julia would leave this business to the men.
That would be a shame. Dr. Ogden is like no other.
At her job.
It's, uh, this way, Detective.
Ah, here we are.
Well...
I certainly never took part in anything like this in my day.
What is it, Detective?
Blood.
And there's more this way.
Leads to the water.
Yes.
What do you think happened?
I don't know.
But I do know we've finally found our crime scene.
Initiation.
There was no initiation.
Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Pearson?
Do you take Horace Briggs' word over ours?
His word is supported by the evidence found at Hell's Point.
Broken glass. Oars. Empty whiskey bottle.
Three quirleys half smoked. And dozens of footprints.
Footprints?
Plaster casts of the shoe treads are being examined as we speak.
I'm sure they will match your feet and your teammates'.
Now, what happened?
Surely somebody can tell me something.
Or would you prefer I parade you in front of your parents?
Eh?
Because I can do just that.
Anyone. Out with it.
Right, then.
We'll have to do this another way.
A dungeon full of dandies.
The chief's gonna have my bollocks for breakfast for this.
I felt it was my only option.
The answer to Richard Hartley's murder
lies somewhere in that cell.
- You have sufficient evidence? - We have a blood trail.
We have possible weapons used in an assault.
We have footprints placing the suspects
at the scene of the crime.
All we need now is a confession.
You'll have to move quick.
Once the lawyers arrive, those boys will never talk.
That's why I was thinking of taking a new approach.
Ah.
We could actually have some fun with this.
Right, then. Is your name James Pearson?
Yes.
Are you a member of the King's Rowing Club?
- This is absurd. - Yes or no answers only, please.
Are you a member of the rowing club?
You can't tell me this ridiculous contraption
actually works.
- Lie to me. - Excuse me?
You heard me. I said lie to me.
Are you Florence Nightingale? Do you live on the moon?
- Are you a female? - Yes.
Yeah. Start sweating.
Because the questions
are just about to get a little bit tougher, me old mucker.
Did you get Richard Hartley so pissed
that he didn't know what he was doing
and then stick the boot in?
Did you drown the posh little bastard in cold blood?!
- Eh?! - Inspector.
Kid gloves.
Right, then, Mr. Pearson.
I suggest you start answering correctly.
Is your name Wallace Driscoll?
Yes.
Have you ever been to Hell's Point?
No.
Hell's Point.
Yeah, Hell's Point.
Where the bar never closes and the whiskey always flows.
Was the whiskey flowing that night for Richard Hartley?
No.
The truth, Mr. Driscoll.
You hit him?
God, man.
Do you think he deserved it?
I said, "Did you hit him"?!
Eh?!
Well, perhaps I had a few ales, but we all did.
- Yes or no? - Yes.
Did you engage Richard Hartley in a team initiation ritual?
No.
Yes.
Did you beat Richard Hartley with an oar?
That's right, sunshine. We know about the beatings.
Your shirt-lifting mate Driscoll snitched on you.
Said you got some good whacks in.
Yeah, t-that's not true.
Yes or no?
Well, yes. But it wasn't just me.
We all did. Robinson. Meyers.
Griffiths. Stebbings.
Pearson too. He got his licks in.
He's a flannel-mouthed liar if he said that.
If anything, I tried to get the others to bring it down a notch.
Rubbish! That was me who tried to stop them.
But there were seven of them and one of me.
We had no choice but to go along.
It was just something that happened.
Okay, in the spur of the moment,
things may have gotten a little out of hand.
But it's not like we planned it.
This was nothing more than a terrible accident, okay?
A-An accident!
That's not what the machine tells me.
Take it off me. Please take it off me.
First you need to tell us the truth.
Yes or no -- This wasn't just an initiation ritual, was it?
No.
This was an attack on Richard Hartley.
Yes.
- Was this plan designed by you? - No.
- Mr. Pearson? - No.
Then whose plan was it?
Hartley would have cost us a spot at the Olympics.
We should never have said yes to him in the first place.
But you don't say no to a Hartley.
No, you don't.
Is that what the argument with Richard
was really about?
To ask him to step down voluntarily?
I was hoping he would say yes, but he didn't.
So I bought the boys a bottle that night
and had them drop a shot in Richard's ales.
I asked them to go extra hard with his whacks.
Not enough to hurt him badly,
but enough to put him out of action.
Then we could put Briggs back on the boat.
We needed him to win.
But things went bad, didn't they?
Apparently, Richard panicked and tried to get away.
He ran into the water.
They never saw him again.
- Is this true? - Yes, sir.
You didn't think to go look for him?
We knew Richard was a good swimmer.
We thought he'd be fine.
But he wasn't fine, was he?
When we found out what happened the next day,
we didn't know what to do.
That's when they turned to you?
Why frame Briggs if he was your best rower?
By then we weren't thinking about rowing.
So you came up with this new plan.
Simple math, Detective.
Eight lives spared ruin at the cost of one.
You all make me sick.
Sir? I need a word.
Ah, Murdoch.
Today is a good day.
Do you know why?
Because typically my hands are tied
when it comes to dealing with these types of people,
what with their paters who own this
and their maters who preside over that.
But today we've got the little buggers
right where we want them.
What?
No, I thought I'd let you enjoy this moment before --
Before?
Look, Murdoch, they admitted to beating the victim.
Yes. And I believe they're telling the truth.
Which is -- Which is precisely the problem.
What's that?
Scrapings taken from under the victim's fingernails.
What's that got to do with anything?
Everything, I'm afraid.
What?
Chief Constable Stockton.
Yes, we did arrest them, sir.
Well, there appears to be some mitigating circumstances.
This could take a while.
Yes, sir.
Detective.
I was just inquiring about Richard's personal effects.
I understand.
Good day.
Good day, Miss Fairchild.
I heard about the others.
It would appear the initiation
was their way of getting you back on the team.
They just went too far.
I'm sure they never meant to kill him.
No, they didn't. In fact, they may not have.
I don't understand. I thought they confessed.
They did. There's just one thing that doesn't quite fit.
How well do you know this shoreline?
Like the back of my hand.
Why are we looking here, sir?
Hartley had a mixture of clay and sand under his fingernails.
So?
So the shore by the initiation area was sandy.
So was the area where we found his body.
- Where did the clay came from? - Precisely.
Well, maybe he was into pottery.
A lot of people are into this pottery now.
In fact, my neighbor made this ceramic bust of his wife.
But to tell you the truth,
it just looked like some sort of amphibian.
These great bulging eyes. It was terrifying, really.
In fact, if it's okay with you,
I'd rather not even talk about it anymore.
- Clay. - Sir?
Hartley survived the initiation.
The lung is like a bag, Detective.
So once it's filled with water,
there's no mechanism to allow for the exchange of fluids.
Precisely.
The water Mr. Hartley absorbed into his lungs is still there.
I'm hoping to find traces of silt or vegetation.
Yes, yes. Something to indicate where he really drowned.
Yes, an act of desperation I'll grant,
but I am quickly running out of options.
I'm sorry for making you stay this late, Doctor.
Oh, it's no bother.
It's not like I have much of a social life these days anyways.
You and me both.
I didn't get a chance to earlier,
but thank you for arranging Dr. Tash's assistance.
Oh. It's my pleasure.
I take it you were more than acquaintances.
Yes.
You and Dr. Tash courted?
It -- That was a long time ago.
He seems like an intriguing sort.
Yes.
And an excellent conversationalist.
I must say, you seem quite taken by Dr. Tash.
Julia?
Yes?
Detective?
You wanted to ask me something.
May I have my lung water?
I'm straining half of the lung water
and boiling off the rest.
What remains might give us a clue
as to where the victim drowned.
Of course.
Yes, that's what I was just thinking about doing, sir.
- What's that? - Not sure.
I'll have to do some further testing.
Smell that.
Lavender.
Oil.
Sir, my aunt collects these fancy bath oils.
They look just like this.
- Bath water? - Yeah.
It leaves the skin very smooth and silky.
Apparently.
So she says.
She's the one who uses them, not me.
We are a club of sportsmen, sir.
Our locker rooms have showers, but there are no baths here.
None?
Well, except for our guest houses.
Guest houses?
They're for our out-of-town members.
Ah. Are they ever used by your regulars?
On occasion.
Candles are burned right down.
Sir.
Glass.
Stem of a wine glass, I believe.
Hmm.
George.
Blood.
Richard Hartley was here.
Bath oils.
Lavender Silk.
That's a lovely one. According to my aunt.
So Hartley was beaten, he escaped into the lake,
climbed back out of the water, made his way here.
But this room is set for a romantic evening.
Why?
Seems romance would be the last thing on the mind
of someone in his condition.
Who was waiting for him?
I didn't choose Richard Hartley.
Richard chose me.
Tell me what happened the night of the murder.
Richard and I were to meet in the guest cottage.
We were gonna celebrate his joining the team.
What happened?
I waited for him the whole night.
I lit candles, poured wine.
But as the hours passed, I started thinking.
I realized that this was not the man I was meant for.
I suppose I'd known that for a long time
but could never tell him.
So I decided to end it that night.
When Richard came through the door...
...I told him I was ending the engagement.
But you don't say no to a Hartley.
Richard flew into a rage.
He grabbed my arm, started screaming at me.
He told me I had no say in the matter.
You can't leave me!
I had never seen him like that before.
So I ran out, terrified.
He grabbed you.
Then what?
That's it.
I never saw him again.
The last you saw of him, he was alive?
Yes.
Do you have any idea what happened after you left him?
No, Detective, I don't.
So you think Miss Fairchild is lying?
I don't think so.
I just don't think she's telling us the entire story.
That seems to be splitting hairs, sir.
Well, then, we'll have to agree to disagree, George.
Regardless, we have to find out
what happened to Richard Hartley after she left him.
Can you turn off the lights, please?
Hmm. That's interesting.
What is it?
It's the white substance
we found in Richard Hartley's lung water.
It's, um...
It's finely ground bone.
Bone, sir? It's glowing.
- Why? - Because it's phosphorescent.
Come on, Thomas. You're missing water!
Dig deep!
One.
Two.
Three.
Mr. Murdoch.
It's hard to wash off your hands, isn't it?
That's the trouble with bone meal.
Don't understand, sir.
Richard Hartley didn't drown in the lake.
Oil from the water found in his lungs led me to the guest house.
Where I also found something else.
Finely ground bone covered in phosphate.
Fertilizer, Mr. Briggs.
You helped Minerva Fairchild
murder her fiancée in cold blood.
That is a lie.
Sir, that is a lie!
She wasn't here to get Mr. Hartley's effects.
She came to see you.
That's also why she was at the grandstands.
- No. - You two were having an affair.
You wanted more,
but Miss Fairchild was trapped, wasn't she?
So you helped her find a way out.
She didn't have anything to do with it.
Miss Fairchild is in jail, charged with murder.
I'm telling you. She did not do it.
How do you know?
Because I killed Richard Hartley.
And I did it alone.
Minerva and I tried to...
...hide it from the world, but Richard found out.
He wanted to punish me.
He wanted to show Minerva how powerful he was.
So he had me kicked off of the boat, and he took my place.
The boys weren't happy about that.
No, sir.
They told me they were taking things into their own hands.
And you did also.
Sir, I never planned to kill Richard.
In fact, I had told Minerva to go back to him.
He could give her a life I never could.
So I walked away.
No!
I was still thinking about her when I heard her scream.
I gave up the woman I loved, Mr. Murdoch,
so she could be with Richard Hartley.
And this is how the bastard treated her.
He was running a bath.
Never heard me come in.
So you held him underwater until he drowned.
That's when the bone meal mixed in with the bathwater.
I suppose it did.
Did Miss Fairchild know about this?
No, sir.
What were you two really talking about when I saw you together?
She had told me what had happened.
That she had ended it with Richard.
That she was leaving him for me.
So you didn't know that when you killed him?
No.
If only she had found you before you found Hartley.
If only.
Once again.
Let's dig deep.
How are you?
I'm fine.
No, you're not. You can't be.
You don't have to hide it from me.
The man that I was to marry is dead.
The one that I am so in love with will probably hang.
All because I fell for somebody I shouldn't have.
You're allowed to fall in love with whoever you want.
No, no. Not when you're a Fairchild.
No.
One day, when the pain is gone,
You'll realize you did nothing wrong.
And then what?
Perhaps a trip is in order.
The world is a very different place away from here.
I found it quite eye-opening.
Did you?
Yes.
If you decide that's something you'd like to do,
I have many suggestions.
Thank you.
Will she be all right?
Perhaps, one day.
If she has the courage to walk away.
Takes a very special woman to do that.
Does it?
Yes.
William?
Yes, Doctor?
Do you like coffee?
Yes. Yes, I do.
Because the club makes the most delicious brew.
- Do they, now? - Imported from Turkey, in fact.
That would be wonderful.