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.
Merci.
As do you, Monique.
Merci, Roderick.
I so wish for you to join us tonight.
Unfortunately, I can't.
But you two go ahead and enjoy the performance.
Enjoy.
Thank you.
I forgot my camera.
But we'll miss the curtain.
I'll be fast.
Fourth floor, please.
Has Monique returned?
No, ma'am.
Is everything all right?
Monique Poirier, age 23,
vanished shortly before 8:00 p.m. 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 theater.
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.
Detective.
I found this in the laneway behind the hotel, sir.
That's Monique's purse, her compact, keys, fan.
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.
Sir.
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.
There 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.
Mm, if only the walls could talk, sir.
Mm.
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?
Uh...
May 25th.
That's almost two months ago.
- Yes. - Thank you.
Uh, you wanted to see me, Detective?
Ah, yes.
You operated the elevator last night?
Mm.
By all accounts, you were the last person
to see Monique Poirier.
And that was around 8:00 p.m.?
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.
Then she asked to be let out at the second floor.
Did she say why?
Oh, um, it's... 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 some reason.
Mr. Dalewood, why is room 212 rented out so infrequently?
It looks out onto a brick wall.
It's our least desirable room.
Hmm.
Sophie, perhaps the detective would be interested
in the note you found.
Oh, 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.
What kind of bloody name is that?
Is he another garlic-eating Frenchie?
I suspect not, sir.
"De le train" 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 on 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 Inspector Brackenreid here?
Is he here?
Excuse me, Murdoch.
Sir, we've developed the film we found in Monique's purse.
Ah, thank you.
Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.
A pleasure once again.
Isaac Lowe.
Isaac.
Yes, of course. We met at...
The Policeman'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 favorable 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.
Mm.
That's room 212, George.
And contrary to what we have 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.
Securite 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 Montreal for a conference
on international police cooperation.
And it's clear to me now there is much work to do.
Hmm.
This 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.
♪ Son p'tit fichu sur ses epaules ♪
♪ Elle rentrait par la rue des Saules ♪
"She returned along the street of willows."
What the bloody hell is he on about?
It's from a song, Rue Saint-Vincent.
"23 St Vincent."
George.
I met Monique on the train from Montreal.
We talked most of the way.
Felt nice talking to her.
She's very pretty.
Mm.
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 Saint-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 Kent 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... they seemed... cold.
They didn't even hug.
Oh, you have an electric car.
Very nice.
Yes, thank you.
No, thanks to Gaston Plante and to Camille Faure,
because without them, you have no battery.
No battery, no electric car, and 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.
But 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.
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 am 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.
Well...
Yeah.
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,
et cetera, et cetera.
Mm, and what's their agenda?
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.
Excuse me.
I need to see the detective. It's very important that I--
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.
Hmm.
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'd 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 gray 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?
80 squares across and down should suffice.
But, sir, that would be a total of...
6,400 squares.
Each square painted at a rate
of approximately 10 seconds a square,
that would amount to 20 hours of painting.
George, perhaps Constable Higgins
should assist you on this.
An excellent idea, sir.
Inspector Thomas Brackenreid, this is Edwin Drury.
Mr. Drury heads the consortium of individuals
who will 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.
Currently, 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?
No.
Sirs, we have received word from Paris.
Ah.
"Nooz soms plain dee-apostrophe..."
George, please. Uh, yes.
So... "Nous sommes enthousiaste..."
Oui. "La Securite..."
Parfait. Oh, good.
The father has agreed to provide a photograph.
La Securite 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. - Right.
But... but...
At first we thought it was a dead rat,
but then we noticed the stench was coming from this trunk.
Ooh.
That smells like sulfuric acid.
Um... Inspector Guillaume, Dr. Ogden, our coroner.
Well, well, I am very impressed.
That a woman can be a doctor?
That a doctor can be so beautiful.
Well, 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?
Oh, it is her.
Monique.
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 this 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 color 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 color you like
in whichever shape you like.
We could call it, "paint by numerical value."
We could sell small kits.
It couldn't sell worse than your adventure novel will.
Oh, that's great, Higgins, 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?
Uh... "I don't know."
So why did you just say it?
Uh...
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 a 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?
Hmm.
Death was by strangulation,
possibly garroting 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...
Sir.
I see two shapes.
Yes, their father gave Securite 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?
Mm-hmm.
This coroner...
you're in love with her, yes?
I beg your pardon?
Oh. Please, monsieur.
It is obvious,
the way you sneak glances at her when she's not looking,
the way she sneaks glances at you.
Uh, 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, the marriage 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
into the lobby.
What time was this?
About 4:00 a.m.
The trunk was taken from what room?
Uh...214.
Beside room 212.
Yes.
She was tied to this chair.
And gagged.
The smell of ammonia.
Urine.
Hmm, the murder weapon, perhaps?
- Sir? - Yes?
Who booked room 214?
Oh...
Mr. J. Hill,
paid by mail, postmarked on the 22nd of this month,
but he never checked in.
The 22nd.
He asked for room 214 specifically?
Yes. People sometimes do.
It's one of our less expensive rooms.
Mm, and when was the trunk delivered?
Uh... 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 coroners 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.
Yes, but I'm confused.
How can she be unknown if you know her name?
Uh, no, Inspector.
"Jane" or "John Doe" are names given...
Will I see you tonight?
Well, it will depend on my case, cherie.
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...
Oh, I thought I heard another man's voice.
Good morning, monsieur. I am Angelique.
- Uh... - Merci.
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?
Oh, love, of course.
Life is a contest.
Women are the prize.
But some men, they just try too hard.
Men like David Bishop.
Yes.
Well, he has 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?
Yes.
To make glass, you need sodium carbonate.
To make sodium carbonate, you need sulfuric acid.
You went into my apartment?
What is all of this, Mr. Bishop?
Art.
I make hair jewelry.
Who makes jewelry 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 have murdered.
Murdered? Now, hold on.
Where did you get the hair for these, Mr. Bishop?
From women I've met and from customers.
Customers?
People who want to preserve the memory of a loved one
in a decorative, yet tasteful manner.
They think they're beautiful.
Uh... 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 sulfuric acid?
Sulfuric acid is found in fertilizers, batteries--
Roderick Dalewood.
Yes, he owns an electric car.
Electric car.
No. No, no, no.
What motive would he have for murdering his wife's sister?
Monique was angry that Roderick was to marry Sophie.
No, that's not enough.
Sirs, a pawnbroker just turned this in.
It was sold to him yesterday.
A pocket camera.
It's the same camera used by Monique, no?
Yes.
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?
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, uh--
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?
This is not about making love to men.
This is about murder.
Oh, I didn't kill Monique.
Did she not let herself into your room,
Mr. Dalewood, and take these photographs?
Yes, but--
- Then what happened? - She ran out.
Where did she go?
I don't know.
You didn't follow her?
I-I tried.
But as soon as I got my clothes on, she--
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.
Yes,
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 a 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 etes tres 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?
Oh, she looks so much like Monique.
It is 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 jewelry?
We do need that photograph of Monique.
Yes.
Gentlemen, how goes it?
It goes, sir. We're almost finished.
Hmm, close enough.
Let's have a look.
I don't recognize either of them.
I do.
George, take a photograph of this telefacsimile.
Sir.
Inspector.
Here.
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.
Hmm.
This is Monique, and this is Sophie.
And strangely, 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 fiancé,
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.
Oh, please, madame.
Or should I call you Jaqueline, Jaqueline Chisholm?
Oh, yes.
You remember her, don't you?
She's wanted by French police
for a murder in Normandy ten 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,
a 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'd have all of his wealth once he was hanged.
That was a most devious plan.
You knew your husband dallied with the bellmen in room 212,
and you 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.
Fantastic.
And 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 will take just minutes.
Dr. Ogden,
if there is one image I will take home to France,
it is of you looking at me.
Jaqueline Chisholm, 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.
Mm, 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, senor Guillaume.
Whatever was that about, William?
He believes I should try to be more... French.
Well, shouldn't we all?
Gentlemen.
Sir, 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.
And?
Well, it's not just the one subway line, Murdoch.
They're talking about one up Yonge Street too,
maybe even one up Bloor.
That's an ambitious undertaking.
Yes, I know, and if it all goes wrong,
there will 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.