Help!
Ugh!
Somebody help me!
Ohh! Somebody help me!
"Hell's version of Robin Hood."
That's how the grounds keeper put it.
He discovered the body this morning.
- Any witnesses? - None.
And we've combed this place stem to sternum.
- Stern. - Stern?
The expression is "stem to stern," not sternum.
Well, we'll have to agree to disagree on that one, sir.
At any rate, the killer seems to have done an excellent job
of covering his tracks.
It's like he's vanished into thin air.
Nonsense, George.
The laws of physics dictate
that anytime two objects make contact,
trace materials are exchanged.
Therefore, a killer always leaves a calling card.
No doubt, sir.
But I was about to say that it's our victim
who's left us the most interesting clue.
Ah.
Very good, George.
- Good morning, Detective. - Morning, Doctor.
Our victim's goodbye letter.
Hmm. "W.Y."
What does it mean?
Your guess is as good as mine.
Unfortunately, Dr. Grout died
before he had a chance to finish.
Doctor?
- Did you know him? - By reputation.
Francis Grout.
He's one of the founders of the Greyson Institute.
Oh, yes. What is it exactly?
It's a research center for the brain.
It's very well-respected,
with a reputation for pushing the boundaries
of conventional thought.
I should think you'd be right at home here.
Standard crossbow arrows.
Robbery likely wasn't the motive.
What does it all mean, sir?
I don't know.
It seems as though the killer hunted his victim
like an animal.
I mean, why so elaborate? With arrows and all?
Arrows are silent. Less likely to draw attention.
Or maybe the killer was making a statement.
The use of arrows would suggest
the killer had a flair for the dramatic.
It's rather well-executed, then.
If you pardon the pun.
So, sir, what's our next move?
Every patient, every doctor, every orderly.
I want every name associated with Dr. Grout
or this Greyson Institute
searched for the initials "W.Y."
Oh, and, Higgins, look into the hunting and archery clubs.
See if anyone's familiar with those arrows.
- Very good, sir. - And remember, "W.Y."
Sir, if I may.
What if "W.Y." are not initials but part of a larger word?
Like "Wyoming" or --
Gentlemen, why not consider the possibility
that it could be either?
- Sir. - Murdoch.
Someone in your office to see you.
She says she wants to help you with the case.
- A witness? - Well, sort of.
Sort of?
- Sarah Pensall. - The medium.
Maybe she has another message for you from beyond.
Hello, Miss Pensall.
I understand you might have some information for --
I know who killed the doctor.
- You do? - He keeps coming to me.
- Who does? - Again and again.
The hooded figure. Like the Grim Reaper.
The Grim Reaper.
I know it sounds absurd.
But I knew he was going to kill a doctor, and now he has.
And I've seen other deaths, too.
These other deaths, tell me about them.
They -- They happen at night.
Always with an arrow.
I can't seem to make out the other victims.
Except for the final one.
And who is that?
It's you.
The visions come to me in fragments,
in bits and pieces.
The reaper is angry.
And his -- his face is obscured by a -- by a dark hood.
And you're sure he'll strike again?
Yes, but there's someone else.
Who?
There's a spirit of a woman.
I know there's a connection between her and the reaper,
but I don't know what.
I see.
Dr. Grout wrote the letters "W.Y." before he died.
Does that mean anything to you?
No. Yes, I'm not sure.
It seems familiar, but in what context?
So, you don't know what the letters mean,
the figure you see is obscured by a cloak,
you can't say who it is or where it will strike next,
and you think the woman trying to reach you is connected,
but you're not sure.
I may not know everything, but I know this.
You are in danger.
Please believe me.
Thank you, Miss Pensall.
I will take this information most seriously.
Constable, could you please see Miss Pensall home?
Mm-hmm.
So?
She's been having visions.
Something about more murders to come and a cloaked Grim Reaper.
The reaper?
What are we going to be looking for next?
Frankenstein? Mr. Hyde?
I'm taking her words with caution.
She does have a tendency to embellish.
However, on occasion, she has proven very accurate.
It would be foolish of us to simply dismiss her.
What did she have to say?
As usual, the details were somewhat hazy.
Surely, she must have given you more than just a man in a hood.
Nothing.
What about the future murders? Did she say who?
I'm afraid not.
Now, if you'll excuse me...
Well, if one of our constables
does happen to bump into the Grim Reaper,
make sure they bring him back here for a chat.
Bloody hell, it was never like this in Yorkshire.
I've completed my examination, Detective.
It would seem that Dr. Grout's cause of death was...
...the three arrows jutting out of his back.
That was a joke, William.
Sorry.
Something on your mind?
You'll think it absurd.
Well, that's never stopped you before.
Do you believe in destiny?
A weighty topic for an afternoon's postmortem.
Yes, well, normally,
I take comfort in knowing God has a plan.
However, when that plan involves my demise --
Your demise? What on earth are you talking about, William?
Miss Pensall came by today.
- The medium? - Yes.
Said she had a vision. About me.
That I was fated to die.
Well, you mustn't confuse the words of a medium
with the words of God.
Yes, so, what do we have?
Something quite interesting.
The first two arrows missed the vital organs completely,
but the third directly pierced the aorta.
So death would have been instantaneous?
Precisely.
But for that kind of accuracy,
the killer must have been virtually standing over him.
So, the perpetrator must have seen Dr. Grout
writing the letters,
yet he chose not to erase them.
Or perhaps he felt that the letters were gibberish.
Or he wanted us to find them.
Francis was more than merely a partner.
He was like a brother to me.
Do you know of anyone
who might have wanted to harm him, Dr. Greyson?
No, no, none at all.
Staff loved him. His subjects loved him.
I can't think of anyone here
who's had harsh words with Dr. Grout.
And what about outside of the institute?
Did he have family?
The institute was his family.
I see.
Do you recall what he was doing the last time you saw him?
Yes, he was in the common room with his subjects.
Subjects? You mean patients.
This is not an asylum, Detective.
Everyone here possesses a brain which is --
what shall we say -- special.
Special?
Some are genius, some damaged, and some just a mystery.
We hope that this research will one day be able to control
dementia, brain fever, female hysteria, things of this nature.
Fascinating.
And just how many subjects were under Dr. Grout's care?
All of them, technically.
But there were three which were of personal interest to him.
I'd very much like to meet them.
Yes, of course.
Francis was primarily interested in subjects
who were, in one way or another, trapped inside their own minds.
That's Miss Pringle playing the violin.
Miss Pringle possesses an extraordinary brain
for a woman.
For a woman?
Men have a brain capacity of up to 19% larger.
Women's brains are not designed for complex thought,
their reproductive organs sapping energy
from any further development.
And this has been proven?
There are naysayers, of course.
You know, they said the same of Darwin.
Now, the fascinating thing about Miss Pringle's case
is that two years ago she suffered a carriage accident
and when she awoke from her coma,
she did so with a heightened sense of empathy,
as if able to sense the emotions of others.
Now, Mr. Horton.
Now, Mr. Horton here is quite the opposite.
He is unable to sense emotion,
but he does possess an extraordinary recall.
Mr. Horton can recite a thousand digits of pi.
And when he does so,
he sees each digit as a different color.
Synesthesia.
Oh, you're familiar?
I've read about it in the medical journals.
Dr. Galton's work is particularly intriguing.
Well, then, you should find Mr. Horton quite fascinating.
Mr. Horton, what day was July 7, 1888?
Saturday. Sunny, high of 71 degrees.
Impressive.
Please.
Mr. Horton, I'm Detective Murdoch.
What can you tell me about your last meeting with Dr. Grout?
We met to play chess.
He wore a navy-blue jacket with a red tie.
Cigar stains on his fingers.
- And did you play chess? - He had no time.
16 steps, click. 16 steps, click.
He means Dr. Grout walked 16 steps as he left.
The click was the latch as the door closed behind him.
With time, one becomes accustomed
to Mr. Horton's means of communication.
Detective Murdoch,
Miss Katherine Barrington, our head nurse.
It's a pleasure.
Did you speak with Dr. Grout yesterday?
Yes.
He seemed a little distracted.
But, of course, I last saw him in the morning,
which was not his finest hour.
If only I'd known what was about to happen...
If you'll excuse me...
Yes, Richard, what is it now?
Richard Binney.
The third subject under Francis' care.
A stroke left him almost completely paralyzed
and unable to speak.
Although his intellectual faculties
remain completely intact.
And the bell?
His means of communication.
He can move only a single finger.
One bell for "yes," two for "no."
To be quite honest, it can grow rather tiresome.
- Oh, and the gentleman with him? - Andrew Nesbitt.
Not one of Dr. Grout's subjects.
Mr. Nesbitt has the ability to see in three dimensions,
like the great Da Vinci.
They refer to him as "Mr. Tinker"
due to the fact that he's perpetually repairing something.
Mr. Nesbitt, Mr. Binney,
I'm Detective William Murdoch,
investigating the death of Dr. Grout.
I wonder if either of you saw him yesterday.
No.
Mr. Binney?
Richard saw nothing.
I'd prefer if Mr. Binney answered for himself, thank you.
No. Thank you both.
I'll need you to confirm the whereabouts
of each of the patients when Dr. Grout went missing.
Yes, of course.
Surely, you can't seriously believe
that anyone here is capable of murder.
Until proven otherwise, everyone is a suspect, Doctor,
including you.
I see.
Well, good day, Detective.
Good day.
He left in a cloud.
- A cloud? - A dark cloud.
It was in his eyes.
Something was troubling him.
You spoke with him?
I didn't have to, Detective.
I could see.
So, Higgins has checked
every hunting and archery club in the city,
but no one can recognize the arrows
and there's no one with the initials "W.Y."
And this institute?
There was a Weston Young who interned here briefly,
but he moved to England about two years ago.
We're still waiting from Scotland Yard to confirm.
Very good, George.
So, Dr. Grout arranges to play chess with one of his patients,
something changes his mind, he tells no one of his concerns,
he leaves in a cloud of worry,
and is found dead the next morning.
So, why did he leave? An appointment of some sort?
I searched his office.
There was nothing in his appointment book.
But more interestingly,
all of the "W" files were missing from his filing cabinet.
Is that right? Who would have taken those?
- The killer? - Possibly.
Or maybe the doctor himself.
Perhaps the good doctor had something --
Sweet mother of --
Mr. Nesbitt, did you do this?
Yes.
An electric wheel.
That's quite a feat of engineering.
Had to be done for protection.
I'm sorry. Protection?
Richard doesn't have the means to escape like the others.
What happens if he encounters the hooded man?
The hooded man?
He roams the halls sometimes at night.
I've seen him.
A little larger.
And the cloak, it drapes a little more.
And the crossbow is in his left hand.
Yes, that's it.
Thank you. That's all for now.
Yes, sir.
Well, if there's nothing else, Detective,
I'll make my way.
Miss Pensall, I wonder if you can tell me more
about your vision.
I've already given you an apt description.
No, I mean about me.
My fate.
The -- The dreams are always the same.
It starts with a noise.
A strange, hollow screech, and I can't place it.
And then the flashes come.
And an arrow slicing the air.
No!
A woman's scream and you falling on your knees.
Thank you, Miss Pensall.
Detective, please be caref--
No. No!
What is it? Are you all right, Miss Pensall?
The reaper. He's striking again.
Mr. Nesbitt was last seen in the common room around 10:00, sir.
And the body was found...
About an hour ago by janitorial staff.
The doors are locked every evening at 8:00 p.m.,
suggesting that the perpetrator
would have been someone who had access to the institute.
Miss Pringle.
He had been so upset.
What about?
He'd been nattering on and on about this hooded man.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore,
and I went back to my room to play violin.
I should never have left him alone.
Did you hear anything last night?
At one point, I thought I heard a shout
coming from the other end of the hall.
And what did you do?
I went to my door and listened.
But there was only silence.
I assumed I'd been imagining things.
Miss Pringle, whose room is at the end of the hall?
Mr. Horton?
Ah, Mr. Horton, Detective Murdoch.
I wonder, did you hear anything unusual
outside your door last night?
Scream, 24, pause, boom.
24?
24 hours in a day. 24 karats in a gold nugget.
24 steps past my door. 24, 24.
Thank you, Mr. Horton.
So, the reaper is in this hallway.
He fires the arrow
and runs toward the exit.
Using his hand as a pivot,
he jumped over the banister and down to the floor below.
George, dust this handrail for fingermarks.
Sir.
What is it?
Some sort of paste?
I don't know.
Detective?
Perhaps you should see this.
We found him in a closet.
It's as if he was trying to escape or something.
One ring for "yes," two for "no," correct?
That would be "yes."
Mr. Binney, were you alone last night?
Was Mr. Horton with you?
Did you see who killed him?
Was it a man?
Was it a woman?
D-D--
- Has he ever done this before? - Yes.
He tries to speak when agitated,
but he's not capable of forming words.
D-D--
Mr. Binney...
is this what you saw last night?
D-D-D--
Death.
The Hindus have their Yamaloks.
The Christians have the four horsemen.
The Egyptians have their god Osiris.
Oh, spare me the history lesson, Murdoch.
Why would the killer wear a reaper costume?
Two reasons. It conceals his identity, and it spreads fear.
But it's more than just a simple costume, sir.
He's deliberately chosen to dress theatrically,
the embodiment of death.
He's trying to draw attention to himself?
I think he wants to be remembered.
And the victims, any connection between Nesbitt and Grout?
None that we've found so far.
Mr. Nesbitt was never under his care.
However, Miss Pringle did say
that Nesbitt was about to unmask the reaper.
And Mr. Binney did see him.
Again, suggesting that the killer was inside the institute.
What I find strange
is "Why did the killer spare Mr. Binney's life?"
Surely, he saw him.
Couldn't bring himself to hurt a cripple, perhaps?
A reaper with a conscience.
What are you doing?
What do you think I'm doing? I'm thinking.
Could you possibly think in a slightly different manner?
For God sakes, Murdoch, it works for you.
Actually, it does work.
We need to put someone inside that institution,
and you'd be the bloody perfect candidate
with that strange noggin of yours.
But, sir, they already all know me.
Then what about someone else?
Someone that we're both familiar with?
Me, Detective?
Yes, we need someone to go undercover
inside the institute.
To spy?
"Observe" is the term I'd prefer to use.
How delicious.
Now, before you agree, Miss Pensall,
I must warn you, there have been murders.
Danger is involved.
It's not me that's in danger, Detective.
Green.
Triangle.
No, wait.
Square.
Six for six. It's remarkable.
And you say you also possess the ability
to channel the afterlife?
I don't know why the spirits have chosen me.
Miss Pensall, might I ask
what it is that you hope to achieve by being here?
I want to understand me, why I am the way I am.
Why I'm so different than others.
And we would love to help you, but I do have to caution you,
we have experienced a number of incidents here.
I've heard.
But the visions are coming more than ever as of late,
and the situation is critical.
I'm willing to accept the risks involved.
Well, of course, I can't promise you anything,
but, Miss Pensall, we would be honored
to help you explore your sixth sense.
Sir, we just received a telegram from Scotland Yard.
It seems Weston Young,
the only chap from the institute with the initials "W.Y.,"
is a schoolteacher in Birmingham.
And he hasn't left England,
so unless he's got one hell of a crossbow,
I'm not sure where we turn next.
I have an idea, George.
The typeface is 8-point serif from a standard Remington.
There were no fingermarks on the letter
or a return address on the envelope.
You think the killer may have written this letter, sir?
Possibly.
It may also be an anonymous tip
from someone who wants us to know about Wykeham.
Why not just come forward, then?
Perhaps they were frightened.
If the killer did send it, why would he do that?
This letter and the "W.Y." At Dr. Grout's murder scene
would suggest someone wants us to know about Wykeham,
whoever or whatever it is.
Perhaps it's just some sort of game to him,
like he enjoys riling us.
Of course he's enjoying it, but I'm not.
And you lot better not be neither.
Now, find out what the bloody hell "Wykeham" means.
Mulligan, give me that.
Wykeham. Doesn't ring a bell.
Perhaps in conjunction with the Greyson Institute?
No, I'm sorry.
You feel that there's a connection?
Two people are dead.
Both with ties to the institute.
What do you really know about it?
Or Dr. Greyson or Dr. Grout, for that matter?
Well, like I said, they're very well-respected
in the medical community.
- Was it always this way? - As far as I know.
But I can make some inquiries.
I would very much appreciate that.
Wykeham?
No, I have no idea what that means.
Whatever it is, Dr. Grout wanted us to know about it.
So much so that he died writing it.
Could it have been a former patient,
a place perhaps, something in his childhood?
Do you know what happens to the brain of a dying man, Detective?
Well, starved of oxygen, the brain begins to shut down.
Practically speaking,
the mental building blocks begin to collapse,
releasing random sparks of thought,
which, in these final moments, make sense only to God.
This "W.Y." which Francis wrote
very likely has nothing to do with anything.
This letter didn't come from a dying man.
It came from someone
with intimate knowledge of this murder.
Furthermore, most likely,
intimate knowledge of this facility.
If anything comes to mind, Detective,
you'll be informed immediately.
Wykeham, Miss Pringle.
Are you sure you haven't heard of it?
Never.
I'd remember something odd like that.
Thank you.
And if anyone else should remember, please let me know.
I don't believe we've met.
Miss Pensall. Delighted.
How terribly clandestine.
- How are you? - Oh, never better.
Though I don't have much to report.
This Wykeham seems to be a bit of a dead end.
It's important you gain the trust
of the residents and the staff.
They must believe that you --
Honestly, Detective, I understand what I'm to do.
I just think you should be careful.
As should you.
No, Detective, I've not heard of Wykeham.
Though if I should, I shall call you at once.
Thank you, Miss...
Pensall.
Ah, how about you, Mr. Binney?
Have you heard of this Wykeham?
No.
Nurse Barrington.
I was hoping perhaps you've heard of Wykeham.
Yes, yes, Wykeham.
I'm afraid not.
- Are you sure? - Quite.
Is something troubling you, Nurse Barrington?
I can assure you, Detective, I am absolutely fine.
I've just had a marvelous breakfast
and it's a beautiful day and --
Be careful, Richard!
Are you all right?
Yes, fine, fine. No harm done.
Detective --
Yes?
Nurse Barrington.
A word, please.
I must go.
Ah, Miss Barrington,
I take it you weren't able to speak freely
back at the institute.
First a doctor, then a patient, now a nurse.
All we need now is an orderly. We'll have the whole collection.
She went to great lengths to conceal our meeting.
How on earth did the killer find out about it?
My bet is that he followed her. Lurking in the shadows.
It's what these murderous types are good at, Murdoch.
What's this?
We found it in her purse.
"We've buried Wykeham too long. The time to act is now.
F.G." Francis Grout.
Dated two days before his murder.
This is what she was bringing you?
So it would seem.
It also suggests that Wykeham is deceased.
Dead?
Now, why would that stop us?
Ah, yes, why, indeed?
Perhaps you don't need me, after all.
Nonsense, Inspector.
I ask that you concentrate on what we know.
A young woman with a connection to this place.
Close your eyes.
Breathe in.
And out.
Spirit in the hall,
we reach out to you from this, our welcoming den,
and we ask that you join us.
There is a word that has come to us.
A word you may know.
Wykeham.
Say it with me.
Wykeham.
- Wykeham. - Wykeham.
Something's coming.
Can you smell that?
Oh, oh.
What is it?
Oh, it's smoke.
Oh.
Oh, she's in trouble.
She needs help. Can't you hear her?
Oh.
Burning flesh.
My God, the smell!
The flames.
Stop the flames. Stop the flames.
She's gone.
I think I need a drink.
These are the records of every fire in the city
during the last 10 years.
We'll divide and conquer, each of us taking a third.
Keep your eyes peeled for the word "Wykeham."
Uh, spelling, sir?
W-y-k-e-h-a-m.
Check everything.
Arsonists, victims, firemen, even the family cat.
Why fires?
Let's just say the spirit moved us.
Aah!
Murdoch!
What are you doing sleeping?
Sorry. I must have dozed off.
Then, perhaps this will perk you up.
11th of April, 1893.
A lodge burnt down off Buchanan Street.
It's listed in the books as Lot 659.
But back then, Buchanan Street went by a different name.
Wykeham.
Did a young woman happen to die in the fire, by chance?
Sophia Chaucer, age 22.
Her remains were found in the basement,
burnt beyond recognition.
Well, I'll have to find out who the owner of the lodge was.
Crabtree's way ahead of you, me old mucker.
Someone you're very familiar with.
Our good friend Dr. Greyson.
Oh, and try and stay awake.
Detective.
Miss Pensall.
I've discovered what Wykeham means.
It was a lodge once leased to Dr. Burrit Greyson.
Dr. Greyson?
Yes. It burnt to the ground.
And there was a young woman trapped inside.
Sophia Chaucer.
Well, that must be the young woman's spirit.
- Sophia Chaucer. - Perhaps, perhaps.
But more importantly,
until I've questioned Dr. Greyson,
it's no longer safe for you to be here.
Oh.
Oh, I feel her, Detective.
She's here.
Sophia?
Sophia Chaucer?
She's here.
I can feel her.
What does she want?
She says that --
Detective!
May I help you?
Why, yes.
Yes, you can.
This is absurd.
You can't possibly believe any of this.
You've got nothing on me!
Nothing!
Why, yes, in fact, you do have something on Dr. Greyson.
According to Miss Chaucer's family doctor,
she did have a connection with him.
Epilepsy.
Epilepsy?
She had quite a severe case.
Her doctor recommended she speak with Dr. Greyson.
How does a young woman admitted to the Greyson Institute
end up burnt to death at Wykeham Lodge?
I think I may know how.
- Oh? - After our last discussion,
I looked into the history of the institute.
And...
You were right to have your suspicions.
How do you mean?
I spoke with some colleagues
who have treated former patients of the institute.
The rumors are quite disturbing.
What happened to Sophia had nothing to do with me.
She had epilepsy, you used her as a guinea pig,
and whatever procedure you performed on her didn't work,
did it?
All surgery is a risk, Detective.
And what I did was attempt to give her a chance
at living a life with some degree of normalcy.
Did you?
Or did you, in fact, know the procedure wouldn't work
and that's why you performed it off the premises at Wykeham?
I performed it at Wykeham
because this type of surgery is years ahead of its time,
and not everyone can understand that.
No, not everyone can understand a horrific failure.
A failure?
Miss Chaucer's operation shed invaluable light
onto the functioning of the occipital lobe, Detective,
which will lead to breakthroughs in the study of epilepsy.
Millions will benefit from this.
Yet it didn't benefit Miss Chaucer.
I made a slight miscalculation on her frontal lobe.
Do you know that her entire memory was erased?
It was truly fascinating.
Fascinating?
A young woman's life was destroyed, sir.
Well, you're a thinker, Detective.
Like myself.
Surely, you can understand the concept of acceptable risk.
So, you feel no shame for what you did to her?
Shame? No. Not at all.
Then, why not simply tell me about Wykeham?
We were concerned regarding the legal ramifications of the fire.
That's it. Because of the fire?
What more could there be?
You disgust me.
Future generations will benefit from my work, Detective.
You mark my words.
What makes you think
that Dr. Greyson's not our man?
Because he has no archery experience whatsoever.
Well, it must be easy enough to learn.
Rudimentary skills, perhaps,
but these murders have displayed an expert hand.
Perhaps he's in cahoots with someone on the outside.
Then why not kill Miss Pensall and I
when the opportunity presented itself?
It's as if he wanted me to follow him
and find the conveniently hidden reaper costume
in Dr. Greyson's office.
Just like he wanted you to find out about Wykeham.
Something about this does stink. I'll give you that, Murdoch.
Sir, I've been trying to track down Miss Chaucer's family,
but her mother passed away during labor
and her father died due to complications from quinsy
just a few months ago.
- No other family? - None.
There is one other thing.
It seems Miss Chaucer was something of an archer.
Oh?
Richard, can I help you?
It's all right, Richard.
She's coming again.
That girl from the lodge, Sophia.
I don't know what she wants.
Oh, my God, it's not me she's trying to reach.
It's you. She wants to tell you something.
She says she wants you to be the man she fell in love with.
The man before Wykeham.
It's you.
I wish you hadn't said that.
Please don't struggle, Miss Pensall.
This will be quick, like a suicide.
I don't want you to suffer.
No, listen, Richard. Sophia told me everything.
How they promised to make her better,
and they took her away from you.
Please, Richard, please! No, no!
I couldn't let them get away with it,
so I came up with this plan.
I spent a year studying the movements of stroke victims.
Five months in that chair.
I had to do it, don't you understand?
After her operation, she didn't even know my name.
No, Richard. I said I could help you talk to her.
One more time. Don't you want to talk to her?
I can help you, Richard.
I can help you.
I can help you talk to her.
Now, close your eyes, Richard.
Good.
And concentrate on your lovely Sophia.
Breathe.
Miss Pensall?
Miss Pensall, wait!
Are you all right?
No! No!
William. William.
Oh, no, no.
William.
No.
No! No!
No!
Detective!
Help! Somebody help!
Detective! Are you all right, Detective?
Help!
Detective.
Miss Pensall.
They tell me two more weeks, and I'll be rid of this thing.
Two weeks? That's not so bad.
Slightly an eternity. But enough about me.
Tell me about Prague.
Ah, well, I will be admitting myself to the institute there
in a month's time.
It'll be good for me.
Are you sure?
Ever since I was a child, Detective,
this gift has set me apart.
It's my blessing and my curse.
On the one hand, I want to know more.
And on the other, I don't want to lose
that which makes me special.
Yes, well, it's not the Greyson Institute,
so I doubt very much they'll be taking that away from you.
That's reassuring.
Miss Pensall, may I ask you a question?
Of course.
You said you saw me die.
Yet here I am, very much alive.
Did I cheat destiny?
If it was your destiny to die, you'd not be here right now.
So, it is possible, then, to change the course of events?
Anything is possible, William.
Yes, those were Dr. Ogden's sentiments exactly.
Oh. Oh, yes, Dr. Ogden.
You speak often of her.
Now it's my turn to ask you a question.
What is your relationship with Dr. Ogden?
We work well together.
She's a brilliant pathologist.
She's well-educated, quite witty at times.
And...
And she's kind.
Bold.
Stubborn.
And quite beautiful.
But I'm sorry. You were asking me something.
Perhaps there is a reason why you did not die.
Detective?
I'm sorry. I hope I'm not intruding.
No, no, not at all.
Miss Sarah Pensall, meet Dr. Julia Ogden.
- I've heard a lot about you. - Likewise.
Miss Pensall is going to be traveling to Prague.
- Traveling? - Yes.
It's wonderful there.
Charles Bridge.
Prague Castle.
The National Museum.
One could spend years discovering the city.
Well, one could.
Oh.
I must be off.
It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Ogden.
Goodbye.
Miss Pensall, the pleasure was all mine.
Thank you for everything.
Goodbye.
I didn't know you'd spent time in Prague.
Yes, some.
Funny how two people can work so closely together...
And not really know anything about one another.
Exactly.
You must tell me all about Prague.
Well, I had a journal when I was there.
Oh, I'd very much like to read it.
William. Really?
Yes, really.
Perhaps some excerpts.