And you are?

I'm Railways.

-Who are you?

-Me?

I'm Guns.

My apologies if I am late.

Now the way it has been laid out for me, in these here indications, it is you who now will tell us the when's and how's.

-You have met him?

-I have not.

But all these instructions...

He is a sly one, is he not?

Hiding his self away from us all.

Well, come on then, tell us how it is we're to get rich.

The points systems, I have computed it all, and here, see, this is how the Bishopsgate goods line may be intruded upon.

The one we pinch will be bigger.

See?

Railways!

(THEME MUSIC PLAYING) -(TRAIN RUMBLING) -(INDISTINCT LAUGHTER) (RATTLING) (TRAIN RUMBLING) Good morning, Chief Inspector.

What is it brings you by?

Well, if you might be distracted from your beloved archive, there is news I would share with you, Edmund.

You.

How I am now alone with my vices.

I'm taking my pension, Edmund.

Bournemouth, or so Mrs. Abberline's thinking runs.

It is my recommendation that I should be replaced by you.

Who then to see my work here completed?

The archive, Chief Inspector.

(CLEARS THROAT) Do you not see what it is I have built here?

Be they pimp or pornographer, confidence man or blackmailer, thief, fence, cracksman, or pickpocket...

Soon, there will not be a villain in Whitechapel or the East, whose particulars, habits, or associates are not known to me.

To me, Fred.

And you would have me dozing in a deck chair in St James's Park.

I would, my friend.

Dozing in the sunshine, blessed by a breeze.

Instead, this...

The villains of this quarter turned from blood and bone into scratchings on paper.

In what hope, Inspector?

That such ciphers might one day carry you to the door of the devil himself?

Fred Abberline lectures me on obsession.

This is a rum night.

No.

I am yet your superior, and you will mind me.

Drake has gone, your Yankee dismissed.

Yet here you are, still alone, but for your books.

I would see you gone from this place, Edmund, before it swallows you whole.

(TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWING) (WHISTLING) (GRUNTS) MAN: Now there's only you to work this system.

I do hope you are as good as your word, Railways.

Railways?

He stirs, he gets a clout.

Understand?

We go to set our trap.

Use that know-how of yours and send our engine to us.

(MAN SNORING) (RATTLING) (GROANS) Good morning to you, darlin'.

Oh, God, he's American.

I never did make any pretense of the fact.

(DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE) (GLASS SHATTERS IN DISTANCE) -I am Hermione... -Morton.

It's Mimi for short, I remember.

Your father bought Blewett's two months back and ever since then, you attend evening performances on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

Usually, you are unaccompanied.

But, occasionally, you bring an escort.

-Dear me.

Ivan.

-His name, you remember, I see.

Well, who are you?

(SCOFFS) If you will not say, I shall see for myself.

A doctor?

That man, the Ripper...

There was a notion, was there not, that he was perhaps -an American doctor?

-It persists.

Should I be very frightened?

Captain Homer Jackson.

You were an army man once?

Once a law man, also, but now only sawbones.

-So you be careful.

That's sharp.

-Is it indeed?

Do you wield it with skill?

If harm came my way on these dark streets, will you bring me here and clean my wounds, and make me whole again?

If you asked nicely.

I ask now.

Ask nicer.

The way you were taught.

(EXHALES DEEPLY) With courtesy.

(GASPING) -(KNOCKING ON DOOR) -Ah.

The documents you asked for, Miss Hart.

My solicitor, Mr. Capshaw.

Councilor Cobden.

It is a pleasure.

Our clinic.

We make something new here, and should not anticipate such an undertaking to be met with universal approval.

There will be complaint, some of it certain to be legal.

(SIGHS) Your organization...

When I think on what Obsidian Estates once was, a bastion of iniquity.

And what it now is... Something that was once so opaque, self-serving, primitive, it is now a beacon of civic participation and progress.

And it is all down to you, Miss Hart.

Councilor.

You are too kind, too kind by a stretch.

It is but the soundest of business philosophies that we here embrace.

Indeed.

And would you share it?

There is no great sophistication.

It is simply this.

What is best for the people of the East is also best for Obsidian.

-Miss Hart.

-Hmm?

Our first intake is selected.

The Obsidian Clinic's first students and nurses.

I have met them all this week.

And each calls this quarter their home?

Of course, as you insisted.

Will you be here to greet them yourself?

It is thanks to your generosity, after all, that I employ them.

I will, Dr Frayn.

And all those that follow.

8:14.

The docks company engine crosses the cutting at St Johns.

Only, this morning, it does not.

(TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWING) CONDUCTOR: What in all hell's that?

We're diverted!

(BRAKES SCREECHING) (GUN FIRING) (GRUNTING) SIGNALMAN: That is some precise signaling.

Thieving the Bishopsgate run, are you?

And you've allowed for the Necropolis, yes?

You mean The London Necropolis and National Mausoleum Company?

That runs on the London and Blackwall.

South of here.

But there is engineering on the Limehouse curve since Monday.

They travel the same tracks, Gregory Enright.

(TRAIN WHISTLE BLOWS) Good Christ.

Tell me which ones?

What number?

There's no time, there's no time!

Which!

Number 25.

They're gonna hit us!

(INDISTINCT) Ha ha!

Never doubted you, Railways!

Never doubted you!

Next stop, Farringdon, ladies and gentlemen.

Farringdon and all stations to your Whitechapel terminus.

Arthur!

Pick them up!

Come on, I've got three bags!

All right, please.

Come on.

-Here, ma'am, I'll take one of those.

-Oh, thank you, mister.

Yeah, you get on the train.

Come on, soldier, I'll take that.

Here we go.

Blimey!

What you got in there?

(GRUNTS) -There we go... -Oh, thank you, mister.

Mister?

Drake.

(BLOWING WHISTLE) ARTHUR: Mr. Drake?

Where is it you travel today?

Arthur!

I do apologize, Mr. Drake.

No, please, ma'am.

No apologies.

I travel through to Whitechapel, Arthur.

Oh, as we ourselves do.

Oh.

-Do you know it well, sir?

-Arthur!

Well, soldier, I've not walked its streets for gone four years now.

But once...

Yes.

I knew it well.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER) Whitechapel!

See, that's Leman Street.

Then we're on the passenger line.

(WHISTLE BLOWING) (GROANING) -(WHISTLE BLOWING) -(BRAKES SCREECHING) (CRASHING) Oh, no, no, no.

(PEOPLE SCREAMING IN PAIN) The people... Help them!

Apply for more men.

(WOMAN SHRIEKING) (INDISTINCT SCREAMS) (BABY CRYING) Mother?

Mother?

You question how it is I know your name.

I do not.

No, please.

Please, you're not this man.

You're not.

Gregory, no!

No, please, don't.

No, I beg you!

No!

-(GUNSHOT) -(GUN COCKS) No!

(BELL CHIMING) (CAMERA CLICKING) Jackson.

JACKSON: Sergeant.

Reid, I imagine a man of my calling might find some purpose here.

See he gets what he needs.

Three groupings, Sergeant, you follow me?

First, those who most likely will live, regardless of what we may do for them.

Second, those whom our care may save.

And, er, third... Those past saving.

DRAKE: Mr. Reid!

(INDISTINCT TALKING) Here!

Here, here!

(GIRL BREATHING SHAKILY) (WHIMPERING) Have you.

Mr. Reid... To me, Mr. Reid.

There you are, I got you.

You're all right.

It'll be okay.

Drake?

Lay her here.

-She's going to be all right?

-Long time no see, Drake.

What is this, a hallucination?

Are we all, in fact, dead, and you're here to greet us?

(GIRL WHIMPERING) Okay.

Hey, squeeze my hand, darling.

You hear me?

You hear me.

Okay, you're going to be okay.

You!

(WHIMPERING) -What?

-Give me work.

Tell me what to do.

-You have coin on you?

-Of course.

You get to the dispensary, to the London, if need be, and you bring me morphine.

Those needs are met, Captain.

Courtesy of Obsidian Estates.

Er, Miss Susan Hart, this is...

I know who she is.

Oh, hello, Miss Erskine.

-Er, Mr. Best.

-Well, this is compassion.

It really is.

The star, you now are, come here to dispense comfort and a few fond words to these poor wretches.

They will be all the more grateful you are now returned in such glory to Whitechapel.

Oh, no.

Will you excuse me, Mr. Best?

George, here, take him off me, will you.

(GROANING) (ARTHUR SOBBING) You are come home.

And I am come home.

And this.

I came to see you, Rose.

At the Alexandra, last year.

You were a... A marvel.

But you did not say, "Hello."

Well, I thought it best not.

You were... You were with a gent, after.

But you looked happy.

And that made me happy.

Bennet, it's a long way, Manchester Piccadilly to Whitechapel.

What is it brings you here?

It's best I do not say.

-It cannot be.

-(WHIMPERING) Tom... You know him?

Tom?

Tom?

(GROGGILY) Freddie.

Hey, I'm here Tom, I'm here.

-Inspector.

-Madam.

Such ruin.

It is... Senseless.

These streets... Each day, I hope I might have seen the last of their cruelty, and now this.

But pure, awful chance.

Nothing in this world to be done for it.

It is hard medicine.

But there will be cause for it, somewhere.

A root of one sort or other, creeping away.

-(GUN FIRING) -Silence!

Now!

(RHYTHMIC POUNDING) You hear that?

-Everybody, after three, get going.

-(ALL GRUNTING) REID: Over, just get it over.

(INDISTINCT TALKING) -MAN 1: What is that uniform?

-MAN 2: The Necropolis line.

Lay him down here.

Easy, easy, easy.

DRAKE: What has happened here, Mr. Reid?

We are under-resourced, Mr. Drake.

And no longer enjoy the benefit of a house surgeon.

Drake, there's laudanum in my bag.

Wait, wait.

We cannot drug him.

Drake, you tell him that this man is in pain.

Mr. Drake, his engine, the Necropolis, its line, the line for Manor Park, it is a mile east of here.

He was off course, and perhaps the root of this carnage.

He must talk to us.

-Sir... -(GROANING) Sir.

You were off course, were you not?

MAN: Docks train on our line... (STAMMERING) Masked men... -Constable Grace.

-Listen, son.

Bishopsgate Yard and Goodmans.

See what report is made, discover what thieved.

Do it.

-He's giving orders, huh?

-He's Inspector now.

Inspector Drake, huh?

No --.

Arthur.

What, er... Has no one come for you, boy?

No father or grandparents?

You see that man?

Now, he may dress odd, and talk odder still.

But you can trust him.

He can trust you.

Stay with him, all right?

Only a whiles.

-Now wait a minute!

-One hour, Jackson.

Drake!

I have never been inside a police station before.

Yeah, well, their charm soon fades.

You got any idea what to do with one of those?

Not even the first.

REID: Four years you are gone, Bennet.

Four years, since I put Captain Jackson out on the street, also.

And now here, on this day, on that train, you are returned.

I heard of your rise through the ranks of the Manchester City Police.

Enrolled as a uniform, a constable, no less.

Did you hide your true rank from them?

I did.

And so you are made anew.

What put you on that train, Bennet?

Do they not have need of you up there?

I'm on leave, sir.

Holidaying in Whitechapel?

Mr. Reid, I meant to say...

I wanted to say, Inspector, word reached me.

Of Mrs. Reid's passing.

-I wrote, sir.

-Yes, I know.

I know.

I was glad for it, Bennet.

The signal box.

Whatever measure of control sat behind this chaos, that is where it did so.

Goods train, the Necropolis Driver said, bound for Bishopsgate and Goodmans.

The villains who done this robbed the London and India Dock Company, therefore.

The one man up here, more sent far down the tracks to board it.

But for it then to be thrown into the path of the Necropolis, whoever stood here must only have been, what?

Fetching it here?

Fetching it to do their robbing unwatched, in an abandoned shed hereabout.

And this, the man's wrists were bound first.

But any further details of his execution need reading with an expert eye.

Mr. Reid, whatever it is that may have passed between you and the American...

These last years, my work has been greatly varied.

-But I have met no man with gifts... -Gifts?

For drowning in gin, sleeping in gutters?

Inspector, so much death.

Whatever his current habits, needs must the best men go searching for the root of it.

Then you must ask him, Bennet, because he will not hear it from me.

I go to hunt that goods train.

Are you here?

We did as you instructed!

Every part as you instructed.

Do you know at what price this was come by?

Do you?

Answer me!

We have deaths on our hands.

Kiddies among them.

Kiddies!

And I do not merit such guilt.

I do not!

I want you to take it.

Those deaths, the wrong, all yours!

Tomorrow, you will have our share as promised, otherwise... May God damn you.

(SIGHS) I wonder, if I were to simply throw it all in the fire, would the last day vanish up the chimney stack, also?

Leave you and I, here, to sit and agree to turn our backs on such villainy?

I did not have you marked as whimsical, madam.

Fifty-five, we are now told.

Fifty-five lives given up for $350,000 in unregistered and anonymous bearer bonds.

Because you saw an opportunity.

Does this buy back a life?

Does this?

You are beside yourself.

You must calm.

Oh, must I?

You are my employee, Mr. Capshaw.

Best you remember that.

And if I wish to burn the evidence of our certain damnation, then I shall.

Well, then burn it.

But I currently lack for better ideas of how we might fill the gaping chasm in this institution's finances.

People have died, God damn you.

This is Whitechapel.

They die every day.

A fact that you, with this, would seek to correct.

And so this is in your hands, becomes life.

Life, Miss Susan.

Or will you instead now wander the way to Leman Street, offer your fragile wrists up to your friend, Mr. Reid, and watch all you have made, all you would make fall to ruin?

There is a man in a signal box out there, with his brains removed from him.

Hey, kid.

I pay for that.

I expect to see that eaten.

At first glance, I'd say a shotgun.

-Eat it, God damn it!

-Will you not come?

No, Drake, will not.

Reid bounced me, so...

He is something.

Take a dead man, he'll tell you what he ate for breakfast three days ago.

And whether it was that which poisoned him or the strychnine in his tea.

Indeed, Captain Jackson?

Drake, you listen to me, I do not police no more.

Jackson look around you, this.

What must be discovered here in Whitechapel, what all here now need, it is not policing, it is only answers.

When did you get devious?

(INHALES SHARPLY) Well?

I'm rusty, Reid.

You seek the fault of that, look to yourself.

There is buckshot.

A shotgun is assumed.

Our genius has returned to us, huh?

-It's the first shot, one, one assumes.

-Assumed how?

It missed, Reid.

Missed entirely.

The parabola is six feet here, as it passes through the wall.

The shot came from near enough here.

The target is... Well, there.

That's some piss-poor marksmanship.

(GROANS) What have we got here?

Hmm.

Drake, there's a hand lens over there... Oh, you've gotten eager.

Heavy damage to both the epidermis and dermis.

The form of the trauma is in the shape of an oval.

-The butt of the shotgun.

-Oh, the mind of this man.

But there's patterning here also, the blow is like a stamp on the man's face.

The steel plate at the butt of the gun would have had an engraving, some lettering.

There's an A and a W, I can see, and an R... for Repeating.

The Winchester Repeating Arms Company.

You got the shells?

Ah, that's a fine weapon.

It's a pump action.

An exotic beast in these parts, you might say.

Yeah, I might, if I were talking to you.

It is a straightforward firearm, however.

Simple and direct.

-Indeed.

-And he misses with it.

-By a good five yards.

-It's a heavy gun, however.

-It's hard to manage.

-A child?

A child, who has the skill to operate these?

Someone impaired, therefore.

Therefore, he cannot lift the barrel up for the first shot, so he spoons it to the left.

Then uses the top rail of the chair to help stabilize his aim.

And as you say, Bennet, he is educated in the workings of this system.

And in the details of both the timetabling and the tracking hereabouts.

If not the engineering work there on.

-No.

-Nonetheless, he would not have been able to acquire this expertise merely by being an enthusiast.

He has worked this system at some point.

-That begs another question.

-Why shoot him at all?

The other men, his accomplices, they wore masks, did they not?

And it being some struggle to get that gun up, he must have felt some reason to kill this man.

Oh, he recognized him, despite the masks they wore.

And thus his silencing.

So this crippling was what?

A well-known, much discussed misfortune in the work yard, perhaps?

An uncompensated accident, even.

Gives him the motive, knowledge, and skill.

He was a railway man once.

What is this place?

His new plaything.

F.T.

Baker.

Gunmakers of Fleet Street and Cockspur Street.

And robbed of five pump action shotguns, three weeks past.

An undertaking, with which you, yourself were approached, were you not?

-They was after Winchesters?

-What of it?

-I shan't be asking you again.

-Yeah, all right.

They was Winchesters.

But I didn't take the job, it smelt rotten.

Tell Mr. Drake for why, Mr. Cree.

Didn't like the look of him.

-Of who?

-REID: Allow me, Inspector Drake.

"I did not know his name, Inspector.

I swears it.

He would not say.

"But round these streets, you do get to know most felons, "particularly those with the wherewithal for such actions and I had not seen him this way before."

Witness was asked to describe the gentleman in question.

-And so?

-He looked wrong.

Skinny.

Like a village parson got off at the wrong station, polished his shoes too bright.

All shiny, they was.

Which a man notices when there's this much -- on the street.

The London and Tilbury sent a runner, sir.

Their employment records.

Put Mr. Cree back in his cell.

We will have use of him yet, I hope.

Crushed leg, broken foot.

I have you.

Here.

Enright, Gregory.

Shunter, '92, left shoulder crushed while coupling an engine to goods stock at Commercial Road station.

Never compensated.

-Is there an address?

-There is.

(FOOTSTEPS) It was perfect.

No, sir.

It was flawed.

Everything.

I thought I had planned for all.

But there were details I did not foresee.

And you would add more death to a tally that now reaches 55, would you?

Fifty-five.

What matters one more?

What work it must have been for you, sir?

The railways.

But to what reward?

You put your life into your work and your work decides to keep that life and not return it to you.

Catch.

(SOBBING) You will hang me now, will you not?

That decision will follow from what you now tell me, Mr. Enright.

I am only railways.

I have only ever been railways.

So you were recruited.

By who?

-I never met him!

-I do not believe you, Mr. Enright!

Please, sir, I swear it.

He found me.

I do not know how.

But it was a letter through my door.

Did I wish to earn money?

And you find me a person hereabout, cripple or not, who says no to that question.

So you must have then met, or seen him?

No.

We...

Myself, the other men, we were chosen for one skill or another.

And you trusted in this anonymous bidding, did you?

Sir, I will put my faith in anything that promises me 500 pound.

And where is your 500 pounds now, Mr. Enright?

-We were to get it.

-When, sir?

Later this morning, we are to meet him.

Do you know, Mr. Enright.

I think I might permit you to go fetch your gains?

Still nothing, no report is made?

My apologies, Mr. Reid.

Whatever was took from that sea can, its owner is still yet to make complaint.

How then to know its contents?

-Do you have its providence?

-Yes, Mr. Drake.

The stevedores report it loaded from a domestic cargo transport from Hoboken, New Jersey.

Such a scheme.

Whatever it was, we must assume it valuable.

I hope, therefore, that Enright and his cohorts provide us with an answer.

Or at least their employer.

Mr. Reid, the men await your instructions as to how that warehouse is to be invigilated.

No, no, Captain.

Captain Jackson, this is a police assignment, and as such, I'm sure you understand its details must be considered sensitive, so... My thanks for your service.

But I think you might get to your bed or whatever other activity you choose to pursue at this hour.

Constable Grace, you're a smart one.

He always did like them smart, quick to learn.

Well, here's a lesson for you, son.

The faster you can quit this man and his work, the better it's going to go for you.

If you don't take my word for it, you just ask the good Inspector Drake here.

He comes.

-It has not arrived?

-No.

My canary has sung.

Do you assure me, Ronald, that these men who now await their earnings, -they have not seen you, you are sure?

-Certain.

Then those earnings shall remain in arrears.

And the police shall have them.

They will hang alone, and not with you and I beside them.

We cannot think they will wait further, Inspector.

There is another, their paymaster, the architect of this all.

And there is no other means by which this man may be found?

There is a man in my cells, he is called Cree.

I believe he has met him.

But his description is vague, cannot be pursued alone.

And so we must wait.

MAN: Where are you?

I shall sit here no further.

You want my advice, you'll do likewise.

DRAKE: They leave, Mr. Reid.

Those men held up an engine on the Bishopsgate line?

They did.

But we take foot soldiers now, a general walks free.

We do not.

Whitechapel must live without knowing its tormentors, again, Edmund.

Again.

This is an order, Inspector.

You take them.

(BLOWS WHISTLE) (INDISTINCT NOISES) Sir.

Well, now, this moment might be considered haphazard, Mr. Drake.

Come now, Inspector.

You are no longer to look at your shoes in this man's ambit.

Particularly not now.

Not now.

You have rejoined H Division, at equal rank.

What?

Without one word of consultation?

Consultation?

With you?

That would be a fine circumstance.

I've been in earnest about this, my friend.

You are for promotion.

Promotion away from here.

By the time Mrs. Abberline drags me south, you will be gone from these streets.

Take them away.

"Thou carriest them away as with a flood.

"They are like grass which groweth up.

"In the morning, it flourisheth, "and in the evening it is cut down.

"For all our days are passed away in thy wrath.

And we spend our years as a tale that is told."

Amen.

ALL: Amen.

Now we are brazen.

-Inspector.

-Madam.

-A black day.

-Indeed.

Oh.

This is my solicitor, Mr. Capshaw.

Sir.

Your name again, sir?

Capshaw.

Cree!

Herbert Cree!

(MUSIC PLAYING)