- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -
- Gentlemen. Lovely day for it. - Doctor.
Hello Dr. Ogden. I didn't know you were a football fan.
I couldn't miss the match that decides
which Canadian team will go to the Olympic games.
What I would give to go to St-Louis.
The World's Fair and the Olympics.
We have everything we need right here in Toronto, son.
- Now, watch the post! - Cover the p... the post!
Damn it!
These bloody free kicks are the devil, I tell you.
Not to worry, Nobby. They've only been playing five minutes.
Are you not cheering for Toronto?
We're for Galt of course,
since old Nobby and I go way back.
Ever since I came to Canada
- and started playing football... - Teaching the colonials the English game.
You tackled Nobby, then took your fight off the field,
and were mates ever since.
It's nice to know that you listen sometimes.
Your father hasn't changed a bit, still as opinionated
and stubborn as ever.
I'll say.
Ugh! On him! On him!
That Semple lad is quite the footballer.
Reminds me of a young Tommy Crawshaw.
He seems a bit selfish to me.
Nonsense!
You always have your best player leading the attack.
It makes more sense to me to pass the ball around
and use the whole team. Like the Scots do.
You've got a young tactician on your hands, Tom.
The English invented football, not the bloody Scots!
- Kick and run, that's football! - Harcourt! Pay attention!
Lord Love-a-duck! Gourlay, what was that?
These Galway lads have got to learn to tackle, Nobby.
They won't be able to compete at the Olympic games like this.
But help him up. Be a gentleman about it, at least.
Enough play-acting.
Take my hand.
Get up man.
He should be coming around by now.
Robert.
Robert!
Inspector.
Move aside lads.
Give him some air.
He's dead!
Julia. Sir. What have we?
Robert Semple, star player for the University team.
Dropped dead on the field after a hard tackle.
I believe he was stabbed. I discovered a wound.
Stabbed?
Sir, you mentioned he was tackled.
Could the other player have concealed a weapon?
This is football, Murdoch, not rugby.
The lad tackled him with his legs.
There was no way that Semple here was stabbed on the field of play.
I agree. Based on the inflammation,
the wound is at least an hour old,
possibly as much as twelve.
He was stabbed and got kitted up to play. I'm impressed.
He should have been in a hospital, not a football field!
Will you be able to narrow that timeline at all?
I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee it.
Hm!
Murdoch, meet my oldest Canadian friend. Nobby!
So called because of his knobby knees.
- Detective Murdoch. - Or my last name:
Andrew Nobson.
Sorry to meet you under such unfortunate circumstances.
Indeed.
- You're the trainer for the Galt team? - I am.
Did any of your players have contact with Mr. Semple
in the last twelve hours?
Well, we hosted a smoking concert last night, for both teams.
I stayed away, so the lads could enjoy themselves fully.
I imagine they would have met Semple then.
- Any animosities that you're aware of? - No.
No, they're good lads, focused on nothing but the Olympic Games.
I can vouch for the lot. Of course.
Don't you worry, Nobby. I'll come find you later.
Alright, then. So, let's start with the Toronto captain,
- Wesley Patten. - Sir.
Sure, I was with Robert last night.
So was everyone else here.
At the Galt football team's smoking concert?
A good fifty people were there.
What time did you leave?
Around eleven o'clock, just like everyone else.
And Mr. Semple?
That was the last I saw him,
until we all got to the field this morning,
around nine o'clock.
And did you notice anything
unusual about Mr. Semple this morning?
He was tired.
Robert's never been a morning person.
Where was Mr. Semple between the hours of eleven, last night,
and nine AM, this morning?
Esther Fields might know.
She's Robert's sweetheart.
I don't know what happened.
He was fine last night.
His typical self.
What time was it when you left Mr. Semple last night?
I suppose it was around two or so, this morning.
We went to a speakeasy after the concert.
I'm ashamed to admit it.
Which speakeasy was this?
The one at College and Brunswick Avenue.
I don't know the name of it. I'd never been before.
Did Mr. Semple also leave when you did?
I doubt it.
He was in fine form,
refusing to walk me home...
in favour of more drink.
I don't know where he went.
Nor should I like to.
Dr. Ogden.
Look at this.
Thread?!
This wound was stitched.
Badly, at that.
The needle marks are quite jagged.
I daresay you would do a much better job.
I'm not so certain.
I've never been much of a seamstress.
It's a bad business, Tom.
Bad for both teams.
What will you do about the match?
It has to be replayed.
The apple doesn't fall too far, eh?
He's got promise, that one.
Can't kick a ball straight to save his life.
He's still young.
He can practice with us while we're here.
I doubt it will do any good,
but that's very kind of you nonetheless.
Just what old friends do!
Ah! Sirs, I have the soccer team rosters here.
You mean the football team rosters.
Yes, I mean the same, sir.
"Soccer" is a term nicknamed by some Oxford chap.
Apparently, it means "association".
As in association football.
Some Toronto lad was using the term. It seems to be catching on.
I will not have you copying some toffee-nosed prat
repeating another toffee nosed prat.
The sport is called football, Crabtree, plain and simple.
Sir, should the nickname not be adopted?
I mean, we already have another sport known as football.
It is somewhat confusing.
Should a sport wherein the players pick up the ball
in their hands and run down the field be called football,
or should it be the sport wherein the players
kick a ball with their feet?!
George, why don't you walk us through
- Robert Semple's final hours? - Sir, gladly. Um...
At eight PM, he arrived with his teammates
at the town hall for the smoking concert.
He stayed there for the duration, until eleven.
- He didn't leave at all? - Nobody saw him leave, sir.
And I don't doubt it. What a show!
There was a boxing match and not one, but two strong men.
Uh... champagne, a full steak dinner!
I wonder at the wisdom of a heavy meal
and alcohol the night before an important sporting event.
A night out is a good way to unwind, Murdoch.
Keeps the body limber.
It's why the English are the best footballers in the world!
- Carry on, George. - Right.
After the smoking concert broke up at eleven,
Mr. Semple and a few friends carried on to a speakeasy
at College Street and Brunswick Avenue.
The lads are searching there now.
- Where did Semple go next? - Well, we don't know, sir.
Nobody saw hide nor hair of him after two AM
until he showed up at the field this morning.
Cause of death was shock due to rupture of the liver.
Do we know how that happened?
It appears the liver was nicked by the knife,
which itself would not have been fatal.
But when he collided with the Galt player,
I believe the nick tore open and the liver ruptured.
His body went into arrest, stopping his heart.
I won't be telling that to the young Galt player who tackled him.
Was he not in pain?
Given the amount of alcohol in his blood,
he was likely inebriated enough to dull the pain significantly.
What about the weapon?
The weapon appears to be an average dinner knife.
One used to eat a steak dinner, for example?
That would be consistent with his injuries, yes.
As for when the wound was inflicted,
I believe Miss James and I did rather well.
The wound was still in haemostasis and appeared...
fairly new, meaning it occurred within twelve hours.
There is some discolouration, which can begin
four to six hours after the bruise first appears.
Combine that with the rate of inflammation
and the beginnings of scabbing and...
Perhaps you might cut to Hecuba, Miss James.
Yes, yes. Of course, Inspector.
We believe Mr. Semple was stabbed
six to eight hours before his death.
So the stabbing occurred between two and four AM,
likely with a knife that was stolen from the town hall.
Also, he may have seen a friend after the stabbing.
- How is that? - We found remnants
of thread inside the wound and puncture marks,
consistent with a sewing needle.
But the stitching was not done by a professional.
Mr. Semple tried to stitch himself up?
- I highly doubt it. - So, he got a friend to help.
But why not report it? Why pretend it never happened?
He didn't want anyone to know that he'd been attacked?
- Perhaps out of pride? - Or he wished to keep secret
the reason for the attack, out of shame or guilt.
Possibly.
Either way, it would have cost him his chance at glory.
No athlete worth his salt would want to miss a shot
at the Olympic Games, no matter what the cost.
What have you, George?
Ah, sirs.
I enquired at the town hall.
They say catering is missing a knife
but that's not entirely uncommon after such a large function.
In fact, they engrave the hilts of their knives with "H&L,"
in order to discourage such theft.
Tell the lads to add that to their search.
Sir, I will do. But no knife of any sort has been found.
This is a list of all those who accompanied the victim
to the speakeasy after the smoking concert?
That's right, sir. Esther Fields,
Harriet Harcourt, Leland Harcourt and Jack Gourlay.
The last two are Galt players. Are you certain?
- Quite certain, sir. - They've all said as much.
Uh, Esther Fields is the victim's sweetheart.
Harriet Harcourt is Miss Fields' bosom friend.
Leland Harcourt is a Galt player,
also Harriet Harcourt's brother.
- Harriet Harcourt is from Galt. - That's right, sir.
And of course, Jack Gourlay is Galt's team captain.
- Fine player, too. - He is also Harriet Harcourt's fiancé.
- It's rather a tangled web. - Indeed.
They are all connected to each other,
but only Miss Fields is connected to the victim.
What motive could the Galt lads
have against a Toronto player?
Well, sir, Robert Semple is Toronto's best player. Take him out and you're off
- Well, sir, Robert Semple to the Olympic Games. - Exactly.
But if I'm Robert Semple
and I'm being stabbed by my opponent, I report it.
Galt's disqualified and I'm off to the Olympic Games.
But that didn't happen.
So it had to be one of the lads on his own team.
But no Toronto players were with the victim
- at that late hour. - And there's our conundrum, Murdoch.
Crabtree, I want you to search every nook and cranny of that speakeasy.
Find the knife. Murdoch, talk to the ladies.
I'll have a word with the Galt players.
Mr. Harcourt,
what time did you leave the speakeasy last night?
About one o'clock, I think.
I walked my sister home then went back to my rooms.
How well did you know the deceased?
- I only met Semple last night. - Tom!
- So glad you're here. - Just a moment, Nobby.
Did you notice anything unusual?
Just his general demeanour was not very pleasant.
Though I gather that wasn't particularly unusual.
- I don't know what else I can tell you. - Thank you.
Rejoin the practice.
- I'll talk to Gourlay next. - Of course,
but Tom, while I have you here, I could really use your help
with the lads' tackling.
- I wish I could, Nobby. - Just a quick demonstration.
You always were the best.
- You had it down to a science. - An art, more like.
Oh, go on then,
I can spare you a couple of minutes.
Right then, Lads! Be prepared to learn
the art of the Brackenreid slide tackle!
I knew Robert Semple because of Esther.
I don't know why she stayed with him.
Why do you say that, Miss Harcourt?
He wasn't very attentive to her.
Ah.
Tell me about last night, as you remember it.
There isn't much to tell.
I only went to the smoking concert
because Jack and Leland are in town.
- Your brother and your fiancé. - Yes.
Leland warned me about Toronto.
But I so wanted to live here.
Jack was so good to wait to marry until I finished my studies.
But Leland was right:
It's too dangerous here for a Galt girl.
Where did you go after the smoking concert?
I walked with them to the speakeasy,
but I was tired. I didn't even go inside.
Did you see anything unusual?
Anyone angry with Mr. Semple?
Esther was.
But... I don't know if that counts as unusual.
It's a lost cause, Nobby.
- You're better off not tackling at all. - Blasted free kicks.
I wish we could just brick up the bloody net.
Good lord! It's that simple!
Lads! Six of you, shoulder to shoulder!
Why are we making a wall of men?
It's not a wall, it's a barricade.
Against free kicks: your team weakness.
This must be against the laws of the game.
The opposing players must stand at least six yards away
from the ball during a free kick.
Yes, but it doesn't say how many opposing players.
Why has no one thought of this before?
Because it's the height of foolishness.
- I don't want a ball aimed at my face. - Or my head!
It takes an hour to brilliantine my hair into place.
Tom, perhaps this is a bit much. I can't ask the lads
to put themselves in harm's way like this.
I can't believe I'm hearing this.
The fabled Galt Porridge-Eating Invincibles
scared of a little old football?
Hardly the attitude of Olympic champions!
I'll show you the attitude of a champion.
John Brackenreid!
- Me? - Get in the barricade.
Right, lads. Flank him either side.
- But Father... - Tom!
Ready?
Good lord, are you all right?
'Course he's all right. Get up, John.
I don't believe it. It worked!
- Your barricade worked, Tom! - Of course it worked.
Now you can give away all the free kicks you like.
Right. My work here is done.
Better get back to some real work.
Miss Fields, you neglected to mention that you had an argument
with Mr. Semple last night.
There was nothing to mention.
It's somewhat of a daily thing.
Or was, I suppose.
What was the argument about?
Just his usual behaviour.
He refused to walk me home,
like I told you.
He was too busy drinking and showing off.
Showing off for whom?
Jack Gourlay.
Harriet's fiancé.
As much of a drunken lout as the rest of them.
I think Semple and I parted ways about 2:30,
though I wouldn't swear to it.
And that was the last you saw of him until this morning?
Right. Or, perhaps not.
- Explain, Mr. Gourley. - After I left the speakeasy
I got a bit turned around.
I managed to find my way back there and I saw someone,
who I think was Semple, stumbling out of a laneway.
I called out but he didn't turn around.
Maybe it wasn't him.
What laneway was this?
Outside the speakeasy?
I don't know. It's my first time to Toronto.
Uh, I think I saw... something that looked
like over-large thimble. You could ask Wesley.
Wesley Patten? The Toronto captain?
Well, yes. He's the one who took us to the speakeasy in the first place.
One! Two!
Mr. Patten!
A moment.
Why is Galt practicing so much with the ball?
Everyone knows it lessens the hunger for it come game day.
Mr. Patten,
football is the least of your worries at the moment.
You lied to me.
You were at the speakeasy with Robert Semple.
- Right then. Off to the station house. - All right.
Yes, I lied.
If it gets back to the University that I went
to an illegal establishment, I'll be kicked off the team.
Then why did you go in the first place?
I had to keep an eye on Robert.
Well, you didn't do a very good job of it.
Don't think I don't know that.
I wouldn't normally leave him in that state,
but we had a big match in a few hours, and I needed sleep.
- What time did you leave? - Just before 2 AM.
And that's the last you saw of Mr. Semple?
Yes.
That's the truth, I swear it.
Sir.
Ah, Murdoch.
I've finally found a good use for your chalkboard: tactics.
- Tactics? - Formations, Murdoch, formations.
See, this is the standard 2-3-5.
The pyramid formation.
But on this side is my invention:
the 4-4-2.
- Oh! - The more I watch football,
the more I've come to realize the importance
of a good defense.
You can't win football games
if you're constantly letting goals in.
I suppose so, but if you bolster your defense
at the expense of your offense,
you won't be scoring many goals, either.
I know, I know. The 2-3-5 does make more sense.
I just can't think anymore.
So, where are we at?
Well, sir, Jack Gourlay saw someone
stumbling out into the laneway.
Well, that could have been Semple.
Or it could have been his attacker.
If Semple was stabbed outside the speakeasy,
we would surely have found evidence of it by now.
Well, I don't believe he was stabbed outside the speakeasy.
But...
somewhere nearby.
An over-sized thimble,
just as Jack Gourlay described it. Good work, Murdoch.
And only a block away from the speakeasy.
We may yet find our crime scene.
- Murdoch. - Ah?
A blood trail.
- Two trails, it seems. - One made by the victim
and the other by his attacker, presumably.
- Which should we follow first? - Sir, why don't you take that direction.
And what will you do?
How will you follow the trail without the blue light?
Ultraviolet, sir.
And you are correct.
But I anticipated that we'd have difficulty,
- so I brought two. - Ah!
- Mr. Patten? - Detective.
Tom!
What am I doing here, Tom?
You know what you're doing here, Nobby.
The blood trail led right to your hotel.
I don't know anything about it.
I wasn't even out the night that poor lad was stabbed.
You know it's the truth.
Are all your players
- staying at the same hotel with you? - No. They're all billeted.
Look, I can see what you're thinking.
It's far too great a coincidence
that the victim's blood ended up on the steps of my hotel...
- That is the sum of it, yes. - Come now, Tom.
You've known me for years.
- You know the type of man I am. - Nobby...
And you know I've no time for anything other than
preparing my team for the biggest competition of their lives.
It's not every day the Olympic Games come calling.
Murdoch.
Sir,
perhaps Mr. Nobson is telling the truth.
He's involved in some way, whether he knows it or not.
I've sent George to search along both blood trails
for the murder weapon.
What if someone is trying to lay blame
on Nobby or the Galt team in general?
Perhaps we should speak with the person at the end
- of the other blood trail. - The Toronto captain.
Wesley Patten.
We found Robert Semple's blood in a laneway behind the speakeasy.
Two blood trails diverged from that laneway.
One went to Mr. Nobson's hotel,
the other to your residence.
I can explain that.
At least, I can explain half of it.
Please!
I did leave the speakeasy earlier than Robert,
like I told you. I just...
didn't tell you what happened afterwards.
Which makes it the second time you've lied to us
in as many conversations.
Talk! The truth this time.
Maybe an hour after I got home, around three,
Robert showed up at my door, bleeding.
- Why didn't you go fetch a doctor? - He wouldn't let me.
If we'd gone to hospital,
he wouldn't have been able to play the match. And...
I'm ashamed to say, we needed him.
And the cut looked small enough.
So, you sewed it shut?
I insisted.
In the morning he wasn't any worse for wear
than after any other night out.
He really did seem fine.
You don't seem to be taking his death very hard.
It's a terrible thing to say,
but I'm almost relieved he's gone.
Why do you say that?
The University expects us to conduct ourselves like gentlemen.
Robert was no gentleman.
I was tired of my future on the team being tied up with his.
Never mind how he treated poor Esther.
How did he treat her?
A rumour went around the smoking concert that he'd been unfaithful.
Just a rumour?
I doubt it.
Seeing as it was spread about by Robert himself.
Why did you put up with him?
You're a pleasant young thing.
Surely you could attract a better beau.
I wouldn't expect a man to understand a woman's burdens.
You were aware of his indiscretions, then?
Unfortunately.
That is the real reason you were angry at Mr. Semple.
You heard the rumour of his infidelity,
at the smoking concert?
So you took a knife from the dinner,
waited till everyone left, and then stabbed him in revenge.
Of course not!
I was angry, yes, but...
I was more ashamed.
I confronted him, I admit it.
In front of everyone.
And you know what he did?
The bastard laughed.
He laughed at me.
I might have dismissed it
as one of Robert's cruel jokes except...
for her behaviour toward me the past few weeks.
Distant. Apologetic.
Whose behaviour?
Surely you know.
It's been all over the university.
Harriet Harcourt.
Detective! Inspector.
My brother is waiting for me at the field.
Oh. Allow us to escort you.
How is the investigation going?
We are proceeding.
Have you a suspect in mind?
We have learned of certain events recently
that have narrowed our search considerably.
Which is why we need to speak to you.
I'm sure I can't help you.
Did you have an affair with Robert Semple?
Perhaps a bit direct, sir.
Got a result, though.
Certainly seemed like a yes to me.
In that case, no one had more motive
than the last man that was with Semple:
Jack Gourlay.
Beware a man cuckolded.
Yes, sir.
Ugh...
Just how bad is a constable's salary
that he is forced to forage for his lunch in such a manner?
Ha ha ha... Miss James!
What a pleasant surprise. Although, not for you,
- considering the state I'm in. - What are you doing?
I'm looking... for the murder weapon.
Detective Murdoch discovered a trail of blood
and I'm to follow the route, checking every...
garbage can and sewer hole.
Perhaps I can help.
I'm used to having my arms elbow-deep
in arguably worse conditions.
And I know the kind of knife you're looking for.
Both excellent points, Miss James.
Consider yourself deputized.
Where should I begin?
Julia?!
William!
- What are you doing here? - Mr. Nobson asked me
if I could recommend a doctor who could help out with the boys.
So I offered my services.
Oh, I fear you'll be overworked.
I tell you, William, the way these boys abuse their bodies,
they should have a doctor follow them everywhere they go!
Indeed.
Good!
Nobby!
Tom. I am in the middle of practice.
I've come to see Mr. Gourlay.
Gourlay!
The lads should go easy on practicing the barricade.
You don't want any injuries before for the match.
I can manage my team, thank you.
Put John in the middle.
John, get yourself up here.
Let him take the brunt of it.
Lads, practice aiming your kicks at John.
I wish I could, Father, but
I've hurt my ankle, I can barely stand.
Go and see Dr. Ogden on the sidelines.
Mr. Gourlay, you're coming with me.
I have been jealous of Harriet, I admit.
She's been in the city, having all sorts of adventures...
I've been working at my father's dry goods store in Galt.
You must have been looking forward to this trip.
Oh yes! The match, the smoking concert.
But most of all, Harriet.
Yes, your visit with Miss Harcourt
hasn't gone exactly as you expected.
Harriet's been so cold.
So odd. She won't talk to me, she won't touch me.
She didn't even want to go to the smoking concert.
She needn't have bothered, she was a wet blanket all evening.
You must have heard the rumour.
Semple and your fiancée.
It's a pack of lies. I said so to his face.
He was no Toronto gentleman. He wouldn't even apologize.
- It made you angry. - I couldn't just let it go.
Though I'm ashamed of what happened on the field the next day.
The tackle, you mean.
- It was a hard one. - Unsporting.
And I'd already made my feelings known the night before.
The two of you fought at the speakeasy?
We were both so drunk neither of us
managed to land a single blow. We agreed to let
the match settle our grievances.
Why did you leave all of this out of your earlier account?
I'm not normally one to stoop to a barroom brawl.
I'm the captain of the Galt football team.
And I may well soon be an Olympian.
It's no light responsibility.
It's my left ankle.
But you were limping with your right.
John, do you not want to play?
I do want to play.
Just not my father's way.
But a Brackenreid plays like a true Englishman.
And a Brackenreid tackles at the knees.
A Brackenreid brawls on the field and off.
Surely there can be more than one kind of Brackenreid.
Not according to my father. Hm!
Your father is a fair man,
if a little pigheaded at times.
But you are old enough to be your own man, John.
But in the meantime,
I'll wrap your foot
and we'll keep up your pretense.
At least until you can build up a little of that...
infamous Brackenreid courage.
I admit I don't know much about football,
but it does look quite fun.
Oh, Miss James, I'm sure you would excel.
Surely, there is a ladies team at the university.
I don't think I'd be welcome.
In that case...
let's you and I have a go right now.
I couldn't.
There you are, come on. Nobody watching.
Constable Crabtree!
That looks like blood.
Crabtree!
Sir.
There are no fingermarks on the knife.
It's been thoroughly wiped cleaned.
- Is that the murder weapon? - Yes, sir.
Rebecca James confirmed a much, as does the
engraving on the hilt.
Where was it found?
- Outside Andrew Nobson's hotel, sir. - Oh...
So we're back to Nobby.
Or at least someone who wants us to think it's Nobby.
Sir, there's one more piece of evidence you should see.
Oh...
A.N.
Andrew Nobson.
Protest, Nobby.
Tell me it's not yours.
Tell me we're wrong.
Look, I'm on your side,
but I need you to speak up in your defence.
Bloody hell, Andrew!
All our years of friendship have come to this?
I'm sorry, Tom.
Not as sorry as I am.
Crabtree searched Nobby's room.
His boots were caked with grass and dirt but no trace of blood.
He couldn't have been the one to make the blood trail.
- His guilt does seem unlikely. - But until he speaks to us...
He's protecting someone.
I can't see any other reason for his silence.
Then we should re-examine the Galt players,
Jack Gourlay and Leland Harcourt.
Gourlay has motive,
seeing as his fiancé was the one carrying on with the victim.
But without Nobby's cooperation we have nothing on him.
Well, if Mr. Nobson won't speak to us,
perhaps Miss Harcourt will.
The last time we tried with her she burst into tears.
Ask the good doctor to lend you a hand.
These past few days must have been difficult?
Having to mourn the loss of a lover in secret.
He wasn't my lover.
I hated him.
Mr. Semple told your fiancé
of a dalliance the two of you shared.
He told Jack that?
Was it true?
I can't deny it.
But it only happened once. A terrible mistake.
Jack didn't kill Robert.
- I know it. - Your faith in him is admirable, but...
I know it because I did it.
I killed Robert Semple.
Miss Harcourt, do you realize what you're saying?
I do.
Robert attacked me.
I stabbed him to defend myself.
Where did this happen?
In a laneway.
And then you went to the speakeasy?
Or... return to the speakeasy?
Yes. Or...
no.
It was before the speakeasy.
Or after. Um,
- I don't recall. - Take your time.
Start at the beginning.
It's all a blur.
He attacked me, I stabbed him. I went home.
And what did you do with the knife?
I left it there.
In the laneway.
Miss Harcourt, did you visit Mr. Nobson that evening?
No. Of course not.
I stabbed Robert.
No one else knew anything about it. I'm the only guilty one.
Miss Harcourt, I imagine you could use a cup of tea.
Please, excuse me.
Miss Harcourt,
your description of the incident
doesn't match the evidence.
I'm telling you I did it.
Isn't that enough?
You didn't stab Robert Semple.
But he did attack you, didn't he?
But perhaps not on the night in question?
You think by taking the blame you'll feel better.
But in my experience,
it's only the truth that brings you peace.
Harriet.
Whatever you tell me, I will believe you.
One evening I was walking home from class.
I ran into Robert.
He was going to see Esther, he said,
and would walk me to our residence.
I agreed. Why wouldn't I?
He said he needed to stop by his room.
I was going to wait outside,
but he offered to sneak me past the Don.
It was cold,
and I knew him.
He took advantage of you in his room?
It was all my fault.
I went in willingly.
I put myself in that position.
I am entirely to blame.
You told no one?
I tried to pretend it didn't happen.
Jack would have left me. My family...
would have been disgraced.
But Robert...
Robert wouldn't let me forget.
Which is why you didn't want to go to the smoking concert,
or join your friends at the speakeasy.
I thought it would happen again.
You took a knife from the dinner,
to protect yourself.
I would have used it.
But you didn't.
Mr. Gourlay did.
No.
I swear Jack had nothing to do with this.
Oh, Harriet.
You've been protecting your brother.
My sister was so frightened she was walking around with a knife.
You could have come to the police.
And pit her word against the great Robert Semple,
hero of the University football team?
He would have said she consented
and the matter would have disappeared.
You walked your sister home,
- that much is true? - Yes.
She was so upset.
I had to pry the knife out of her hand.
You then went to find Robert Semple.
Hey, Semple!
I told him to leave Harriet alone. I'm talking to you!
He refused.
And?
Leave her alone. He said:
All girls play the innocent, but it's just for show.
One moment the knife was in my hand, the next...
it was sticking in Robert.
You then ran to Mr. Nobson for help?
He told me to go home,
get my rest for the game. It would all be all right.
Then I saw Robert on the field the next morning. I thought...
maybe I'd dreamt the whole thing.
I've let everyone down, haven't I?
Go! Go!
Good, lads!
Very good!
That's it!
Leland is a good lad.
He just made a bad mistake.
- As did you. - I know, Tom.
And I'm prepared to pay for it.
Why do you only have ten men on the field?
We didn't travel with any substitutes.
We have to play a man short.
John, get yourself up here.
He may only be a young man,
but he's a man nonetheless.
You're in, lad.
Halfback.
No.
- What? - I said no.
I won't play unless I can play my way.
What are you on about?
I don't tackle, and I don't run straight for the net.
I won't kick long balls.
I will pass and use my teammates like the Scots,
- because that's the way I play. - Bloody hell.
I may not be able to kick a ball straight,
but I'm a good player
and I know the game as well as anyone.
And I am a Brackenreid.
Except I'm John Brackenreid,
and there is room for more than one kind of Brackenreid.
No son, you're wrong.
There is only one kind of Brackenreid.
The one who speaks his mind.
Now get out there
and pass your way to the Olympic bloody Games.
Pass it on! Pass it on!
Let's go! Let's go!
Bring it up! Bring it up!
Pass it on!
Shoot! Shoot!
YES!!
Nice one!
Tackle him. Tackle him! On him!
Let's keep it going!
One minute to go.
Defense!
Foul, there!
Yes!
This is it. This is it. This is our moment. Gourlay!
Take the kick!
Gourlay's got this! Yeah!
What are they doing?
Good lord, Tom, they're copying our barricade!
We should have seen this coming.
This is our last chance to take the game. What are we going to do?
John should take the kick.
But he can't kick a straight ball to save his life.
Exactly.
John Brackenreid! Take the kick!
Huh?
We won! We won!
We're going to the Olympic bloody Games!
God!
You'll deserve any medal they win as if you were
right there with them. McNabb!
Thank you, Tom.
Being here for this match means the world to me.
Just what old friends do.
The lads will be needing a firm hand in St. Louis.
I wouldn't trust my team to anyone else.
Good luck.
Thomas C. Brackenreid,
Olympian.
I'll only be gone a couple weeks.
Be sure to write us the results, sir.
Write? I'll be telegraphing. Sod the long distance.
How often will I get to manage a team at the Olympic games.
Too right, sir. And if you have a chance to pick up
some of that fairy floss, I'd be much obliged.
I'll see what I can do, Crabtree.
Now, Murdoch, the payroll is in the safe,
mark the ledger exactly as I do it.
Also, the shed needs clearing out.
I've left a long list of duties on my desk.
We'll try to manage, sir.
Oh, and, uh, be sure to visit the electrical pavilion at the fair.
I understand they have a new plug and wall socket installation.
I'll be sure to make it my first port of call, Murdoch.
Right. And these are from Dr. Ogden:
bandages and a liniment of her own creation
- for players' aches and pains. - That's very kind of her!
- Please, thank her for me. - Ready, Father?
We don't want to miss the train.
They've decorated a special car just for the team,
with red and white bunting, and streamers,
and a sign telling everyone the Galt Football Team
- is going to the Olympic Games. - Well, let's get going then!
Ah! George Crabtree
spies an open Rebecca James.
Not bad, Miss James... for a lady.
Who knows, Inspector,
maybe one day there'll be a team of Canadian women
vying for Olympic gold.
That'll be the day.
Come on John, let's go get a medal.
- Synced and corrected by chamallow - - www.addic7ed.com -