(carriage clattering) Good morning, Miss. Post.
Thank you.
(bag thumps on step)
(footsteps receding)
Goodness.
Indeed.
(door opens)
Good morning, Eliza. (door closes)
Clarence.
I hope that's not full of bills?
Applications.
We've had an overwhelming response
to our advert for new detectives.
I suppose my reputation does precede me.
It's more likely they heard of the female detective.
The advert was quite clear who they'd be dealing with.
Remind me whose name is above the door?
Yours. And your sons'.
Well, no time like the present.
Shall we begin?
(post flops onto desk) (light music)
(envelopes tearing) (papers shuffling)
Oh, this one's good.
Twenty three years at Bow Street,
what does that tell you?
That he lacks ambition.
Unlike Mr. Samuel Walsh.
(paper snatches)
Can't spell the word detective.
Or the word criminal.
(paper crumples) Or his own name.
(paper ball plops in bin)
(upbeat music)
Him?
Fired him last year. (paper slaps)
Him?
Too young.
He's too old.
Don't trust him.
Don't like him. Him?
He's been in prison.
(paper snatches)
Ugh.
(Nash sighs)
(papers rustle)
Surely, we can at least agree on this chap?
(paper rustles)
I've said no to him twice already.
Stop trying to sneak him through.
We've been at this all day,
and so far you've liked none of my choices.
Any more than you've liked mine.
It'll be me who works with them.
And me who pays for them. I am the boss.
So you keep reminding me.
Surely some of the applicants are acceptable to you both?
Ask him.
Ask her.
(door opens) (door closes)
(theme music)
(pen scratches)
(church bell ringing) (birds singing)
(footsteps approach)
Good morning.
Morning.
I was just... (paper folds)
practicing my handwriting.
Looked to me like you were writing a letter.
Fine. (egg cracks)
I was writing a letter.
To?
Barnabus. (egg cracks)
-Oh. -Hmm.
(eggs whisking)
(paper snatches) Lizzie!
What are you up to? (paper unfolds)
Why are you writing to Inspector Wellington?
Because you aren't!
What?
He wrote to me.
He said he's sent you three letters
and you've not replied to any of them.
(paper folds)
I don't want any breakfast. I'll be late for work.
Lizzie...
You've not spoken of Inspector Wellington since he's been gone.
Perhaps it might help to do so?
You're clearly upset and angry with him...
I'm not upset, nor am I angry.
I'm absolutely fine.
(dramatic music)
(eggs whisking)
(street chatter) (hooves clopping)
(soft music)
If we are to be together,
then I cannot remain at Scotland Yard
with you a private detective,
nor can I be around you anymore without...
without being with you.
(drawer opens)
(paper rustles)
(letter opens)
(knocking on door) (door opens)
(paper rustles) (drawer closes)
Yes?
Err, sorry to disturb,
but Mr. Nash would like you to meet him right away.
What for?
To meet a new client.
(upbeat music)
What new client?
(hooves clopping)
(footsteps bustling)
Patrick.
Eliza.
ELIZA: What is this place?
This...is the future. (door opens)
(jaunty music)
(door squeaks closed)
(telephone ringing)
Reception. May I help you?
CALLER: Reception?
-Yes, Sir. -CALLER: Er, Mr. Britton, Sir.
Sir.
(telephone clicks)
(people chattering)
Do you know much about the telephone?
ELIZA: Not much.
I know it was invented in 1875 by Alexander Graham Bell.
(upbeat music)
There were, of course, counterclaims
as to who first came up with the innovation.
But Bell was the first to patent it.
Nine years on, it's really only the preserve of the rich
and the privileged, given how costly it is to install and run.
Although, this year has seen telephone stations installed
in various public places...
shops, telegraph offices...
A yes or no would have sufficed.
As you say, it's being made more accessible
to ordinary folk.
It's the new gold rush.
This place is at the forefront.
So, why are we here?
The owner of Britannia wants us to negate
some rather bad publicity.
RECEPTIONIST: Yes Mr. Bracewell.
(newspaper crinkles)
Err, Mr. Bracewell will see you now.
ELIZA: Extraordinary.
It certainly is.
(light music)
Britannia have an engineering workshop
where they design new ways to improve their product.
Two days ago it was destroyed by a gas explosion.
Two men were killed, a young inventor named Alfred Baker,
and the co-founder of the company, George Davidson.
So there was a gas leak?
According to the newspapers,
the police think Davidson lighting his pipe
is what ignited the explosion.
But, as for the gas leak,
it seems someone tampered with the supply.
And the police believe that this someone
works here at Britannia?
Not just someone.
Our new client, Joseph Bracewell.
(upbeat music)
My aim, Mr. Nash,
is to put a Britannia telephone
into every household in the country.
And once we've done that,
we will move into the international markets.
I applaud your ambition, Mr. Bracewell.
I must confess, I've not yet used one of these.
Err, to, to, to help you fully, Mr. Bracewell,
perhaps we should try it ourselves?
Be my guest.
(dramatic music)
(telephone clinks)
OPERATOR: Good afternoon, Britannia Exchange.
What number do you require?
Ask for the stock exchange.
Err, the stock exchange, please.
OPERATOR: Connecting you now. Please wait one moment.
(laughs)
Ask for the latest Britannia share price.
STOCK EXCHANGE CLERK: Stock Exchange. How can I help you?
Err, please could you advise on the current share price
for the Britannia Telephone Company?
STOCK EXCHANGE CLERK: One and six.
Thank you. Good-bye.
(telephone clicks)
All this dire publicity
is causing the value of my company to fall by the hour.
Which is why I need you to get the police off my back,
and find out who is responsible for this terrible deed.
They have a ridiculous notion
that I wanted George Davidson dead.
Your business partner?
We founded the company together.
I felt it was time was right to expand.
To buy out our rivals.
And Mr. Davidson disagreed?
This disagreement was a minor issue,
not reason for me to kill him.
I gather the police suspect you
because you were supposed to attend this meeting
with Mr. Davidson,
but you didn't turn up.
(mysterious music)
We had another argument that morning.
I simply...wasn't in the mood to face him.
I spent the afternoon here in my office.
But that was unusual, was it not,
that you didn't attend that weekly meeting?
Unheard of, according to the newspapers.
Do not believe everything you read in the newspapers.
Did you have any grievance with the other man that was killed?
The err, the young inventor, Alfred Baker?
No!
And for your information,
Alfred wasn't meant to be at that meeting.
We have to ask these questions, Mr. Bracewell,
so that we're clear on all the details of this case.
Well, in that case, let me be crystal clear with you.
I did not murder George Davidson.
As for Alfred Baker,
he just designed the telephone
that would make this company a fortune.
Why on earth would I want him dead?
(hooves clopping)
Why, in God's name, did you interrogate him like that?
You clearly weren't going to ask him anything useful.
I've never seen you so in awe.
I was not in awe, I just think him an impressive man.
A visionary.
I think him rather unsavory.
Ah, you disagree with my judge of character.
Quelle surprise.
What of my judgement?
I'm the one who's going to be running the office.
I should choose my own staff.
Oh, I see. That's what this is about, is it?
That's the reason for this latest sulk du jour.
I do not sulk.
We will discuss this matter another time.
Right now, we need to visit the crime scene.
Finally, something we agree on.
(dramatic music)
(door closes)
Go fetch my carriage.
Detective Phelps.
Just the man.
Inspector Phelps, actually.
Well, soon to be.
You're taking over from Inspector Wellington?
But there's been no formal announcement.
Just needs to be rubber stamped.
And why hasn't it been?
(street chatter)
Well, I'm sure it's just a matter of time.
May I offer my congratulations
on what will be a well-deserved promotion.
So, I assume your presence here is not just to keep me company.
As ever, you assume right.
We've been hired to investigate the Britannia explosion
and we'd like to take a look at the crime scene.
I take it your fire experts have assessed the scene?
Still waiting.
They've been held up elsewhere.
Which is a bugger,
'cause we can't progress with the case
until they've had a gander.
Well, perhaps in the meantime,
you might allow us to look for ourselves?
Hmm. Good one.
Now, hop it!
I see the prospect of a promotion hasn't endowed you
with any more decorum, Detective Phelps.
Let me give you some advice, Miss Scarlet,
I'm the skipper now.
So you need to start showing me a bit of respect.
Oh, I've always seen respect as something you earn.
Oh, how Miss Scarlet does like to jest.
You surely know that our respect for you
is unimpeachable, Inspector Phelps,
and we would be most grateful...
Under no circumstances let them inside.
OFFICER: Yes, Sir.
Even if the Queen herself comes down here
and says you'll be hanged for treason if you don't...
Still don't let them in.
(playful music)
That went well.
(hooves clopping)
Well, we're not all blessed with your powers
of duplicity, Patrick.
If by that you mean charm and persuasion
to keep my business afloat,
then perhaps you should try it sometime.
(door closes) Whether you like it or not,
you have to learn to play the game.
(Nash sighs)
What is wrong with you at the moment?
This can't just be about the hiring of staff.
Is this about your Inspector leaving?
Nothing is wrong with me.
He's not my Inspector.
(footsteps recede)
(distant street chatter)
What I'm about to say, you may not like...
in fact, you definitely won't like it.
Well...
Then perhaps you shouldn't say it.
The work you've had up until now from Scotland Yard
has been on account of your friendship
with Inspector Wellington.
I secured that work because I'm good at what I do.
And I'm not disputing that,
but the fact remains your friendship helped a great deal.
But now Phelps is in charge, he's not obliged
to tolerate you. -Tolerate me?
Do you want this business to flourish
under your command or not?
Yes, of course I do.
Then make it your business to get along with Phelps.
And will you please stop sulking!
For the last time, I do not sulk!
Good, because my mother was a sulker
and it brings back bad memories.
(laughing)
(dramatic music)
Fine.
What do you want me to do? Go back to him and grovel?
No. That ship has sailed.
I'll attempt to obtain crime scene photos
from my usual source.
Well, in the meantime, let's do some digging on our dead men.
I suggest we start with the young inventor.
(ominous music)
Speak to his widow.
See if anyone had a grudge.
(hooves clopping distantly)
You both look very happy.
How long were you married, Mrs. Baker?
Six months.
And it's Betty.
Your husband was an avid reader?
He had every book on engineering imaginable.
They were his pride and joy.
Mrs. Baker...
Betty...
can you think of anyone who had a grudge against your husband?
Take your time.
Err, Daniel Archer.
He, err, works at Britannia.
Alfred started as his apprentice.
He was full of resentment
because Britannia wanted to go with Alfred's design
for their new telephone, and not his.
His boss Mr. Davidson, said he'd be famous.
He called it, 'an ingenious invention.'
And Mr. Archer...wasn't happy?
My husband believed he tried to steal his plans
for the new telephone.
And what made him think that?
He hid them...
(suspenseful music)
under the floorboard in his office.
As insurance, he said,
on account of it being such a competitive industry.
Then one day
last month, he found Mr. Archer in his office,
looking shifty, my husband said.
When he'd gone, Alfred said the rug
that covered the floorboard had been disturbed.
How would Mr. Archer have known
where your husband hid his plans?
Well, Alfred couldn't work it out.
Mr. Davidson would never have told anyone.
He was as worried as Alfred
about keeping the new design a secret.
And where are the plans now?
Alfred moved them.
He didn't tell me where.
But he was certain Mr. Archer was after them.
(hooves clopping distantly)
NASH: So, you're working on your own design
for Britannia's new telephone, Mr. Archer?
Hmm. It will be a great improvement,
most notably in terms of sound quality and reliability.
I understand Alfred Baker
had designed a new telephone as well.
They're calling it... the Upright.
Woeful name.
Well, whatever it was to be called,
the design was applauded by the powers that be
here at Britannia. (clank)
Alfred Baker was once your apprentice, was he not?
And I taught him well.
Hmm.
But to have your junior surpass you...
(clank)
it's been difficult.
(clank)
Competition can be a good thing.
Err...
Da Vinci and Michelangelo.
Ingres and Delacroix...
Well, Mr. Bracewell said his designs
were going to change the world.
But now he and his telephone are gone,
so the road is clear for you, Mr. Archer.
Hmm.
I have work to do.
Can you tell us where you were on the day of the explosion?
-Here. Working on my design. -NASH: Hmm.
Did anyone else see you?
You are not the police,
and I'm not obliged to talk to you.
And will you please stop touching my things!
(high tempo music)
(hooves clopping)
(street chatter)
Well, we now know he has a temper.
First rule of being a private investigator -
deliberately vex the suspect to test their temperament.
(cupboards close)
Patrick...
I can just about take you advising me
on my business skills,
but please do not presume to lecture me on deduction.
There's an article in here about Britannia's current telephone.
Apparently, there were three main issues:
cost, sound quality and tendency to short circuit.
No wonder Bracewell was so desperate for a new model.
Clarence did some digging on Bracewell's partner,
George Davidson. -And?
He has no family, no close relations,
no financial issues or known grudges.
Well, apart from the one held by his business partner,
Joseph Bracewell... -Forget the client.
We need to concentrate... on Daniel Archer.
He has a clear motive - he wanted to remove his rival.
And he has no alibi.
He should be our prime suspect. (knocking on door)
(door squeaks open)
Delivery from your friend at the Met.
Thank you.
(packaging opening)
(photos shuffle) Hmm, these are good.
They're very good.
-The crime scene? -Yeah.
How peculiar.
What?
That looks like a scorch mark
from where the gas was ignited.
So?
Well, if, as the police...suspect,
it was Davidson's pipe that ignited the gas,
why is the scorch mark on the opposite side of the room
from the bodies?
(dramatic music)
Hurry up, you useless vermin!
We haven't got all day!
(people talking)
ELIZA: Good morning, Detective Phelps.
Yeah, it was, before you turned up.
We wondered if the Britannia explosion
had been assessed yet by your fire expert?
They're now stuck with a factory blaze in bloody St. Albans.
-Get a move on! -OFFICER: Come on!
Dare I say it, Detective Phelps,
you seem a little overstretched.
That's one word for it.
Let us lighten your load.
We can help with the Britannia case.
I don't need your help.
And let you take all the credit.
(dramatic music)
Ten minutes at the crime scene.
That's all you're getting.
(footsteps receding)
NASH: Good, aren't I?
(street chatter)
(slow footsteps)
Something around this area must have caused the spark.
(tense music)
Someone has cut the insulation off these wires.
Why would they do that?
(bag clicks open)
(bag clicks closed)
(sparking)
'Prone to short circuit when connected.'
It's one of the known faults of the Britannia telephone.
That's what ignited the gas, Patrick.
It wasn't Davidson's pipe.
It was a phone call.
Which means whoever made that call is our murderer.
(footsteps approaching)
2,512 telephones in operation in London.
How do you know these things?
I do research, Patrick.
You should try it sometime.
(Nash sighs)
The question is... (whiskey pours)
from which telephone was the fatal call made?
I understand the telephone exchange log all call details,
so, customers can be charged accordingly.
So, they might be able to help us narrow it down.
-It's worth a try. -Hmm.
Provided we can persuade them to show us their call log.
I suspect all calls are treated confidentially, and...
we don't have a warrant.
Inspector Bates, Scotland Yard, at your service, Madam.
Oh...are there any other officers available?
Inspector Bates has an excellent track record.
Well...he definitely works best alone.
So, while he visits the exchange,
I'll continue my research into the telephone.
NASH: Hmm.
See if I can glean any further insight
into Alfred Baker's new design.
What?
I much prefer it when you're not sulking.
(page flips)
I don't sulk.
I brood.
(page flips)
I know we've been at odds over the hiring of staff,
(soft music)
but you've not been yourself lately.
(page flips)
Is it the Inspector?
The fact that he's gone?
(page flips)
Inspector Bates is waiting.
(footsteps recede)
(book snaps shut)
(cupboard doors close)
(footsteps recede)
(street chatter) (hooves clopping)
(upbeat music)
(telephone exchange chatter)
Yes, Madam.
-CLERK: Can I help you? -CLERK: Yes, of course.
(loud chatter) (phones ringing)
Good afternoon.
Which number do you require? Certainly, Sir.
Please hold.
(loud office sounds continue)
Mr. Underwood?
Yes?
Inspector Bates, Scotland Yard.
How do you do, Inspector?
This is quite the operation you've got here.
Never seen one of those before.
Err, they allow me to listen in,
ensure that my operators are performing at their best.
How may I help you, Inspector?
I'm investigating the Britannia murders.
You read about them?
I have.
Terrible business.
We need to identify the source of a particular telephone call,
so, I'd be grateful to look at your call log
for the day in question,
the 21st of September.
Yes, Inspector. One moment.
I'll just fetch the logbook.
Sorry, Inspector...
it just occurred to me, I err...
well, I should really see your warrant first.
(tense music)
My warrant?
As you can appreciate, all our calls are confidential.
It's more than my job's worth, err, to break protocol,
unless, of course, you have a warrant?
Alright, fine. I'm not an inspector from Scotland Yard.
But if you allow me to see the call log,
I'll make it worth your while.
(telephones ringing)
If you're not a policeman, then what the hell are you?
I am a private detective.
A what?
And don't even think about coming back again!
You're lucky I'm not reporting you to the police!
(door slams)
(sighs)
(busy footsteps)
(door opens)
(door closes)
A copy of Alfred Baker's contract with Britannia.
Oh.
Umm...
-Oh, shall I... -Err, yes.
(chuckles) Got it, got it.
Thank you.
Have you read this, Clarence?
Yeah, briefly.
(pages turn)
George Davidson and Joseph Bracewell
were each going to receive 45% of the profits
from this new telephone.
While Mr. Baker, the genius that invented it,
just got just 10%.
Err, my contact at Britannia
insisted on a bottle of Lynch-Bages '64
(chuckles) in exchange for that contract,
so, I...I will, of course, be charging that to the company?
Oh, just charge it to Mr. Nash.
"Upon death, an individual share of profits
will be distributed equally among surviving parties."
(mysterious music)
You know what this means?
No doubt I will end up paying for that bottle of wine myself.
No, it means that Joseph Bracewell
is now entitled to all the profits
from Alfred Baker's telephone.
(door opens)
(door closes)
Oh, I'm...I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Scarlet.
What is it, Betty?
I came back from visiting Alfred's mother.
The poor woman's in such a state.
And as I walked in, I heard someone
going out the back door.
Terrified, I was.
But when I went to check, whoever it was had already gone.
I did contact the police, but...
They still haven't come.
They're a little overstretched at the moment,
but you did the right thing coming to me.
And are you sure that nothing's missing?
Nothing that I can see.
They didn't touch my jewelry case.
Not that I've got much.
(ominous music)
Have you rearranged these at all?
That was Alfred's favorite set of books.
Where's volume two?
It was...definitely there before.
(dramatic music)
(hooves clopping)
ELIZA: Inspector Bates, I presume?
(sighs)
I hear Inspector Bates was thwarted,
so you resorted to plan B.
Hmm.
I went through all my files twice,
to see if I knew anyone else who worked here.
So I hear. You left the office in quite a mess.
Clarence was not happy.
So, you found someone?
The night shift manager, an Elmer Goodheart.
Not that there's anything good about him.
A few years back I put him away for fraud.
His shift starts at eight o'clock.
And Clarence said Miss Baker had a break-in.
What was taken?
The only thing missing was a book.
Inventions That Changed the World: Volume Two.
That's it?
Yes.
But I have a theory.
Oh, good.
I like it when you say that.
It makes me feel warm inside.
Have you finished?
(church bell ringing)
Yes.
I think the book contained the plans
for Alfred's new telephone design.
The ones that Daniel Archer was after.
Well, there he is.
(footsteps approaching)
Elmer Goodheart.
I'm sure he's going to be delighted to see me.
(door opens)
(tense music)
That's the supervisor I spoke to, Mr. Underwood.
-CHARLES: Mr. Underwood. -UNDERWOOD: Hi, Charles.
Thank you.
(carriage door opens)
(driver instructs horses)
(hooves clopping)
He's only a manager,
and yet he can afford his own carriage?
(people chattering)
Striking, isn't it?
(telephones ringing)
It certainly is.
The 21st of September.
I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Goodheart.
The handwriting is incredibly neat.
Hmm. (mysterious music)
The explosion happened at thirty-six minutes past two...
Here.
A call was made to the Britannia Engineering Workshop,
from the...
Britannia Telephone Company.
Office of J. Bracewell.
Damn it.
(loud pub chatter)
On no account can we speak to Mr. Bracewell about this.
Of course, we speak to him, Patrick.
He's our prime suspect.
He's also a client, and a well-paying one at that.
No.
We keep our sights on Daniel Archer.
Joseph Bracewell benefits financially
from the two deaths.
He's admitted to being in his office,
with his telephone, at the time of the explosion.
And both you and I agree that whoever made that phone call
was almost certainly the murderer.
If we accuse Bracewell of murder,
he will fire us and we'll lose our fee!
But we'll be doing our jobs.
No, your job is to do what's best for my business,
and I'm ordering you to say nothing to Bracewell.
-Ordering me? -Yes.
We stay on Archer!
(tense music)
(glass bangs)
(door opens)
(door slams closed)
(tablecloth ruffles) It's laughable.
He constantly corrects me and tells me how to behave,
and yet what he's doing is completely immoral.
I've never met anyone so bloody-minded and pigheaded!
And before you say anything, no, I'm not either of those things,
so, I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.
I didn't say anything.
You didn't have to.
(cutlery clangs)
Inspector Wellington wrote to me again.
He wants to know if you're upset with him.
(pot clangs) Why is he asking you?
Well, he tried asking you and got no response.
Lizzie, no matter what you say, I know that you're angry.
When you were a little girl...
I do not need a story from my childhood
cleverly designed to teach me a life lesson as an adult.
You have no idea what the story was going to be.
It was going to be about the dog, wasn't it?
Fine.
You know so much, you can sort things out for yourself.
Nothing to sort out.
(soup pours)
Inspector Wellington has left,
and when he returns we shall talk and, in the meantime,
I have no intention of replying to his letters.
Because you're angry with him?
Fine!
(dramatic music)
I am angry!
He shouldn't have left!
He should have stayed here and we could have...
Could have what?
I don't know.
And there's your answer.
What is?
The reason why he left.
He went away for your sake, as well as his,
so, you both could have had time to work out
what it is you really want.
He's a good man, Lizzie.
He doesn't deserve you ignoring him like this.
Oh, so all the fault lies with me, does it?
Thank you for your loyalty. -Lizzie...
I've fed up with you, Patrick Nash,
and everyone else pointing out my faults,
and telling me how to behave
as though I'm completely incapable
of making my own decisions!
(footsteps receding)
(door opens)
(door closes)
(sighs)
(melancholic music)
(telephone ringing)
(telephone receiver clicks)
Well, of course, Mr. Bracewell.
(telephone clanks)
Mr. Bracewell will see you now.
(footsteps receding)
(pages shuffling)
Do you often accuse your client of murder?
I'm not accusing you, Mr. Bracewell.
I'm just looking at the evidence, and it is compelling.
You stood to gain all profits from the new telephone
on the death of Mr. Davidson... and Mr. Baker.
Well, I'm the bearer of bad news,
because if that call came from this telephone,
then it couldn't have been me who made it.
Because...I was in Ealing.
Ealing?
It was at the United Telephone Company.
I've been involved in secret negotiations to buy them out.
Then why not tell myself and Mr. Nash that
in the first place?
Because it's a highly competitive industry,
and I didn't want to harm the deal.
It's not yet been sealed.
Perhaps you could also explain how I can profit
from a telephone that no longer exists?
Mr. Baker made a copy of his plans,
which I'm sure you well know.
I did not know.
Here's how this is going to work, Miss Scarlet.
(upbeat music)
You will bring me Alfred Baker's plans...immediately.
If you do not,
I will let Mr. Nash know I'm firing his agency.
(door opens)
(door closes)
Where have you been?
Ealing.
Well, while you've been gone,
we received...this telegram from Mr. Bracewell.
He advises, albeit politely, that we're fired.
How dare you disregard my instructions.
You gave me no choice.
I was doing my job.
Your job is to build this business, not lose us clients.
What the hell is in Ealing, anyway?
Um, well, I was checking on Mr. Bracewell's new alibi.
And?
It stands up.
(laughs ironically)
(sighs)
Where are you going?
To try and persuade Bracewell to reconsider.
If you are to run this agency,
you must first and foremost be a businesswoman.
And I will not be returning to Paris
until you convince me you understand this!
(door opens) Oh, Mr. Nash...
Mr. Nash! Miss Scarlet?
Not now, Clarence. (door closes)
I've just had word from my source at the bank.
He informs me that Daniel Archer
has been making regular cash withdrawals
over the last six months.
I said not now, Clarence.
Yes, but just one more thing...
Mr. Archer took out a large sum of cash
from his bank account not one hour ago.
(mysterious music)
(street chatter) (hooves clopping)
(tense music)
(footsteps running)
(hooves clopping)
Pleasure doing business with you.
(footsteps receding)
(door opens)
What on earth...?
I found this in your drawer, Mr. Archer.
It's Alfred Baker's favorite book, I gather.
And one which was stolen from his bookcase.
As I suspected,
this is where Alfred hid the plans
for his new telephone.
You want to make Alfred Baker's design
and pass it off as your own.
Alfred could never have designed that telephone
without my tutelage, so...
why should it be that he gets all the credit?
I just witnessed you giving Mr. Underwood something.
(treacherous music)
Money, I suspect.
Show me the contents of that envelope he gave you,
and perhaps I won't report you to the police.
(envelope flops on desk)
(paper rustles)
This is Pitman shorthand.
My father made me study it.
(pages shuffle)
It's transcripts from phone calls.
Got one involving Alfred Baker in conversation with his boss,
George Davidson.
This is how you knew where he hid his plans, isn't it?
And to pass yourself off as the inventor of his telephone,
you needed him dead.
That's not true!
And you have absolutely no proof that it was me!
(hooves clopping)
(footsteps approaching)
(door opens)
(door closes)
Well, the good news is
I've managed to calm Bracewell down.
To do so, I had to paint you as, well...
Let me guess...insubordinate?
On second thoughts, it's perhaps best I do not share
with you the exact words I used to describe you.
You were right. (sighs)
Of course, I was.
About what?
(upbeat music) Daniel Archer.
Now we just have to prove that he's the murderer.
(telephone trilling)
I thought I told you to leave.
And now I see you've brought your wife.
I'm not his wife.
We know you're being paid by people like Archer
to transcribe the conversations of private telephone calls.
A call was made to the Britannia Workshop on 21st of September.
It caused the explosion there.
Did Daniel Archer make that call?
I don't know.
I don't know anything, I swear it.
Do these belong to you?
Yes, but they're just timesheets for the girls.
It's not the contents that interests me, Mr. Underwood,
but rather the...neatness of the handwriting.
We'd like to take another look at the logbook
for the 21st of September.
(page rustling)
The other days are varied with...
(page flips) different handwriting,
various operators, I assume.
The day of the murder has been filled entirely
by one person.
You, Mr. Underwood.
(book bangs on desk)
Why?
I was told to.
(drawer opens)
This blackmail letter was delivered to me
(dramatic music) on the night of that explosion,
threatening to expose me.
Ordering you to amend the details of the call made
to the Britannia Workshop...
to say that it came from Joseph Bracewell's office.
In order to do that,
I had to replace the whole page in the logbook
and fill in the entire day myself.
So, where did the call really come from?
From a public telephone in Farringdon.
(suspenseful music)
(street sounds) (hooves clopping)
(carriage rumbles)
Whoever wrote that blackmail note must be our murderer.
They clearly knew about his 'sideline.'
Maybe it's someone who works here?
My thoughts exactly.
I'll go back in and compare the handwriting
of the blackmail letter against the call log.
While you do that, I'll go to Farringdon.
With any luck, whoever runs the public phones there
will keep records.
A talented detective...
with the upmost integrity.
What? (soft music)
They were the words I used to describe you to Bracewell.
(footsteps receding)
(door opens)
(door closes)
(hooves clopping)
We don't keep records of calls made.
How often is this telephone used?
Not much.
People round here,
they don't really understand it.
Hmm.
You had a customer here three days ago, on the 21st.
Early afternoon?
Hmm, do you remember the person?
Absolutely.
(upbeat music)
(finger tapping)
(whispers) Got you.
(telephone trilling)
B. L.
It's the same handwriting as the blackmail letter.
Yeah.
Elizabeth Landing.
She was an operator here until about six months ago.
Left to get married.
Ooh.
Are you suggesting that she was the one
that wrote me the letter?
Almost certainly.
Who is she?
(mysterious music)
Her fiancé worked at Britannia.
Why has she signed her name B and not E?
Because she called herself Betty.
(somber music)
You wanted Davidson and Bracewell dead.
But Alfred...
that was an accident, wasn't it?
Alfred was never meant to be at that meeting.
But his boss must have called him in last minute.
I had no idea...
You stole the keys...
to Alfred's workshop.
You primed the telephone to spark,
punctured the gas pipe and left...
...knowing that by the afternoon,
when Bracewell and Davidson came for their meeting,
the workshop would be a bomb...
ready to explode.
Then you made the call.
Ten percent! (crying)
That's all they gave him.
Ten percent for all the time and all the work he put in.
I just wanted Alfred to have what he deserved.
It was so unfair.
Do what you want with me.
(sniffs)
My life's over now, anyway.
I killed my husband.
My own...beloved...husband. (sobs)
(tense music)
PHELPS: I said get in there, you toe-rag!
(men shouting)
You too, you bloody idiot!
I don't think I can do this.
We gave Phelps our word.
If we give Phelps the credit, it could seal his promotion.
Is that really what we want, to be dealing with him?
It'll be you dealing with him.
So, you need to give him the win.
(upbeat music)
Detective Phelps.
Miss Scarlet.
You got something for me? (hooves clopping)
The evidence is all in here.
And...just remind me...
who solved this case?
You did, Detective Phelps.
And did I get any help?
At all?
No, Detective Phelps.
That's the right answer.
(footsteps clipping) (people chattering)
(door opens)
(door closes)
What's going on?
Oh, I contacted the applicants you favored.
They're here for the interview.
Well, where are you going?
They'll be working for you.
You should be the one to choose your staff.
Let's just call it a... show of faith.
(sighs)
Thank you, Patrick.
Oh, I had that installed.
I thought it might be helpful.
What, to keep checks on me when you return to Paris?
Why must you always think the worst of me?
I am simply a man at the forefront of innovation.
Well, it's no matter. The technology is still far off
being able to place a call overseas.
But as a man at the forefront of innovation,
you, of course, knew that.
(playful music)
Of course, I did.
(laughs)
(door opens)
(hooves clopping)
(door closes)
(church bell rings)
(quiet street sounds)
(soft music)
(chopping)
(slow footsteps)
What are you doing?
Helping.
(knife scraping)
So...
Are you still angry with me?
I asked first.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have gone behind your back like that.
I just thought I was doing the right thing.
I know, and I understand why you did it.
And you're right.
I...Inspector Wellington leaving has caused me some...
upset.
And you miss him?
I'm only saying this because I love you,
but I think replying to him would make you feel better.
I think you're right.
Well, you're always right.
I keep saying that to Barnabus, but will he listen?
(footsteps clipping)
(drawer opens) Ivy, I hate cauliflower.
(drawer closes)
You'll eat what I cook for you, young lady.
(soft music)
(door closes)
Good evening. My name is Miss Scarlet.
I believe you are...
an associate of my father's.
He said there'd be food.
Err, yes, I...cooked a smoked ham this afternoon.
I'll cut you a slice.
(pen scratches)
Dear William,
I'm happy to hear
things are going well for you in New York.
It's been an interesting week here.
But...
on balance, a good one.
(theme music)