(BELL TOLLING) -Daniel.

-Theodore.

You must be tired.

I have rooms prepared.

No rest, Daniel.

The journey from New York is more comfortable now.

-I have made certain of it.

-Oh.

Oh, my associate.

Mr. Goodnight.

-Mr. Goodnight.

-Sir.

Shall we?

-Shall we, hey?

-Keys, Charlie.

(GASPS) Do you feel that you require protection in our city, Theodore?

I require it in life.

Lead on, Daniel.

Boys.

The next matter to which we attend.

We find her, there he will be also.

-Shelby.

-Sir.

-Mary.

-Mr. Jackson.

(WOMEN LAUGHING) -Afternoon.

-Good afternoon, sir.

(SIGHS) -Comfortable?

-And what if I am?

Carefully, now.

(SIGHS) (GASPS) He is stiff in mortis, which means?

Hobbs?

No less than 12 hours since he breathed his last but no more than three days, sir.

Stevedore, pissed on Porter, falls in.

Drowns.

No, his jacket's too decent for that.

Shirt and trousers, though.

-There's this.

-Burns.

Bad.

But too precise to be fire or water.

From a steam pipe, perhaps?

Could he be some type of engineer?

His good coat on over his work clothes?

The lad improves.

-He is drowned, however?

-Well, you do have that right, Sergeant.

Drowned, drunk and murdered.

Algae in his lungs, gin in his belly.

And you have this.

-Hobbs, give me a hand.

-Sorry.

His spinal cord is cut.

One stroke of a thin blade.

-He was paralyzed?

-Mmm-hmm.

And put in the water.

He would have kicked for shore but found himself capable of nothing more -than sinking.

-Cruel.

-Professional also.

-JACKSON: Mmm.

REID: It was at the West India Docks he was found?

Yes, sir.

Then did he come in on the tide from the foundry at Bow Creek?

Constable, get on the wires to the caretaker down there.

See if an engineer's reported missing.

Sir.

(WORKERS TALKING, INDISTINCT) Gentlemen.

Identify yourselves.

Police.

H Division.

Return the favor.

I am Bruton.

Fields, my secretary.

Neither of you the proprietor?

I pay both Fanthorpe's rent and wage.

In what capacity is he paid?

-As Chief Engineer to my shipping line.

-REID: Which is?

The Argentine Marine Company.

Your engineer, uh, Fanthorpe, he was a big man?

Around 15 stone, two yards in height?

You have him?

Cut and quartered in our dead room, I'm afraid.

He's dead?

He was found caught in a sluice over at West India Docks.

What?

Drowned?

What was it Mr. Fanthorpe made for you?

The means by which we might save our souls.

You and your wife are bound for the Americas.

Which line do you trust to carry you there?

For comfort, White Star.

Swift Intercontinental for speed.

Twenty years ago, it would not have been so.

You would have booked your passage on an Argentine steamer and not thought twice about it.

Samuel Fanthorpe was to return us to those glories.

I am bound to ask how.

Am I to simply hand you and your man my most prized confidence?

Mr. Bruton, it was not simple misadventure that put Mr. Fanthorpe in the Thames.

It was murder.

Murder?

It is an engine.

Triple-expansion.

To drive a triple-screw propeller.

That type of power inside us and the journey time to New York, Buenos Aires, Cape Town would have been reduced by days and our competitors nothing more than a sail on the horizon.

-Mrs. Fanthorpe!

-Martha.

What?

Would you allow us a moment, Mr. Bruton?

-Martha, would you have me... -No, Ezekiel Bruton, I would not.

What was it brought you to his place of work today?

His absence from his place of living.

And when did you see him last?

Three days ago.

That is some time for a husband not to see his wife.

Not this husband, nor this wife.

-Excuse me, ma'am.

-You married, Mr. Reid?

Um, I am.

And you marriage is a picture of permanent joy?

No, I, uh...

Uh, Mr. Bruton there, he told me a little of the engine your husband was designing for him and its significance to AMC's future.

-And he had finished the design?

-He had not.

It neared completion, however.

This engine.

It was our last hope.

But our lines to South America, the steel that sells there, they are not without some value and I must present them to our predators.

And one such has made itself known to your shareholders?

There is an offer, yes.

And you are duty-bound to hear their vote on whether to accept or no.

Hear and obey.

We sit in two days.

Then you understand why I must ask who makes this offer, as this maybe a motive for murder.

The name of his company tripped easily from your tongue.

Swift Intercontinental.

Theodore Swift himself, with his Pinkerton entourage arrived from New York to see the deal closed.

Your work travels, Mr. Best.

Picked that up in New York.

-You are American.

-You know others similar?

In London this year?

(SCOFFS) As many as there are pigeons -- in Grosvenor Square.

(CHUCKLES) There's a, uh...

There's a man goes about with her.

First I've seen of him.

And she, Miss, uh, Hart.

You call her a businesswoman?

-Turn of phrase.

-Meaning?

What it commonly does.

-She runs whores.

-Oh!

-From an address?

-Indeed.

Which?

(BREATHES SHARPLY) I know not.

Mmm.

I want to thank you for your time, Mr. Best.

Ah, you're very welcome.

(GRUNTS) (BEST SCREAMS) You lie.

She was shook down.

The police tolerate such business but when it rises into plain view, she was moved on.

-To where?

-I know not.

Which is your constant refrain, Mr. Best.

A reporter so ignorant?

Back home you'd be sweeping pencil shavings for pig feed.

Oh, no.

No, please.

(MUFFLED SCREAMS) (PANTING) I find you lie to me, I'm coming for your face.

(GROANING) (SCREAMS) Sir, gentlemen, Mr. Bruton, Mr. Fields, Mrs. Fanthorpe.

Please, don't any of you leave London.

It is not I that will be leaving London, Reid.

It's my business.

BRUTON: Shall we?

Constable, there's something of a chill about Mrs. Fanthorpe which strikes strange.

Get yourself into civvies and keep a watch over her.

Yes, sir.

-Thank you, sir.

-Hmm.

-Artherton, we have the week's papers?

-We do, sir.

Ah!

"Swift Intercontinental's Mr. TP Swift "and his banker, Mr. Daniel Goldman, "both of whom declined to deny or confirm "that the shipping magnate's visit from New York "had any bearing on the emergency stockholder meeting "called by the ailing transatlantic Argentine Marine."

Oh, Jackson.

New York ship owner, name of Swift.

That mean anything to you?

Your reason for asking?

My apologies, Reid.

I, uh, must disappoint for once.

(MEN LAUGHING) Excuse me, gentlemen.

Have you found her?

-It was never going to be easy.

-Easy?

Frank, I don't pay you because you know how to get easy things done.

No, Mr.

Swift.

Susan!

Let's see if you can guess who's visiting on business?

Good evening to you, Captain Jackson.

Best.

One of your countrymen had cause to separate my ear from me.

A Pinkerton named Goodnight?

You do what you can to fix my head and I shall tell you all we spoke of, he and I.

(BREATHES SHARPLY) After all, what is a Pinkerton but a hired lawman who lives on another continent entirely?

He holds no sway here.

(BREATHING UNSTEADILY) So why should I hand you to him?

Your story is all I ask.

How the two of you are bound to this American.

Something that now I have suffered for affording you my protection, that I would have you share with me.

So... now I give you both the opportunity to unburden yourselves.

Or must I reconsider my approach to Mr. Goodnight?

We would like nothing more than to help you, Mr. Best.

But sadly have not one inkling as to what you refer.

If you want to go and reacquaint yourself with this Pinkerton and his knife, I'm afraid we cannot stop you.

As you prefer.

Madam.

(DOOR CLOSES) Those sons of bitches!

They cannot do this.

I will not allow it.

Fine.

Why don't you just march on down there and tell them all to go to hell?

-Oh, you quip, but I am in earnest.

-Just sit down, will you?

You let me do the marching.

This man once called me a friend.

And then, amongst others, you killed his brother.

He was never one to hold a grudge.

I'll ask him what he wants.

What if the answer is to kill you?

Then at least we'll know.

Mr. Fields, a face like that will solve precisely nothing.

I apologize, Mr. Bruton.

However, I fear for us.

Our survival.

My life savings are bound up in our company's stock and now, without Samuel's engine, I shall lose everything.

I am going to tell you a thing.

A secret thing.

Only two men have ever shared its knowledge and one of these now lies dead.

It pertains to Martha.

Mrs. Fanthorpe.

Gentlemen.

Men sank a cable in the sea, from here to Nova Scotia.

News arrives from America in instants.

And what do they say, these Americans?

These are coded stock transactions.

Those from the floor of the Chicago Stock Exchange.

You are Reid?

I am, sir.

This is Drake, my sergeant.

And your business here?

Urgent, I understand.

With Mr.

Swift.

-You know my name?

-I do.

Mr.

Swift is my guest in our city, Inspector.

Would you have me leave him to you?

That is his choice.

I have nothing to hide.

Name your query.

-Accusation is made against you.

-Of what?

-Conspiracy to murder.

-This is an outrage!

Nonetheless, it is true.

A man is killed.

An engineer, name of Fanthorpe, contracted to Argentine Marine.

And no doubt it is young Mr. Bruton lodges the claim.

You have men traveling with you, I understand?

I have.

I would be grateful if you would confirm your whereabouts day and night across the 21st and 22nd of this month.

Yours and your men.

You can do that?

-Gladly.

-If you'll follow us, gentlemen?

(LAUGHING) My, er, associate, Mr. Goodnight of the Pinkerton Agency.

Frank, show these lawmen our transit papers, will you?

As you can see, Mr. Reid, we put in to Liverpool late on the day you speak of.

The night, we were aboard the train south.

Well, a relief to have that squared away.

Inspector?

My, er, my apologies, Mr.

Swift.

Don't mention it.

Hey, Reid.

You're the jake brought that slumlord to ground a few months back, right?

Read about you in the news.

Way the hacker had it in his story, it was a woman brought this man to you.

Never stated such but the sense was she kept a cathouse.

And so?

It trouble you to tell me which and where?

No.

No trouble at all, if I had the knowledge.

We moved her on.

Any notion of where she might have relocated?

Um... none.

You heard tell of Miss Hart's whereabouts, Sergeant?

No, sir.

You see, Mr. Goodnight?

We'd gladly be of service to you but we currently lack the means.

Good day to you, sir.

And so?

These limeys, they lie, they don't lie.

Who's to know?

They're like altar boys.

(SCOFFS) British police?

Not the first likeness which strikes round my way.

I've wiped worse [no audio] off my shoe.

Well, you leave them be right now.

This other matter, there are developments.

A change in the game.

Have Charlie and the boys keep on the search for her while you collect a package for me.

Your American newspapers, sir.

Is there something wrong, Maddington?

Well, off you go, then.

Let us see if we can find you, my Pinkerton friends.

Afternoon, Frank.

I'd wish you the same, if I knew what they were calling you these days.

How you stand this place, I do not know.

Well, you grow accustomed.

Other charms reveal themselves.

As I recall, it was only the one charm brought you here.

Nah, she moved on.

Decided I wasn't to her liking after all.

You're awful breezy about a woman that cost you so much.

Others, too.

What passed that day, I never meant it to go like that.

I was sorry for them.

Still mourn for William.

Would it make any bones to say they drew on me first?

None.

And when the time comes, you'd best do the same to me.

We were friends once.

Wouldn't mean anything we were still.

Was she worth it?

I told you.

She moved on.

And you forget I was by your side the day you first laid eyes on her.

You expect me to believe you'd lose such a prize?

-I do.

-Well, I don't.

Why is it no man in this world will ever trust me?

Maybe they see you for what you really are.

And what is that, Frank?

A low, false, murdering, son-of-a [no audio].

Well, I didn't come by here to be insulted.

So, if you don't mind, I'll be heading on now.

What, here?

From what I recall, your master might baulk at such a rumpus so near his seat of operations.

I know he would have while I was on his ticket.

Don't think I won't find you.

You and that stuck-up boxy.

I have my way, you both will die in this stinking pit!

Excuse me, ma'am.

Goodnight, Goodnight.

"William Goodnight and his men killed in battle "by the Pinkerton traitor Matthew Judge, "following his abduction for ransom of the daughter of Theodore Swift".

Matthew Judge.

Every ruination my life has ever known, your mark upon it!

(BREATHES HEAVILY) All of you!

Back to your rooms!

We are resting today.

Anyhow, this is really all down to you getting your pretty grill in the news.

Oh, no, it is not.

This is down to you getting above your station and making eyes at me.

Well, if we're going to play by those rules, it's down to you getting born in the first place.

Besides, it weren't long before you were making them right back.

Anybody.

Any man other than you would have caused me less trouble.

Any other woman and I'd still be sat in The Roost playing cards with the Goodnight brothers.

You don't see me bitching about it.

You know, I know a thing or two about the finding of pleasure in this world but I've got to tell you, your endless ball-breaking aside, those few months...

They hit the heights for me.

You find me another man still happy to say that to his wife three years after the fact.

You're going to listen to me.

I'm going to leave you now.

I am going to run some errands, collect a belonging of mine, and then I'm going to come back to you.

And then I'm going to do what I've done countless times before.

I'm going to leave this town for another.

You wish to remain unmolested, come with me.

(SUSAN SIGHS) I'd feel more comfortable if you kept this on you.

You never know when you might need it.

No word of Jackson, sir.

Nothing.

Neville over The Bear says he's not seen him all day.

Then strange days are upon us indeed.

-What is it, Mr. Reid?

-Yesterday, before I sent Hobbs out after Mrs. Fanthorpe, I had him dispatch wires.

Mr. Fanthorpe's bankers, his past employers, the station where he was raised, here, the institute where he trained.

All and anything that might tell me the details of his life.

And now this.

Bradford Technical College, with the one fact to report that the man graduated last in a class of 15.

So this is the genius set to transform Mr. Bruton's fortunes, is it?

Hmm.

We are asked to believe so, yes.

-(KNOCK ON DOOR) -Mr. Reid, sir?

Your wife begs a moment.

-My wife?

-Unless she has a twin, sir.

-Emily.

-Edmund, I need your help.

Will you come to the shelter?

Deborah found them at the foot of Trinity Row.

Who is it did this to you?

Who do you think?

A man.

-He is a policeman.

-Still a man.

EMILY: And also my husband.

Four of them.

Clipped whiskers and long coats.

Americans.

They had pictures.

And searched for Long Susan.

WOMAN: Oi!

(WOMEN SCREAMING) MAN 1: Come on, boys.

MAN 2: Come on!

MAN 1: Your mistress!

She's not here, sir.

She's not here, sir!

MAN: Tell me!

ROSE: She's not here!

(GRUNTING) Get up!

(HOBBS PANTING) (GRUNTING) (MARTHA CRIES OUT) Easy!

You!

(PANTING) Stop!

Who is it tells me?

Police.

Now, you stand your ground.

No.

Altar boy, I come for you.

(BOTH GRUNTING) (HOBBS WHIMPERS) (GRUNTING) (GROANS) (HOBBS GASPING) (HOBBS GROANING) Artherton, why am I roused from my home?

Longshoreman pulled him out of Shadwell Basin.

Where's Jackson?

Men were sent to Tenter Street for him, sir.

-And no sign?

-None.

Cathouse was empty.

Ransacked.

Not the boy.

How, Mr. Reid?

I, uh... (SIGHS) He cannot have been dead longer than 10 hours and yet there is mortis.

Uh...

There is something in his hand.

Ah!

(INSTRUMENTS CLANKING) (GRUNTING) Oh, Hobbs.

Get men to the Fanthorpe warehouse.

And find Mrs. Fanthorpe.

The boy was sent to follow her.

Inside and out.

All along that stretch.

Miss nothing.

Yes, sir.

Help me, Bennet.

Wait, there.

His spinal cord was cut.

Fanthorpe had the same.

(DOOR OPENS) All dispatched, sir.

The boy was crippled, then put into the water to drown.

Sweet Jesus.

Mr. Reid, when you find the persons who have done this, we may kill them, may we not, sir?

Long day?

The longest.

A day in which your services would have been most valued.

I can't always be by your side, Reid.

And now will be so no longer, I imagine.

Now that Miss Hart's pursuers are upon her.

You still keep that ring locked in your desk?

Then I'll have it from you.

What little I know of you, I know this.

You would not fire on me.

You wouldn't be the first lawman I killed.

Nonetheless, you will not kill me.

No sign of Mrs. Fanthorpe, sir.

But there was this rag soaked in chloroform.

-(COCKS GUN) -And this man?

Would you risk him?

It's my ring and I will take it from you!

Right now.

You are he, then.

Matthew Judge.

Engraved on the inner.

Drake.

Oblige me, will you?

Despite all the circumstances, it does feel good to wear it again.

You should know, whoever put a knife in the engineer's back, they did the same to Dick Hobbs this day.

(UNCOCKS GUN) I'm sorry to hear that.

Another fact, he is in mortis no longer than 10 hours since his murdering.

Before you run, you have any thoughts as to how this can be so?

Drownings, on occasion, if the water's very cold and the shock of it, uh, immediate, the body can convulse and lock itself immediately in a cadaveric spasm.

The effects developing into mortis.

-That a service to you?

-Yes, it is.

Well, I'm glad of that at least.

DRAKE: Stop him!

Stop that man!

REID: Drake, wait!

Wait, let him go.

Let him run.

-That man?

-Back to work.

Now, there are others more deserving of your rage, Sergeant.

The same men pursue Miss Hart as finished Fanthorpe, murdered Hobbs and abducted Martha Fanthorpe.

And this spasm just spoke of, it resembles rigor mortis but presents itself earlier.

In which event, this man Goodnight and his master can no longer claim themselves absent from London.

But what have they to gain from taking this woman?

They wanted the engineer dead, he is dead.

They were not in possession of all the facts.

Bruton has a secret.

He's been guarding it for years.

It wasn't Samuel Fanthorpe he built his hopes upon.

It is his wife, Martha.

If we find Martha Fanthorpe, we shall have our answers.

Susan?

Susan!

SUSAN: I go to give them something of what they want from us in the hope they will let you run.

So you do that.

You run.

(ALL SHOUTING, INDISTINCT) I rack myself to think why I should not scatter your brains over this fine furniture.

Search the place.

What are you doing?

Just a few questions.

Get your hands of me!

You take a trip to Bow Creek of late, Mr. Goodnight?

What happens there, Reid?

Women are drugged and abducted.

-A young lad gets killed.

-Oh!

Where is Martha Fanthorpe?

I have no idea of who you speak, Inspector.

Mr. Reid!

You've taken leave of yourself, sir.

-And?

-Nothing.

DRAKE: She's not here.

You put that gun down and you explain yourself.

I'd ask how it is you come to associate with kidnappers and murderers, Mr. Goldman.

-Slander.

-Your proof, Inspector?

He has none.

Well, Reid?

Justify yourself, man!

-You will burn for this, Inspector.

-Perhaps.

But if I am right, Mr. Goldman, you have simply sat by to admire the dividend you make from kidnap and murder, so will you.

Thank you, Daniel.

What?

-Will you kill me?

-You think me incapable of it?

No, I didn't say that, Caitlin.

So.

What is it brings you here?

There's a kindness I'd ask of you.

Kind isn't a word you ever had much call to use in my direction.

Let Matthew be.

Call Frank Goodnight and his dogs off.

I invited the man into my home.

Paid his wage to keep watch on you.

So he steals you from me, ships you here to live as a cathouse madam.

Now, you wish me to forgive that insult, I'd know what you offer in return.

Myself.

You may take me home again.

And if you still consider me marriageable, -I shall divorce my husband... -Should I allow him to live.

...and accept your choice for me.

Whatever's your pleasure.

-Theodore, Goldman is... -Frank!

If you or any of your men harm my daughter, you will find yourself outside my protection.

Barnes!

Have them bring in last week's maritime trades.

All sales of Argentine Marine, all acquisitions of Swift Intercontinental.

No, Theodore.

It was understood!

I understand your rage.

But she is my daughter and I have undertaken to bring you to heel.

-I am not your dog.

-Yes, Frank, you are.

You let Matthew Judge run.

-(INHALES SHARPLY) -Besides... there's more than one way to skin this particular cat.

If you have the stomach for it.

(GROANS) Here.

Just yesterday.

A vast number of Argentine sold at cutdown.

And then minutes later, the same trader makes sizable acquisition in Swift Intercontinental.

Mr. Goldman, have you been able to discover on whose behalf the trade was made?

Yeah, an employee of the company itself.

A man named Fields.

(WOMAN MUMBLES) (THUDDING) -(GROANS) -Mr. Reid!

(GROANS) Peek-a-boo.

Mr. Fields.

Never make a plan in haste.

Who could blame you, once Fanthorpe was found dead, of wanting to disencumber yourself from falling Argentine stock?

Did Bruton fail to inform you till after the fact that it was with the lady where the inspiration lay?

I have worked endlessly every breathing moment of my adult life for that family.

What was I to do?

Watch my entire livelihood go up in flames with no safeguard for my future?

So you went to Swift and told him what you knew?

He promised she would not be harmed and once the sale was completed and he'd gone from the city, she could be released.

But a man from my company got in their road.

And he paid for it with his life.

Surely this interrogation can wait, Inspector?

-The shareholders meeting?

-They've not started yet, miss.

-You have a carriage?

-We do.

Then show me to it.

And don't "miss" me, Sergeant!

This extraordinary shareholders meeting will come to order.

As you know, there is but one item upon the agenda.

Unless Mr. Bruton has anything to say...

I suggest we move directly to a vote.

All those in favor of forced sale... REID: Wait there, if you please, sir.

Before votes are cast, there are facts you should learn.

Martha!

(GRUNTS) I'm going to watch you swing, scum.

What is this?

Explain yourself, sir.

No, I should allow Mrs. Fanthorpe and Mr. Bruton to do that.

Get him out of here.

Please, gentlemen, take your seats.

May the lady and I have five minutes of your time?

But for what purpose, sir?

To show to you, I hope, that all is not lost for our company.

That we assemble an innovation to our engines that will render ours the fastest fleet in all commercial maritime history.

But our engineer is dead, is he not?

BRUTON: Mr. Fanthorpe may sadly be so, yes.

But he is not, and has never been, our engineer.

-(ALL GASPING) -That privilege, ours, too, belongs to Mrs. Fanthorpe.

A woman?

I am that, sir.

Yes.

You have lost all reason!

No, Mr. Bruton.

A thousand times no!

Martha, please sit.

MAN: A female engineer?

-If you'll listen to me, gentlemen... -Never!

-MAN: No, sir!

-(ALL TALKING AT ONCE) BRUTON: It will only take a moment to listen to Mrs. Fanthorpe's proposals.

Gentlemen!

Stand back, gentlemen.

Stand back.

Inspector, I'm glad to have found you.

Wanted you to be the first to comment on your employing of Matthew Judge, a wanted murderer and the abductor of the daughter of Mr. Theodore Swift.

Mr. Best, I'm afraid the story has moved on a yard or two now.

-(GRUNTING) -Sergeant!

Nobody move or I snap his goddamn neck!

Everybody stay where they are!

(CROWD SCREAMING) Next one's in your head, Frank.

Let him go.

-I let him go, they kill me.

-I will if you don't.

And if you do, they're going to give you what you want most in this world.

Your chance at me.

One shell a man, one shot apiece.

Toss them.

You still got that piece I gave you?

Take out all the brass, bar one.

Give it to him.

Do it!

You kept in training?

Not so much.

Then I fear for you.

I do work with one advantage, however.

Want to tell me?

It's my home field.

(PEOPLE GASP) -(COCKS GUN) -Always were a faker.

You shouldn't have killed the boy, Frank.

(PEOPLE SCREAM) I never knew a man who could make cheating so heroic.

Care to take a turn with me, Miss Hart?

I will.

I know no man named Judge.

I do know a man named Homer Jackson, however.

A police surgeon of this quarter who just took down a cold-blooded, murdering Pinkerton out of New York.

That story enough for you, Best?

For now, Inspector.

He was a mad dog, that one.

His actions, no man could control them.

Your bodyguard, a lone killer acting on his own whim?

You think that's enough to spare you, do you?

I know it will be.

Think of all the great men who have made their fortunes through me, Mr. Reid.

All that I know of them.

All that I will tell from behind your bars.

You will not regret this, Mrs. Fanthorpe.

You have promised me the full expression of my talents and vision.

And that is all I have ever wanted from this life.

Then you travel in the correct direction.

America will prove much more accommodating.

Not so stuck in its ways as this place.

A woman like you, you will do very well indeed.

♪♪ (SIGHS) Chief Inspector Abberline.

This man's rooms.

Now.

There!

Another tart's been ripped.

Another snitch sends me to you.

(INHALES) Take him.

REID: Do you think that hanging my American will return your sleep to you?

Were you so desperate, Inspector, that you raked through all the suspects we ever knew?

I believe him returned.

What use our work, if we cannot care for those we love?