(SIGHS) Inspector Reid, explain to me once again how it is you consider yourself fit for purpose.

I have headaches, Mr. Abberline.

What else do you wish me to say to you?

Perhaps that you understand for why you suffer such affliction?

No?

Allow me therefore.

A man shot you in it.

Warrant card, now.

Your preparations are made, are they?

For Bournemouth?

They are not my preparations.

But, yes, they are made.

And you would have me invalided away from here before your journey south?

I would.

Do you recall, Fred, the night we were called to Miller's Court, to attend the remains of Mrs. Kelly?

You believe I will ever forget?

This was your chair.

That was your brandy.

And we drank in the hope that those remains, the hard edges of those images, stamped into our minds, that they, they might somehow be dulled.

But there is nothing can dull it.

Not brandy.

Not Bournemouth.

We spoke that night of how, having seen his acts in such detail, of how we knew them as though they belonged to us ourselves.

How, therefore, we felt if only we might lay our eyes upon him, that then we would without proof, without witnessing, without any evidence of any kind, we might look into him, and simply know him.

What, Edmund?

Do you say that you have found Jack the Ripper?

No, Fred.

But there is another circle I now see coiled about me, another snake set to swallow its tail, yet another Whitechapel evil whose scheme has yet to be determined.

And that knowing, Chief Inspector, the knowing certainty of purpose, it slides into view.

This day, the next, it comes.

And then... And then this work will be rid of me once and for all.

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING) (INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS) Came over with the cattle, Mr. Best.

Not on the passenger line, Mr. Ackerman?

Passengers get watched.

Livestock does not.

(SLURPING NOISILY) (SNIFFS) And I'm grateful to you, sir.

For what you have uncovered.

You're a credit to us, to all we newspapermen.

Well, I'm flattered, I'm sure.

But, Mr. Ackerman, you did not bunk down with the heifers all the way to London just so you might give me the glad hand.

I need your proof.

And I yours, sir.

I do not feed you information for gratis.

You were to provide in kind.

Think I'd carry it out to dinner with a man I've never met, do you?

Trust must be earned, Mr. Best.

Those we chase, you and I, this monster, Swift, he saw this done to me.

The money he hid, the funds for which you searched but could not find, sir, their journey to this city brought death with it.

Fifty-five.

Man, woman and child.

Amongst that number, one I loved.

Now you doubt my commitment one more time, I shall take what I have and go to print alone.

(INHALES DEEPLY) The thing itself, in good time.

For now, a sample.

Those soldier's tunics are red if you have my meaning.

And their deaths relate to all you would now elaborate upon.

Something else for you too, Mr. Best.

Its purpose will get clear.

But for now I entrust it to you for safekeeping.

Until we next meet, however, you heed some advice.

You go now to your place of work, you take what you need and you do not return.

You do not take a step without that, you do so in caution.

Fear is your friend, Mr. Best.

Fear keeps us alive.

I'll send for you again once a place of greater safety is found.

(BELLS CHIMING) MAN: Okay, stop.

Stop!

-PINKERTON: Have you seen him?

-MAN: Please, sir.

PINKERTON: If you see him, you come and find me.

MAN: I'll tell ya!

(GRUNTS) Jesus Christ, Caitlin.

Did you really?

-(KNOCKING ON DOOR) -DRAKE: Jackson!

-(CONTINUES KNOCKING) -Jackson!

Open this bloody door!

What?

Fresh corpse arrived.

American, I'm told.

Let's hope it catching.

His name's Ackerman, sir.

Ralph Ackerman.

Reporter, resident of New York City.

Pages torn from his notebook, but all else intact.

His hands were roped whilst he was tortured.

And then, the coup de grace betwixt his eyes.

Did he give them the answers they sought, therefore?

Grace, hotels, boarding houses?

No record of him, Mr. Reid.

But here, left luggage stub in his billfold.

Not a large case and only a few items.

He did not mean to remain with us long.

Tell him what else, Constable.

Sir.

He was seen.

Rubenstein's.

An early supper taken in the company of one who is well recognized in these parts.

Another hacker.

Fred Best.

Continue your work, Captain.

Mr. Grace, get yourself to the Royal Exchange, the Reuter office within.

Every piece of reportage our Mr. Ackerman has produced within two years, say.

Inspector Drake, it is an old habit, but let us go call on Mr. Best once more.

Ransacked, abandoned... What of Best?

Do we imagine they found what they hunted for?

The man himself.

Or something he made.

Whichever.

We must assume that whatever investigation saw the errant New Yorker, Mr. Ackerman's brains put out our Mr. Best is set on the same.

(DOOR CLOSES) (NEIGHING) SUSAN: Where is it you take me, Theodore?

Do you not think I have matters to attend?

We go somewhere a lesson might most practically be learned.

"And what lesson is that, Theodore?"

A lesson, my darling girl, to demonstrate just what the future of Whitechapel will be now you and I have reconciled.

This way, sweetheart.

Where are they?

Where are the men?

All in good time.

This Obsidian, you think to make it an engine for good, but you forget who you are.

(CHUCKLES) Think of what energy and resources you have expended toward the betterment of this world.

And yet your single most notable achievement remains this.

The deaths of 55 human beings.

(LAUGHS) Now, this is what will happen here...

Your workers are sent home and this flattened land is repossessed for an altogether grander scheme.

Remember just what choices you have.

It is my way, or the rope... Daughter-mine.

Miss Hart, I was told to find you here, but... Where are the men?

Development is shut down, Jane.

I'm sorry?

-The development is shut down.

-Why?

Why shut down?

It is too costly.

And it will change not a thing.

No, madam!

This is a dream, some nightmare of ruin!

It is too costly.

And it will change not a thing.

(BREATHES HEAVILY) This Ackerman, he’s freelance it would seem.

Gazettes, Chronicles, Heralds and Sentinels, many periodicals and but one theme...

The corruption of the powerful governments and corporations.

And one man, one business, the seeming focus of his most recent articles.

A man named Swift, a shipping concern named Swiftline.

A case was even brought about as a result of his investigating.

A congressional inquiry after Mr. Ackerman alleged that Mr.

Swift himself gave order for a troop of Pinkertons to fire on the picket line, which he, Mr.

Swift, had engaged them to break.

Now do we think Mr. Best, a hacker from The Star, do we imagine that he has joined him in his campaign against the man Swift?

-(DOOR OPENS) -Constable Grace, Wilkins up at the Ace.

He reports a man with a China ear booking in.

Fetch yourself there, son.

Pronto.

(INDISTINCT SHOUTING) Man named Ackerman known to you?

Someone shot him in the head.

It's time we were elsewhere, Best.

Ackerman.

Theodore Swift.

Everything you have.

Now.

Or the next man you see will be Reid.

Indeed, Captain.

What, you will take me to him and listen as I draw a direct line between the slaughter of the 55 and your wife?

Else why did you save me from those men of H Division?

Could it be that though you are long estranged, you still feel the keen urge to shield your wife from all which might mean her harm?

From the wrath of your Leman Street colleagues?

All right, Best.

Your point's made.

But I mean to know.

Those are British soldiers.

The Royal Niger Company, I believe.

JACKSON: And these connect how?

We had corresponded for some weeks, he and I.

He had looked but failed to find how Swift was relocating his fortune.

And so you showed him, and demanded your quid pro quo in return.

We agreed Swift must be here in London.

Mr. Ackerman traveled to join us, bringing, he assured me, the discovered proof of just what purpose that man, his shipping line, and his newly relocated fortune were now set.

Do you know what this is?

Lunch, Sawbones.

And I have a hunger on me, I tell you.

Oh.

Who are you?

Her manners are normally better.

Mr. Best, Mrs. Morton.

(LOW) Listen to me, darling.

I need a favor.

One hour is all I ask.

Only...

Sit with him, make sure he goes nowhere.

Is he as disagreeable as he looks?

No.

One hour.

(DOOR OPENING) (DOOR CLOSING) Lunch, Mr. Best?

It's gotta be somewhere.

Where is it, Mr. Ackerman?

Where do you have it hid?

This, his own bonded workers shot in protest, were his culpability proved he would face criminal indictment and with that a jail term.

His assets stripped from him in damages.

Quite so, Inspector.

And so, facing such a fate, the removal from him of his assiduously built fortune, does he perhaps choose to ship it to an altogether friendlier city?

DRAKE: It must be shipped in secret, however.

And changed up, also, into a currency which bears no sign of his owner.

-Unregistered securities.

-Bearer bonds.

Shipped via anonymous sea-cans for London.

Sea-cans which are loaded aboard goods trains.

Good trains which then might then be robbed.

At gunpoint on the tracks of Whitechapel.

Do you not see it, sir?

See her...

The good Lady Hart.

She is held to have saved you, I know this.

But the chances, the happenstance, it is too great.

That money which her man Capshaw plotted to thieve, it is her father's money, Swift money.

And we are to tell ourselves she knew not one detail of that plotting to rob that train?

Now, do we go up there, sir?

Ask her direct?

Yes, Bennet.

I imagine we do.

(DOOR BURSTS OPEN) Make haste!

Cellar to attic.

Cash and bearer bonds.

Pull the place apart.

SWIFT: Well, now, Mr. Drake.

I knew it would not be long before we were to be reacquainted.

Riggs, Henderson, Matthews, the upper floors.

See them ransacked, thorough like.

At your service, Mr. Drake.

And you, Inspector Reid, are we not to have a fond word of remembrance?

In due course, Mr.

Swift.

I feel sure of it.

He will fall.

Help him.

(DISTANTLY) Water.

Bring it.

Madam, there are those who would have me drag you to my cells by your ankles.

And yet, it seems that I am in your debt once more.

There is no debt between friends, Inspector.

Nothing, Inspector.

Not a bean.

Save the safe in the wall, sir.

Miss Hart, you will open your strongbox.

You think yourself absolved, do you?

You are not.

I see you, Long Susan.

Dark and sharp as a midsummer shadow.

Your lies, your blood-blackened heart.

I see you.

But you cannot show the world what you see, can you, sir?

-REID: Constable Grace.

-Mr. Reid.

Go now.

Fetch two carpenters, two masons also.

And when you have, see that they then remove every floorboard and cut every stone where that money might be hid.

You send for me, Amelia?

Not I.

He.

(INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS) How is he, the old man?

He will see us all into the ground.

How much has he told you, Caitlin?

Has he told you just what business it is that he establishes for himself here?

(SIGHS) Nothing that man could do would surprise me.

Then why do you allow him to kick back here?

What does he have over you, darling?

I really need to tell you?

I think you do, Caitlin.

By way of example.

Have you told him yet how you shot Reid?

I'm glad that you don't attempt to deny it, Caitlin.

How did you do it, Matthew?

How did you discover me?

Doesn't matter how I did it.

How did you do it?

It was a choice.

A decision.

As with all in this life, a right turn, a left turn.

You either choose, or you allow others to choose for you.

And now you'll simply just allow yourself to be folded back into your father's life once more.

I will not.

But that depends on you, Matthew.

On your choice.

I won't lie for you.

Not on this.

You will not protect me, as you once swore such ardent oath to do?

Then perhaps you will protect your child.

The night before I shot Reid, we two were like hot and wanton dogs in a Whitechapel gutter.

A child is a new thing.

It might make us new alongside.

(WHISPERS) Choose, Matthew.

Choose.

-Where is he?

-Gone.

He would not be stopped.

Gone?

Gone where?

He spoke only of going to print.

That clown is going the right way towards getting himself dead.

Then perhaps he would be considerate enough to show you that road also.

He is quite the fountain of knowledge, your Mr. Best.

Not a soul hereabout whose stories he doesn't have cached away somewhere.

You, for example, Matthew.

Now I never hid that.

-I gave you my name.

-But not your story.

I didn't have you pegged as judgmental, Hermione.

I am not.

But I know when I am become an option for a man, rather than his priority.

And I am nothing if not demanding in that regard.

It is after her well-being that you now chase around, is it not?

Your Caitlin?

She's pregnant.

Captain Homer Jackson, there was a future for you.

And in its stead, you chose the past.

(DOOR OPENS) (CLATTERING) (DOOR OPENING) (DOOR CLOSING) DRAKE: Mr. Reid, he...

He cannot continue as he is.

He cannot... Police with the hurt he now carries.

-(INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING) -And so Abberline insists I now take his place.

Take his place or copper no more.

How does that notion now sit with you?

And now that you and I are... Well, that we shall be together...

If I have you beside me, Rose, that chair...

It would hold no fears for me no more.

ROSE: Mmm... -I should get back.

-I know.

-I shall be here for you later, however.

-(SONG ENDS) -(AUDIENCE APPLAUDING) -I know that also.

Watch your grinning if you see Mrs. Morton.

She and the Captain, no longer, it seems.

What did he do?

Mrs. Susan, apparently.

Rose, will you tell me what Mrs. Morton said?

She said he left her to wait in his rooms with Fred Best and... With who?

-Jackson!

-(LOCK BREAKS) SWIFT: Mr. Ackerman, what did he give you?

(BREATHING HEAVILY) Oh, do you mean amorously, Mr.

Swift, or by way of disease?

(LAUGHS) You are a spry fellow are you not, Mr. Best?

Springing from one man's pillar to another's post.

See this mandrake, this [no audio] may dance no more.

(BREATHING HEAVILY) No, no.

-(BONE BREAKS) -(SCREAMS) (GASPING) (SHUDDERING) Oh, no, please!

Please!

I will...

I will speak.

I will speak.

You see, darling?

He's not such an unreasonable fellow.

The floor is yours, Mr. Best.

Let us end this dance now, shall we?

I know what Ackerman did not know.

Not till I told him.

I know that your money, that all of your money was shipped here as bearer bonds to be cached away from those that would bring you to heel.

I know that she, your daughter... That she saw a tranche robbed from you.

You shared this information with Mr. Ackerman?

And in return, Mr. Best, what did he give you?

What did he pass you in that cook shop?

(STAMMERING) I don't know, there was... No time.

He was not able.

After all that effort.

I do not believe you, Mr. Best.

I am, however, of a mind to show you.

This is a British gun.

Built for the conquest of all those who would stand in Britain's way.

Well, I'm buying them now.

And selling them to... To all those who would see such weaponry turned back on its creator.

Myself, my shipping lines, we shall prove an effective quartermaster.

But... Why would you tell me this, if you...

If I do not mean to kill you?

(CHUCKLES) Well, who can tell?

Perhaps I am vainglorious.

But, see, I shall certainly kill you if you do not speak of who else you have shared your hard-won knowledge with.

(BEST GROANS) (BREATHING RAPIDLY) I shall tell you.

Only spare me.

Tell me.

And we shall see about that.

Oh, I have told multitudes, Mr.

Swift.

I have told bin-rakers, I have told sweeps, I have told every street-Arab and mudlark from the Thames to the Old Nichol.

From the City Gates to the Old Ford... (GRUNTS) Coal-whippers, lumpers, watermen, coachmen, chars, flowergirls, trotter-scrapers.

I have whispered it in their ears, I have howled it across tap-rooms.

And what is it you have told them?

Oh, what indeed.

(CHUCKLES) I shall tell you what Fred Best in his love, in his benediction for each and every soul who must scrape and connive their way through this benighted part of the world.

This is what he told them.

That Mr. Theodore Patrick Swift longs for nothing more in his life than a proud -- in one hole whilst he suckles from another in the other.

You know, Mr. Best, I have not killed a man in nigh on 15 years!

SUSAN: No, Theodore!

-No!

-(COCKS GUN) (CHEERFUL MUSIC PLAYING) ♪ Sometimes Pa says with a frown ♪ ♪ "Soon you'll have to settle down ♪ ♪ "Have to wear your wedding gown ♪ ♪ "Be the strictest wife in town" ♪ ♪ Well, it must come by and by ♪ ♪ When wed, to keep quiet I'll try ♪ ♪ But till then I shall not sigh ♪ ♪ I shall still go in for my ♪ ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ - ♪ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ♪ -(AUDIENCE SINGING) (AUDIENCE CHEERING) -MAN 1: Bravo!

-MAN 2: Bravo!

Tres magnifique!

LAFONDE: Bravo!

Bravo!

I wouldn't be here if it wasn't urgent.

But Drake...

I need to find Drake.

-Best has disappeared.

-He is not here, Captain.

Superb!

Superb!

-Mademoiselle Erskine.

-Delighted to welcome you, sir.

Bonsoir.

-Bennet.

-Enchante, Mademoiselle.

Enchante!

MRS. MORTON: See now, Captain, he comes.

Drake.

Listen to me.

-You must hear me.

-Must I?

Then it needs be outside, renegade -for I will not mar this night here.

-Renegade?

Why is it you must forever seek to curse me?

I found what you hide and know you conspire against us.

[no audio] (PEOPLE EXCLAIMING) -You come here!

-Drake, you don't understand.

It's Swift!

-Theodore Swift.

-DRAKE: I know it is!

-JACKSON: Let me explain!

-ROSE: Bennet!

-Bennet!

Bennet!

-(INDISTINCT) Drake, I know what you're doing... (GRUNTS) You, Captain, are arrested.

Under what charge is this man arrested, Inspector Drake?

(PANTING) Obstruction of justice!

The case?

Attempted murder.

(COUGHING) Whose?

Yours, Mr. Reid.

Ask him, sir.

Ask him who he protects!

I am not sure I need to.

For now there are other priorities currently upon us.

With me, gentlemen.

(SIGHS) Jesus!

(WHISPERS) Jesus, Best.

Where?

The same tip on which Mr. Ackerman was found.

-It is Swift.

-You know this how?

You see the geometry of the ballistics here.

There's not many weapons, but one.

The Maxim machine gun.

The new weapon of choice for our imperial forces.

No longer just that.

Drake, the belongings you took from my rooms, may I have them?

Please?

You both will want to see this.

You know what this is, don't you, Reid?

Yes.

It is a Stanhope.

A magnifying device.

Very powerful.

It enables the viewing of microphotographs.

There is a cargo manifest, also.

It records Swift's shipments from which he supplies anti-imperialist forces worldwide.

Anti-British to the Niger, anti-French to North Africa, anti-U.S. to the Philippines.

These weapons are stockpiled here in East London and sold to whoever bids highest, or to who might point such weapons at whoever it is he disdains.

My father-in-law trades in death now.

And he chooses Whitechapel as his command center.

Well, can we take him?

Can we tie him to these?

By motive, but there's nothing physical I can see.

Then we require an informant, someone who might speak against him.

What he accuses you of, it is true?

It is.

Go on.

It is Susan's thumbprint, on the gun that shot you.

You removed it?

You matched it?

(SCOFFS) I think I must go speak to her, see if such a proving may bring her to our cause.

REID: I let myself in.

Your girl...

I have sent her away.

And your father?

He now takes up the suite at The Athenaeum.

I cannot let you leave, madam.

Your surgeon has told you, then.

Not by his own choosing.

He was discovered.

And Inspector Drake has a way of extracting the truth.

Please, Inspector.

Do not perform a dance for him.

No dance.

Your Mr. Judge, so long as I have known him his actions have had many a root, but a black heart is not one.

A black heart?

If only it were so simple.

You might hunt out villainy with ease, fill your cells and allow the good people of this earth to walk forever unmolested.

There are times, however, when it is perhaps as simple as all that.

One looks at another man and knows that he is for naught but iniquity in this world.

In many ways it is a gift to be shown such, a gift we should not run from, but welcome.

My life, Mrs. Susan, a policeman's life, we look for pattern, to show us our path, pattern, form... A design.

And so, here, I offer you one such.

You and your Mr. Capshaw set men to thieve from your father.

The cataclysm that ensued sees Mr. Buckley and his wife bankrupted.

And in that bankrupting, Obsidian Estates absorbs their shop and so reveals the discovery of all that lay within.

My daughter.

Pattern.

But design, Inspector?

-Whose?

-Who can say?

But was it mere accident that saw neither of your shots hit their mark?

It was my husband taught me to shoot.

And I do not think him inaccurate in his teaching.

Unless, of course, he thought that one day you might have cause to shoot at him?

(LAUGHS) (SNIFFLES) I wonder, do you... Do you consider us tragedians caught in some farce?

Because you, despite the concessions you have made to survive in this world of ours, I know, your intentions have been for the benefit of all.

And yet one act damns me.

I take from a man, my cruel father, whose money is made on nothing more than the blood and toil of others, and then I am drowned in a tide of slaughter.

I think of nothing but the protection of my world from a man who ripped the sex and entrails from five young women.

And in my fevered pursuit, my eye is turned and my daughter... Lost.

Gone.

Until, your incidental calamity, by turns, brings her back to me.

It is as you say, Mr. Reid, we are caught in the teeth of some grotesque.

Damned if we do and damned if we do not.

We might act now, however.

Wrest some measure of control back to ourselves.

See good done.

Why do you send for me?

REID: She does not, Mr.

Swift.

I do.

Police, Catie?

Have you lost yourself?

No, Theodore.

Quite the reverse.

Kill this copper for me, will you?

-(MEN GROANING) -(HORSE WHINNYING) (GROANS) Good day to you, Theodore.

You... You are finished.

Yes.

Mr.

Swift, I expect I am.

You see, there is something I have had too many occasions to learn where a man such as yourself is concerned.

The law cannot constrain you.

Too -- right, policeman.

So, you drop this now, or prepare for the wrath of God to fall on your shoulders.

No.

Because, you see, this is the lesson.

Evil men need evil ends.

What is this, Caitlin?

We, the Inspector and I, we wish to show you somewhere.

A place that's come to mean much to us both.

SWIFT: What is this place, Caitlin?

SUSAN: It is the belly of Whitechapel.

At your instruction, Father, work here is shut down.

There will not be a soul through for weeks.

You make yourself at home, sir.

-JACKSON: You coming, Caitlin?

-One moment.

For the heartburn, Father.

No.

No!

[no audio] No.

This does not end this way.

Theodore Swift does not end this way.

Then how, sir?

It is only the suicide chooses their conclusion.

Caitlin, think of what you do.

I am blood.

It is your family you kill here.

No.

It is my family I keep safe.

What make of woman are you?

I'm your father, damn you!

I made you!

I made you!

Inspector.

The fence from the Wentworth Street hold-up.

A runner comes, sir.

Constable Grace brings him to ground.

Yours, I believe, Inspector Drake.

(CELL DOOR OPENING) (CELL DOOR CLOSING) (DOOR LATCHES) (INHALES SHARPLY) For better or worse.

Right?

BEST: London will remember him for this, that he was the detective who, alongside Detective Inspector Frederick Abberline, led the pursuit of the man we at The Star named "Jack the Ripper."

But whilst his streets might, in the years since, have found some measure of recovery, it is this obituarist's fear that Edmund Reid did not.

I shall race you, my Daddy.

BEST: If there is justice where he now walks, it might be that the care which he wore so heavily will be lifted from him.

(LAUGHS) Those who knew him, those who did not, those who may have only seen him stride past in pursuit of whatever villainy beset him that day, we might offer a prayer for him.

And this might be our prayer for peace.

For his peace.

We, the children of the East, of the docksides, highways, rookeries and laneways, we pray for the peace of Edmund Reid.

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING)