Murdoch Mysteries

Our contestants are really in the thick of it now!

Whose dish will be the finest?

Who will make the most out of the delicious,

nutritious Madison's Fine Beef?

What do you have for us today, Mrs. Tucker?

Ahh! Another mélange of 100 unappealing ingredients it seems.

Isn't he great?

He's just insulting all the dishes.

And you assured me the turnout would be better.

Ah, Miss Cooper.

Yours looks even worse, if such a thing is possible.

My cream toast is divine, sir.

Thomas!

Thomas!

- Try this! - What is it?

It's my frizzled beef.

It's the only thing I could make to disguise this God-awful meat.

- Mm! It's not bad. - No, Thomas!

More lunch counter slop, eh, Mr. Douglas?

Loose-meat with stale Sally Lunn, it appears?

Mr. Crabtree!

Spare your insults, sir.

I promise you, you have never tried the likes of my aunt Fern's

- apple beef balls. - How appetizing.

You know, this really is a wonderful set up.

Much better than I have at home in my boarding room.

You wouldn't believe how hard it is

to make jiggs dinner on a camping stove.

It's a wonder you find joy in life.

- Ah! - George!

Finally Mrs. Brackenreid...

Sir.

Achevez, Monsieur Gordon !

A-ha! We have a dish.

Let's see...

Oh my, this looks unappetizing.

Is this the best a finely-trained chef can conjure?

Mm! This is slop.

Terrible !

Inedible! You really are just a frog-faced buffoon,

aren't you, Prideaux? You should be a...

ashamed...

ashamed... you should be ashamed of...

you should... I wouldn't pay...

- Oh, dear! - What's happening?!

- Is he all right? - Is he all right?!

What have you done to me?!

Non ! Non ! Mon Dieu !

C'est pas moi !

He was fine one moment, sir, full of his usual acrid vigour.

Then he had one bite of Monsieur Prideaux's dish...

The Frenchman poisoned him.

It's impossible to say at this point. I mean, I suppose he could have

had a stroke.

Perhaps we'll have a word with the Frenchman nonetheless.

The circumstance suggests a sudden onset of symptoms.

Prussic Acid came to mind.

Well, it wouldn't cause this level of paralysis.

Can you swallow, Mr. Gordon?

Not easily.

- What about speech? - Can't...

It must be a neurological toxin

but I've never seen symptoms quite so devastating.

That bastard tried... to kill me!

One bite of this and he fell ill?

Sir, he positively keeled over.

I mean, the whole contest had to be cancelled.

A shame. It looks terrific.

I think I'll go out for lunch, anyone care to join me?

This disappoints me, but I soldier on.

Right. We'll have to test the dish

to ensure that it is indeed the source of the poison.

I assume you'll want to get started right away?

That poor man has lost nearly all of his faculties.

Indeed.

- So you'll test the dish? - Hmm?

- Yes. Of course. - Thank you.

George, the chef?

Sir, he's in your office.

A little bit loopy, you know, he's... very French.

I did nothing, I swear.

Well, I could hardly blame you. I mean,

the man did call you a frog-faced buffoon.

- I am not a frog-faced buffoon! - Well, I'm not calling you a frog-faced buffoon.

I'm merely saying that Mr. Gordon

called you a frog-faced buffoon,

and you did not seem to care for being called

- a frog-faced buffoon... - Stop saying that!

Du calme, Monsieur Prideaux.

Je m'excuse, Detective.

The fact is, our constables interviewed the other contestants,

and they claim you called him a "damnable boor"

with "the heart of a vile despot,"

"unworthy of a swift demise."

I may have said some of those things, but...

it was only talk. We are rivals after all.

So then who poisoned your dish? No one!

C'est impossible. I am always in control of my plate.

The most common neurological toxins are heavy metals.

Cadmium, lead, arsenic, mercury...

But those wouldn't react quickly enough.

No, but some animal toxins work almost instantaneously.

- Maybe bufotoxin. - So how do we test for it?

First we need to make sure the poison came from the dish in question.

I am sorry.

- Detective Watts. - Oh, you.

- Yes? - I have a tip for you.

It's on the subject of processed meat.

Let's assume Mr. Prideaux is telling the truth.

Is it possible that another contestant interfered with his dish?

I should think it possible, sir.

And Mr. Gordon's not the kindest of men.

Dickie Douglas warned us of that.

- Who is Dickie Douglas? - One of the contestants.

He works for Madison, the sponsors of the whole thing.

He's a cook at their lunch counter.

Apparently, Mr. Gordon ate there every day

- and never failed to hurl a fresh insult at the man. - Gentlemen...

- I may have broken your case. - Oh?

- Oh. - George, William, hear me out.

A few days ago, someone telephoned me.

They refused to divulge their identity,

calling themself "The Good Samaritan."

The last anonymous source you brought us was a fake.

- This one's real. - Forgive me if I maintain skepticism.

He had information regarding Madison's Tinned Goods.

He said their new product was a hazard to public health.

The tinned beef? What kind of hazard?

Tainted meat.

It was most certainly tainted.

- Botulism. - Botulism?

- What's botulism? - A bacteria found in sausages,

- if I'm not mistaken. - Very good, Detective.

Its defining factor is that it grows in anaerobic environments,

sausage casing being one.

- A tin can would be another. - Precisely.

Occurrences have been on the rise with the popularity of tinned goods.

So we all could have been cooking with poison.

Not exactly. It takes effect between 6 and 36 hours.

So our victim wasn't poisoned by this dish.

Our friends here ate it one hour ago and remain in perfect health.

Although I did ask Mr. Gordon to give a list of everything

he'd eaten over the last two days,

and he says he's had no other tinned goods.

That's not entirely so.

All the contestants and Mr. Gordon

had a publicity photo taken yesterday afternoon.

And for the camera, he ate a big spoonful of the tinned beef.

Now, he spat it out right away afterward.

Well, even a small amount can have a severe effect.

Well, that timing would make sense.

But he... he'll be all right?

His mind will remain conscious

while his body shuts down from the inside out.

He will remain aware even when his lungs stop working,

slowly suffocating him to death.

Everything all right, George?

Sir, Mr. Gordon wasn't the only one

who ate the tinned beef for the camera yesterday.

We all did.

I suppose there's a chance that your tin wasn't tainted, George.

Sir, how can that be?

Presumably if one can is bad, the whole batch is.

- That's likely true. - So I'll die.

I'll never get to see Egypt.

Or Asia.

Or any of those new provinces we have now. How many do we have now?

- Nine. - Nine.

Perhaps in the future, we'll have even more.

I'll never know. I'll be dead.

It must be difficult

to confront the prospect of one's own demise, George...

Oh sir, that's wonderful.

I thought you would at least have some words of reassurance.

Well...

the mortality rate from botulism is no more than 80%.

80%?!

What is this, some kind of gambit to knock me out of the contest?

I'm afraid not, Mrs. Brackenreid.

I mean, there are constables rounding up

the other contestants right now so I can inform them.

What nonsense! I feel just fine.

I feel cold.

I feel we should maybe go home and talk to the boys.

Oh, Thomas! Stop! Clearly I'm not dying.

However...

if some of the other contestants have weaker constitutions, so be it.

Crabtree, take your feet off the couch.

Sorry, sir.

I'm afraid a tin of Madison's beef

is the only possible source of the toxin.

Well, what are we to do?

First you'll surrender any can that could possibly be tainted.

How do we tell which ones are tainted?

We have to assume that any one of them could contain the poison.

- But that would mean... - You'll have every last tin.

- What? - We'll go to the papers.

Inform everyone. Call on all of our customers

to return to us every can.

But that would ruin us.