The Old Switcheroo

- The board of the Royal Ontario Museum?

- What, you got a problem with that?

- That is really something.

- Well, yeah.

What's wrong with being civic-minded?

- It's hardly your strong suit.

- Well, if you must know, I've decided it's high time I went legit.

Hmm?

God knows this place could use some livening up.

I mean, look at them.

Deadly dull!

- Yet well-heeled and ripe for the picking.

- Why must you always think so poorly of your mother?

Who, by the way, didn't ask you here to get a lecture.

- So, why am I here?

(fast-paced jazz music) - I didn't set out to find treasures of lost civilizations.

That happened quite by chance.

On an overnight train to Marseilles, I met the renowned archeologist Howard Carter.

What a charmer.

He persuaded me to go with him to the Valley of the Kings, where he was looking for the lost tombs of the pharaohs.

Digging in the sand has been my passion ever since.

- I thought you two should meet.

You know, the whole Egypt thing and all.

- Marian and I have crossed paths before.

- You don't say.

Where?

- Here and there.

- Care to elaborate?

- No.

- C'mon, what's the big secret?

(shushing) - Working with Hiram Bingham III in the lost city of Machu Picchu, I excavated in the field of a dirt poor farmer who, like his forefathers before him, feeds his family with the work of his honest hands.

In the very same dirt, I unearthed... this.

(crowd murmuring) And now, thanks to Ms. Amory, this marvellous example of 15th century Incan earthenware will be the centrepiece of the ROM's new antiquities collection.

- Very nice!

(chuckling) - Oh, please, yes.

- That's something, huh?

- Isn't it just.

How much does she want for it?

- 10 000, give or take.

It's gonna make a fabulous splash.

- I bet it will.

And as Marian's champion, I'm sure you'll just bask in the glow.

- And wouldn't that be swell?

- That's my brother.

- My condolences, Mr. Parkes.

His full name and address?

- Jack Arthur Parkes.

1025 Rusholme Road.

- Your particulars, should we need to reach you?

- Ronald Parkes.

210 Prospect Street.

I'll make arrangements for burial.

- No funeral?

- He wasn't a religious man.

- Not all of us are.

Your brother's belongings.

Again, my sympathies, Mr. Parkes.

- Thank you.

- Well, yes, I would say I've lived an adventurous life.

- Excuse me.

Excuse us.

These provincial types love to ogle anyone exotic.

But here is someone I think you know.

- Hello, Marian.

- Ah... Frankie Drake.

Long time.

- You've been busy since Cairo.

- Small world, huh?

How 'bout that?

- I didn't know you were living in Toronto.

- And you thought you'd seen the last of me.

I'm sorry to disappoint.

- Well, you girls sure seem pleased to be reacquainted, but-- - Excuse me.

I mustn't keep the patrons waiting.

- No, of course not.

You go right ahead.

- What the heck was that all about?

- She was nowhere near Howard Carter's dig in Egypt.

- What are you talking about?

- The overnight train to Marseilles?

That was me.

- What?!

- "He persuaded me to go to the Valley of the Kings... he was looking for the lost tombs of the pharaohs..." I told you that story!

- Yeah, well, the details do sound vaguely familiar now that you mention it.

- No kidding.

- Oh, Frankie!

Come on, let it go.

Honestly!

What interesting person hasn't exaggerated a thing or two about their past?

- Well, not me.

- Well... - I'm sure you don't want to hear that Marian is a fraud.

- Oh, stop it!

Stop trying to spoil this for me, Frankie.

- So, chop suey or something more adventurous?

- Ooh, what did you have in mind?

- Well, there's this restaurant serving this chicken thing, and it's called coq au vin.

Coq au vin?

Coq...

It's French.

- Oh, no.

- Well, all right, then.

We can just go to Quon's.

What's that?

- This wasn't here this morning.

It must've fallen off Jack Parkes' hand when they brought him in.

"To My Beloved Husband.

Love Ingrid."

- Oh, Flo, it's his wedding ring.

- I gotta return it.

- Well, absolutely!

His wife will want a keepsake of her lost love.

- Funny.

The brother didn't mention a wife.

1025 Rusholme Road.

Fancy a tram ride?

- Yes!

- 1025 Rusholme Road.

- It's quite the fancy place.

- Ahem!

- Oh, excuse us.

Flo, I think this is-- - A nunnery.

I guess Ronald Parkes made a mistake.

- Easy to do under the circumstances.

- No problem.

I got his address.

- Right.

- Hey.

This must be it.

210 Prospect Street.

- It's another wrong address.

That's odd.

- I don't think so.

One wrong address is a mistake.

Two is a lie.

(theme music) - So, a nunnery and an empty lot.

- Someone is messing with the integrity of my morgue.

- Well, if the addresses are fake, the names could be too.

- I don't understand it.

I checked out the coroner's reports.

John Parkes, or whoever he is, he died of a heart attack.

It was textbook.

No fuss.

- But tell them about the inscription, Flo.

- Whoever the dead man was, he has a wife named Ingrid.

And she needs to know what happened to him.

- We're here for you, Flo.

What do you need from us?

- I can ask Bill to take a sneak peek in the city records.

See what he can find on the elusive Parkes family.

- What about the dead man's photograph and fingerprints?

- None on record.

(sighing) But there's one way we can get them.

(enigmatic jazz music) You sure dress nice for grave digging.

- Well, what did you expect, a miner's helmet?

- Yes!

Jeepers.

Sorry to be so gruff.

- No, no, no.

No, these tears aren't for you.

OK. - Cemetery's closing for today.

- I see that.

You know...

He died... in my arms a year ago this day... And so we... we walked all the way here.

It was four or five miles.

And...

I brought him these flowers... ...because it was such a special day, you see.

I would really appreciate it.

Thank you.

This is my friend.

Thank you.

You're very kind, sir.

- Nice work.

- Thank you.

(dog barking) - It's Jack Arthur Parkes.

Parkes with an E. - OK. - And there should be some records on his brother, Ronald, as well.

- I'll check as soon as the secretaries leave.

Why'd you want to know, anyway?

- The less you know, the better.

- What, do you think the Head of Records is gonna tie me to a chair down at City Hall and blind me with some bright light?

You're reading too many spy novels.

- No, I just don't want you losing your new job is all.

- No one's gonna notice if I check a name for you.

- What would I do without you?

- You'd be lost.

Honestly, a little sneaking around livens up the file room a little bit.

Besides, I wouldn't mind a little cloak and dagger lifestyle you lead, Miss Trudy Clarke.

(indistinct shouting) (objects clattering) - You wanna cheat at Mahjong, you find another joint to play in.

- Wendy, you need help?

- Nope.

I'm good.

(shouting in Chinese) Honestly, sometimes, I just hope for a simpler life.

- Nah.

I don't buy it.

You ladies live for the excitement.

- No.

I hear you, Wendy.

There's some nights the only thing I really want is some nice music playing and strong arm wrapped around me.

- Think your girl is dropping you a big hint, Bill.

- Well, I should get back to work or I'll lose my job.

City Records will fall apart without me.

I'll be seeing you soon.

- I'll get you a drink.

- Good, you're alone.

- What's going on?

- You tell me.

- What is that supposed to mean?

- There is a lot riding on this urn.

10 000 clams to be precise.

- I wouldn't rush to write that cheque.

- All right, Frankie.

Come on, spill the beans.

What do you know about Marian Hartley?

- I already told you.

She's a fraud.

- Wrong.

The museum curator has already verified the urn.

You know, expert eye, testing, the whole shebang.

It's the real McCoy.

- Good.

- Great.

What are you not telling me?

- You'll find out on your own.

- Something happened in Egypt, didn't it?

Hmm?

Oh, you're stubborn as a mule, just like your old man.

So, tell me where you met her.

- The Windsor.

Just before the war.

- The palace?

- It was a drinking hole in the back streets of Cairo.

- Oh, that sounds like fun.

- Marian ran the place.

She liked to booze people up and get them talking.

- Including you.

Oh, and now she's passing off some story about you and Howard Carter as her own, and it's got your nose all out of joint, doesn't it, baby?

- Let's just say it's not only stories she likes to pass off as her own.

- What, you saying the urn isn't hers?

- What I'm saying is you should be careful, because she's pulling one over on you.

- On me?

(chuckling) Oh, sweetie.

Give your mother just a little bit of credit.

She wasn't born yesterday.

- Really?

- For your information, I've persuaded the ROM to engage a world-renowned authenticator to look into the provenince-- - Provenance.

- Provenance of the urn, as in, where did it come from.

And if it was stolen, he's gonna figure that out.

- What's his name?

- Michael Walsh.

He's like the... head honcho at the Field Museum in Chicago.

And I'm making a big splash about it too.

Big splash!

I am putting the ROM on the map.

- What do you need me for?

Sounds like you have it all covered.

- Well, I do.

- Fine.

- Fine.

(rhythmic jazz music) (grunting) - What happens if we can't identify this dead man?

His wife is never gonna know what happened to him.

And the unsolved mystery is gonna haunt her forever.

Oh, Flo... Oh, I'm sorry.

I mean, I'm such a nitwit.

Of course... of course you don't know what happened to your husband during the war.

I mean, how he died.

Oh, Flo.

I am so sorry.

- Oh, it's all right, Mary.

That's why I don't want any woman to go through what I went through.

I don't even know where Herb is buried.

- Flo, I really admire how you cope with tragedy.

- Well, wallowing won't bring Herb back.

And I've got my job.

At least for now.

The Coroner gets a whiff of this, I'm out on my ear.

- I should think the Coroner would admire this noble work.

You're trying to identify an unidentified body.

And on your spare time, too.

- Fat chance.

Dig faster.

Graveyards... creepy.

(door opening and closing) - Hi.

- You don't smoke that thing very often.

Nora, huh?

- We had a difference of opinion.

- I saw her get into a taxi.

She seems pretty worked up about this exhibit.

Muttering something about that urn and a Marian Hartley.

- Yes.

An old acquaintance from my Cairo days.

- Ooh.

Seems there's a story there.

- She stole something from this young boy who had nothing.

I mean, who does that?

Even Nora wouldn't stoop that low.

- What was it?

- It was an ancient amulet.

It was in this boy's family for generations, and Marian sold it off as her own.

- Let me guess.

Frankie Drake, champion of the underdog, stopped her.

- I tried.

I made a real stink.

- Marian must've been thrilled.

- She was furious... but I couldn't prove it.

- So she won.

Bet that ticked you off.

- You could say that.

- So, you think she's pulling the same stunt at the ROM?

- Well, she's done it before.

- Maybe we should see what she's up to.

What's she selling?

- It's an Incan urn.

- Well, let me see what I can find about stolen Peruvian artifacts.

- OK. Good.

What about Bill?

Did he have any luck finding the Parkes family?

- It's a dead end.

There's no record on Jack Parkes or his brother Ronald.

- Something's going on.

- What has Flo's stumbled into?

- Oh, Flo!

You've got it!

(grunting) Is he, um... all right?

- He's still dead, if that's what you mean.

- Well, uh, don't forget the fingerprints so we can fill in the grave and get out of here.

(clicking) - Stranger and stranger.

- What does that mean?

- The new part of his nail, it's discoloured.

- Fingernails grow after death?

- No, not exactly.

It just looks that way.

They dehydrate and it retracts, exposing the nail bed.

- Right... Wow, you really know a lot about this.

- 10 years of night school eventually pays off.

- Um... well, then, what does the discoloration mean?

- Poison.

- What?

- Our mystery man was murdered.

(upbeat jazz music) - Were you followed?

- No.

Why the secrecy?

- Keep your voice down.

I could lose my job.

Ahem.

Our mystery man.

- You dug up the body?

- With difficulty.

And a wheelbarrow.

- I'm impressed.

- We didn't have a choice.

You are never gonna believe this, Frankie-- - He was murdered.

- I thought he died of a heart attack.

- He did.

Likely brought on by poison.

My best guess is a massive dose of thallium-laced rat poison.

Undetectable.

The telltale sign only showed up on his fingernails post mortem.

- But who killed him?

- Could have been the man who posed as the victim's brother.

- Could be.

- I got a good look at him.

- I mean, I could try to identify him but without a name or an address to go on, it's like finding a needle in a haystack.

- The best way to find our killer is to figure out who this dead man really is.

- Well, maybe he had a criminal record.

I could check his fingerprints.

- We've gotta work fast.

We're lucky it's Saturday.

The coroner never shows up on the weekends, unless it's an emergency.

Make sure no one spots you!

- I go... got it!

- This birthmark could be useful.

- And check out this unusual scarring on his abdomen that was noted by the coroner.

Intriguing.

- It's not an injury.

- No.

- Could it be a surgery?

- Not recent.

I'll do some research.

- OK. (rhythmic jazz music) - Officer Shaw.

- Oh!

Detective Greyson.

What are you doing here?

- What are you doing?

- I'm... uh, just taking some time to educate myself.

Should I, in the line of duty, have cause to take a fingerprint or two, I would like to be prepared.

- A morality officer taking fingerprints.

That's really something.

- And I think I'm actually getting quite good at it.

- I see.

- Ah...

It always helps to practice.

- Yes.

- Well, Officer Shaw, I commend your initiative.

- Oh, Detective, that's...

Thank you.

- Oh, there is one more thing.

- Mm-hmm?

Oh, of course.

- Thank you.

- So, I looked into the Peruvian artifacts.

A lot of Incan stuff was unearthed when the lost city of Machu Picchu was discovered by some Yale professor.

- One Hiram Bingham III.

- You know him?

- I don't, but Marian claims to have worked with him in Peru.

- Well, it seems Bingham's excavation was pretty extensive.

There were hundreds of workers and Thousands of artifacts that were uncovered.

Who knows what happened to them or how many were pilfered?

- The Wild West of archeology.

- You got it.

(door opening) - Just me.

- Hello, Nora.

- Oh, no time for a drink but thanks for asking.

Listen, much as it pains me to say this, I need your help.

- We're busy.

- Don't make me beg.

- What's up?

- There was a break-in last night at the museum.

- So call the cops.

- Well, they were called!

They took their time arriving, missed the intruder.

- What was stolen?

- Well, see, that's the thing.

Those oafs they call constables swarm all over the place, can't find anything missing.

- Nothing?

- Yeah, I don't buy it.

I mean, Who breaks into the Royal Ontario Museum and doesn't steal anything, all those priceless things just lying around, begging to be taken?

Something's up and I want to know what.

- Well, what do you want us to do?

- I want you to figure out what the cops missed!

You're still private detectives, aren't you?

Oh.

OK. What's the retainer?

Hmm?

Oh, no.

I am not kidding.

Going legit is no picnic.

And my reputation is at stake with this urn.

Nothing can go sideways.

Hmm?

Hmm?

You in?

- (man): This lock was the only one tampered with.

- (Trudy): They must want something in this room.

(man chuckling) - If it was our beautiful urn, Mrs. Amory was ahead of the thief.

She insisted on installing this secure cabinet.

Completely burglar proof.

- Seems that way.

- This is the list of our inventory.

- I'll check it out.

- I'm gonna have a chat with an old friend.

- That new Detective Greyson, for a moment, I thought he was going to be different, that he was going to take me seriously, but it turns out he's just like all the rest.

He has no respect for my policing talents.

- Did you find out anything?

- Well...

There's the real frustration, Flo.

I checked every fingerprint.

Whoever this mystery man is, he's got no record.

And there was no luck on the phantom brother either.

- Mary.

Look at this.

- Oh, Flo!

These are the same incisions as on the body.

- Exactly.

I think our victim had an organoscopy.

- Oh.

That sounds unpleasant.

- It's a revolutionary surgical technique.

Pioneered by a Dr. Bertram Bernheim at Johns Hopkins University.

- So, if our victim was one of his patients, maybe they can identify him.

Has he got any particular identifying features?

- A birthmark on his left shoulder.

Why?

- Perhaps I can put my policing talents to use after all.

- Your ongoing patronage is very appreciated.

I look forward to seeing you next time.

Oh.

You're back.

(sighing) - I'm here to investigate last night's break-in.

- Oh, well.

Why you?

- Because I'm a private detective.

- Private detective?

That's quite a step down from archeology to snooping.

- Well, at least I've been an archeologist, unlike some.

- Meaning?

- You were nowhere near the Valley of the Kings.

And the overnight train to Marseilles, I told you that story.

- I'm sure Howard Carter took lots of trains and met lots of young women.

- Well, impress your camp followers all you want with my stories.

I'm only interested in where you were last night.

- Last night?

Here and there, being entertained by patrons of this fine institution.

- I'm sure you were doing most of the entertaining.

- I don't understand why you're being so hostile, Frankie.

You and I go way back, and how many people can say that these days?

Remember the fun we used to have at The Windsor?

- Did we?

- Oh, come on!

You remember Lawrence, when he came in dressed as a Bedouin demanding a drink in that charming English accent.

- No, I don't.

But I do remember the scam that you pulled.

- That's ancient history.

- Not to Asim, it's not.

You do remember him, don't you?

- The amulet was mine.

- After his mother died, the amulet was all he had to remember her by.

You stole from a child.

- It was verified as my archeological find.

- Just like the urn?

- Nora Amory's only bringing in some other authenticator to drum up publicity for this backwater pile.

- A backwater that's about to pay you 10 grand for some fraud that you're pulling.

- You've got it all figured out, Miss PI.

- Not yet... but I will.

- Ah, Doctor Bernheim, thank you so much for speaking with me.

Um, I'm calling on behalf of Detective Greyson of the Toronto Police.

The police, the po...lice.

Yes.

Um, we need your help identifying a corpse.

(sighing) A corpse.

A body.

Right.

We know he was a patient at Johns Hopkins, and we believe he had an organoscopy some time ago.

Right.

So, if you would kindly check your records, and... oh, you would?

That would be most helpful.

Oh, oh, oh, and, and, and he has a distinctive birthmark on his left shoulder...

Right.

That, oh, that would...

Yes, absolutely, I can wait.

- (Trudy): See this?

- Boy, that gal can sure write a headline, huh?

- Yeah.

Seems you've got a fan in Lipstick.

- Don't I just.

I got all the press clamouring for this story.

Now if the guest of honour would just show up... - Right.

Michael Walsh is on the slow boat to Toronto.

- Yeah, you're telling me.

He left Chicago days ago.

- This is the last item in the collection.

- That's it.

Everything checks out.

- You are kidding me!

Sorry.

- I hate to say it, but the cops were right.

Nothing's missing.

- So, why did Marian break in?

- You don't know it was her.

- A break-in at the ROM with Marian in town is not a coincidence.

- That's funny.

Nora's has a pretty good nose and she couldn't smell anything.

How come she didn't make Marian?

- Because she didn't want to.

She has too much invested.

- Seems like you're pretty invested yourself.

- What's that supposed to mean?

- Marian's gotten under your skin.

Cairo was years ago, Frankie.

You can't fix the past.

- I'm not trying to.

- Really?

- Fine... but it doesn't mean that I'm not right.

- Yeah, well, there's a first for everything.

(knocking and door opening) - (Mary): Hello?

Oh!

I've got it!

I have got it.

- Got what?

- Well, Flo actually cracked it.

He was a patient at Johns Hopkins.

- Who was?

- The man in Flo's fridge.

He's got a name.

It is Michael Walsh.

- Michael Walsh.

That's the elusive authenticator from Chicago.

- So, our two investigations are one and the same.

- But who would want to kill an antiquities expert?

- Looks like Frankie's got her number one suspect.

- Really?

Who is it, Frankie?

- I need to send a telegram, and then catch a train.

(thunder crashing) (soft music) (knocking) - Come in.

- Hiram Bingham III, I presume?

- Oh... no, call me Bingham.

You must be Frankie Drake.

- Thank you for meeting with me.

- Oh, Howard Carter's telegram was some introduction.

You made quite an impression.

I can see why.

So, how did you like Egypt?

(speaking Arabic) So, Miss Drake, how can I help?

- I'm looking for something old and Peruvian.

This Incan urn.

- Oh.

(thunder rumbling) Oh.

It's very nice.

I'd say this is quite a find.

- Would you say it's authentic?

- I can't be sure from this photo.

I'd have to examine the real thing.

- Have you seen it before?

- No.

No, were you digging in Peru?

- I wasn't.

She was.

Marian Hartley.

Do you recognize her?

- Should I?

- She claims she was working with you in Machu Picchu.

- Marian Hartley... Are you sure you have the right name?

- Yes, I'm very sure.

She didn't work with you.

- I've never heard of her.

Why are you asking?

- It's a long story.

Thank you for your help, but I have a train to catch.

- Must you rush off?

I'd be happy to drive you to the station.

In the meantime...

I happen to have a bottle of your Canadian whiskey tucked away.

- Well, I'm more of a gin gal.

But...

I could make an exception.

- There you go.

So, is this what brought you to Buffalo?

- Yes, actually.

I'm on a treasure hunt.

Incan gold.

Supposedly hidden from the conquistadors centuries ago.

- You're looking for clues?

- According to myth, a secret map to the treasure exists.

- You think it's woven into this?

- I was optimistic.

- But disappointed.

- Mm-hmm.

The real map is said to bear this Incan spider symbol.

Sadly, this tapestry has no such mark.

- And you think this treasure's real?

- I'm an adventurer.

We thrive on the possibility of the impossible.

- And the thrill's in the chase.

- A woman after my own heart.

♪♪ - What's up?

- We got a problem.

There's been a traffic accident with a couple of fatalities, and the bodies are on their way here now.

We've gotta get rid of Mr. Walsh pronto.

- Right.

I have a friend from church who works for the Bethany Funeral Home.

I could talk to her.

- I can hold the coroner off for an hour or so.

Your friend, she's discreet?

- Yeah, no doubt about it.

I mean, Walsh will be the only white body in the place, but at least he can lay in rest 'til we find his wife.

- OK. Help me dress him.

- What?

- It's quicker with two.

Grab an apron.

(grunting) ♪♪ - Hello again.

- What do you want now?

- Well, I just spent a very pleasant evening with an old friend of yours, Hiram Bingham III.

- Well, he isn't in Toronto.

- No, he isn't.

He's in Buffalo.

But we had a very interesting chat about you.

- Oh?

- You weren't in Machu Picchu with him.

- Don't be ridiculous.

- Where did you get the urn?

- Give it up, Frankie.

You lost before, and you'll lose again.

- Not this time, I'm afraid.

Where were you four nights ago?

- Why the sudden interest in my social schedule?

- Call it curiosity.

- Four nights ago... that was the evening before my presentation.

Why don't you ask Nora Amory?

- I will.

- OK, you are absolutely sure?

- Well, like, I had the filet mignon, Marian had the lobster.

I mean, it was a charming evening on the museum's tab.

Why are you asking?

- Because Marian is a killer!

At least I thought she was.

- Well, that's a little dramatic, darling, even for you.

Who did she supposedly kill?

- Michael Walsh, the authenticator.

- You're kidding.

He's dead?

- I'm afraid so.

- Well, no wonder he didn't show up.

- Yeah, well, somebody killed him and went to a lot of trouble to hide his body.

- Why do you think it was Marian?

I mean, she's got no reason to kill him.

The museum curator has already confirmed the urn's genuine.

- Yeah, well, I still don't buy it.

- Yeah, well, four nights ago, Marian was sucking on a crustacean, not bumping off Walsh.

- Can you keep Walsh's demise quiet for a day or two?

- Yeah.

He's dead.

I don't expect he'll mind.

Why?

- I just need some time to figure this out.

- OK. Go, go, go, go.

(rhythmic jazz music) ♪♪ (clicking) - Just me.

(sighing) I wanted to let you know that Michael Walsh is safely tucked away at the Bethany Funeral Home.

- Trudy came through.

- Yep, and I found a way to reach his wife, Ingrid, with the news.

Which won't be an easy call, given that he was murdered.

- You might wanna hold off on making that call.

- Why?

- I may have a lead on who the killer is.

- You do?

- This guy.

- Holy cats, you found him!

- You know who he is?

- That's the man who came to identify his dead brother!

That's Ronald Parkes!

- That's my brother.

- My condolences, Mr. Parkes.

- So, so, Marian's friend Ronald killed Michael Walsh?

- But if Ronald is the killer, why show up at the morgue and risk getting caught?

- Because he wanted to make very sure that if anyone came looking for Walsh, he was never found.

- Like his wife.

- Exactly.

- Except for I found that wedding ring.

- And unraveled the plan.

- Why go to all that trouble to make sure Walsh was never found?

- Because Ronald is planning to steal Walsh's identity.

- What for?

- A very valuable urn at the Royal Ontario Museum.

- Michael Walsh from the Field Museum in Chicago.

I am delighted to meet you, Mrs. Amory.

(stammering) - Mr. Walsh.

Hello!

(chuckling) We were beginning to think you'd never arrive.

- An invitation to examine an early piece of Incan pottery, how could I resist?

I am very keen to see it.

- I bet you are.

Please... ♪♪ (jazz music) - Michael Walsh, a.k.a.

the walking dead, just strolled into the ROM.

What is going on?!

- He certainly took his time.

- You knew, and you didn't think to tell your mother!

- I'm still trying to figure it out!

- Well hurry up.

Being left in the dark makes me very uncomfortable!

Frankie, I am used to running the con, not being the mark.

- The man that you just saw, he killed the real Michael Walsh.

- Oh, charming fellow!

What is he doing at the museum?

- I don't know, but he has a partner.

- Oh, if it isn't Miss Hartley from Cairo!

- The one and only.

- You're not gonna gloat?

- No time for that.

- Oh!

What are they after?

It, well, it has to be the urn.

- That's what I've been saying.

- Now she gloats.

- They're after the 10 grand.

- So they sell the ROM a fake.

- Except the urn's a genuine.

- So why bother impersonating the authenticator?

- It's a classic!

It's the old switcheroo.

- Clearly a favourite of yours.

- Well, I, I, you know, I, I may have run it once or twice.

- You find yourself a mark.

You offer the genuine article for sale.

The buyer agrees, you set a price, you collect the cash, and then you switch the genuine article for a fake.

And the beauty of it is No one's the wiser.

- And then you pull the same con somewhere else.

- Exactly.

- So, how does the switch work?

- Trade secret.

What?

I'm saving it for my memoirs.

The question is how are Marian and pal gonna pull it off at the ROM?

- The mysterious break-in.

- Where nothing was taken.

Ronald broke in-- - And he planted a replica.

But Trudy searched the place.

She didn't find anything.

- Yeah, but she was looking for something missing.

- Not something hidden.

- Well, there's only one way to catch them.

- We let it play out.

OK, so when is Walsh authenticating the urn?

- This afternoon.

Old times, Frankie.

- Don't push it.

- OK. - [Operator.]

- Operator?

- [Can I help you?]

- Chicago, please.

- [What's the institution?]

- The Field Museum.

- Well, yes, the urn is a coveted treasure, but so too is Miss Hartley, who has been delighting us with her tales of adventure.

- I envy your travels to Machu Picchu, Miss Hartley.

- Oh, yes, Machu Picchu!

- Words cannot describe the experience of entering the lost city.

One's senses are completely taken over.

It's truly like holding history in your hands.

- Intoxicating.

- Completely.

- Oh...

I can see you're just two little peas in an archeological pod, so... (all chuckling) I will leave Miss Hartley to beguile you further, Mr. Walsh.

- Thank you.

- The urn has been prepared for your inspection, so whenever you're ready, Miss Hartley will show you the way.

Take your time.

(tense music) - Thank you.

- Isn't it something?

- Quite.

- The guard will remain outside the door for security.

- You got the car?

- I'm picking it up tonight.

Be at the side door at 10.

♪♪ (lid creaking) - (whispering): Huh.

Impressive hiding spot.

- (whispering): Yeah.

They've done this before.

(lid creaking) - There it is, the old switcheroo.

Now, Mr. Walsh, don't keep us in suspense a moment longer.

What do you say?

(clicking) - Mrs. Amory, patrons of the Royal Ontario Museum, it is my pleasure to confirm this is a rare and marvellous piece.

(clicking) A genuine 15th century Incan urn... worthy of a place of honour in your fine institution.

- And just one matter remaining.

Miss Hartley, your cheque.

And I hope you bring us many more of your wondrous finds.

- Count on it, Mrs. Amory.

- Oh... (clicking) - Did they suspect anything?

- Nope.

The trap's all set.

- So, Ronald just has to walk into it.

- What about Marian?

- I'll take care of Marian.

(insects chirping) (tense jazz music) ♪♪ (lid creaking) - Looking for this, Mr. Walsh?

- Or should we call you Ronald Parkes?

- Hmm?

(fast-paced jazz music) (grunting) - I got him.

You go.

(exhaling heavily) (car engine humming) - Hello, Marian.

- What?

What are you-- - Expecting someone else?

- Don't be ridiculous.

I was just leaving.

- I don't think so.

You're going down for murder.

- I didn't kill anyone.

- I contacted the Field Museum in Chicago.

It turns out they have the exact same Peruvian urn in their collection, authenticated by one Michael Walsh.

You pulled the exact same con there.

The minute Walsh saw you, you knew the game would be over, so you and your partner killed him.

- You should mind your own business.

- You became my business the minute you cheated Asim in Cairo.

(groaning) ♪♪ - The brush work, the seaming.

This... this detail.

It's a fine piece indeed.

- Isn't it just.

So, you think it's the real deal?

- Oh, there's no question.

- I knew it!

I mean, I, I, I, I kind of have an eye for, uh, for the genuine article.

(chuckling) - Oh.

- Tell me, how did you come upon this urn?

- Well, Mr. Bingham... (chuckling) This is an interesting story.

- Well, I'm gonna level with you, Bingham.

You're not just here to authenticate.

- Well, you have my attention, Miss Drake.

- There's something else about the urn that I think you might find interesting.

- Really?

Oh, I, uh... NO!

(screaming) - Hold onto your hair, Nora!

- Why?!

- Take a peek.

Does it look familiar?

- My God...

It's the map to the Incan gold.

- Gold?

What gold?

- After Marian and her partner were carted away, I took a closer look at the urn and...

I found this.

Look familiar?

- I'll be damned... the symbol of the spider.

- I remember you showing me the drawing and there was nothing on the outside of the urn, so there was only one other possibility.

- Hmm.

Well, wouldn't you know it?

Only Frankie Drake could smash a priceless urn and find some map to lost treasure.

She gets that from me.

(soft music) - My deepest sympathies, Mrs. Walsh.

- You are kindness itself.

And a dedicated coroner.

- I'm not the actual coroner.

- Well you should be.

I'm grateful beyond words to you both.

- She's right.

You should be the coroner.

- And you should be the chief of police.

- Don't let anyone hear you say that.

If our bosses knew how competent we are-- - We'd lose our jobs for sure.

(both laughing) - Narrowing down the vastness of the mountain range will be a challenge.

- This painted map is very specific.

This... this valley could be a reference point.

Howard Carter's grid technique could prove to be useful.

- Methodical and laborious.

But scientific and effective.

- Well, where's the fun in that?

(sighing) - Join my treasure hunt.

We'd make a great team.

The thrill is in the chase, isn't it?

- Well, it's a tempting offer, but...

I'm a detective now.

- And who knows where your next case will take you.

- And what I might have to smash.

(chuckling) - Right.

Well... if you change your mind, you can find me in the Peruvian Andes.

Just look for the hat.

(soft music) (birds chirping) - Sorry about the urn.

- Yeah.

How about a little warning next time you smash something priceless?

Your mother's got a dodgy pelvic floor.

- Well, console yourself knowing that Marian used the urn for a cheap con without ever knowing its true value.

- A delicious irony, I will give you that.

- I still can't believe that you didn't see through her.

- Yeah, I don't know.

I think going legit somehow clouded my thinking.

Well, it won't happen again.

Trust me.

And for starters, I'm quitting the board of this place.

- Oh.

They let you go?

- Yeah.

All that juicy publicity?

They can kiss that goodbye!

- So, they did give you the boot.

- Must you harp?

So, tell me about the charming Mr. Bingham.

- There's nothing to tell.

- Oh, sure there is.

You've got a thing for archeologists.

- How would you know?

- Mother's intuition.

- There's no such thing.

- So, you fancy a drink or what?

- Thought you'd never ask.

♪♪ Closed Captioning by SETTE inc ♪♪ ♪♪