The Limehouse Golem Page #4

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She means she's the prompt.

I was only saying earlier

you might make a good gagger.

She's got the dial for it,

hasn't she, uncle?

Say that again.

She's got the dial for it,

hasn't she, uncle?

Dan:
Oh, thank you.

I don't know where

you put it all, Victor.

You must have hollow legs.

I can hold as much as the next

man, thank you very much.

Pour a quart in a pint pot,

you'll make a mess.

Nonsense.

I'm as right as rain.

Can't keep a good man down,

as they say,

but I know where you can

put a good man up.

Aah!

What in god's name is going on?

Nothing.

Lizzie stepped on my foot

by mistake.

No harm done.

I'm taking Lizzie home.

This is no place

for an innocent young girl.

Come, gentlemen.

No harm done.

As the executioner said

to the hanged man.

I'll -- I'll -- I'll take her.

There's no need.

I can walk alone.

John cree:

No, I'll not hear of it.

Please, your food will get cold.

I'll be quite safe.

Our digs are just

around the corner.

Then I'll be back in good time.

Uncle:
Watch yourself, Victor.

John cree's got a temper.

I'm not afraid of him.

Dan:
Lizzie...

I'm afraid there's...

Awful news.

Victor was found at the bottom

of the stairs last night.

Kildare:
Lizzie...

Are you trying to tell me

you suspected John cree?

I didn't say that.

I merely said he was protective.

You said the same of Dan leno.

I seem to ignite the urge

in men.

He was a terrible little turd.

But he was our

terrible little turd.

That's it,

cheer up.

I've suggested that we make

tonight's show

a special tribute.

We'll give him a grand send-off,

won't we?

Kildare:
Did you ever speak

of it to John?

Lizzie:
No.

I never spoke of it to anyone.

I preferred to

chalk it up to fate.

Would you rather owe your

happiness to simple good fortune

or to an unspeakable

act of violence?

Little Victor's death

brought you happiness?

Lizzie:
Little Victor's death

gave me life.

Dan:
The people come through

the doors and they laugh.

Uncle:
Dan, I was hoping you'd

wipe your ass with the papers.

You don't read them.

-Dan:
What more can I do?

Lizzie:
Dan?

Do you think I could pay my

respects to little Victor, too?

Good god.

This is a funny thing.

What a funny thing.

Lizzie:
Just a little song.

A blue one maybe,

Victor would like that.

A salty sailor act,

as if I were a man.

It could be a scream.

-Go on, then, Lizzie.

Give it a try.

Isn't that costume a little bit

small for you, dear?

That's the point.

Excuse me --

oh!

Oblige again!

Lizzie, oblige again!

They want more!

I don't have any more.

You have them!

Would you look at these

rotten cotton gloves?

That saltwater

will shrink anything.

Least that's what the ladies

down at the docks tell me.

I don't know, I just looked at

the gloves and they looked

so absurd that the line just

came to me like that.

"Them rotten cotton gloves!"

It could be your catchphrase.

No need to dip

into the blue bag so much.

They loved it.

They loved it all.

They love you.

And who wouldn't.

-Uncle!

-Aveline:
Careful, uncle.

With Lizzie in that getup,

anyone looking over might think

you have an eye for the boys.

Well, let them think

what they like.

More drinks, please!

Little Victor wouldn't

have wanted any of us

standing up at the end

of the night.

I'm tired, I'm afraid.

Walk me home, will you, John?

I'll come back.

Why are you still

wearing your costume?

I hoped it might

keep the men away.

You prefer the girls, Lizzie?

Nothing wrong in that if you do.

Come on, no need to make

something from nothing.

You dress like a girl.

-Yeah, on stage.

Well, if you really care,

maybe I like

how I felt on stage.

I care.

I care to see you happy.

Tonight...

Tonight, you look happy.

Flood:
We still need

handwriting samples

from Marx, gissing, and leno.

Kildare:
Did you speak

with the maid again?

Flood:
Aveline Ortega?

I did, sir.

She won't hear a word

said against him.

You showed her

the journal entries?

She swore

the writing wasn't his.

If cree were our golem,

it would certainly make sense

of him destroying his papers.

And god knows

as a failed playwright,

cree must've grown sick

of watching his famous wife

earn London's attention.

Do you fancy another?

Trying to get me drunk?

A pint, please.

It was a joke.

Didn't mean nothing.

I didn't mean to offend.

I'm...

On your side.

It's not the golem

haunting you, is it?

It's her.

She's going to hang, flood.

We have to rule out

the other suspects.

Well, I may have found

an eyewitness in limehouse, sir.

Scaoil liom! Scaoil liom!

You're not in any trouble.

I'm taking you to someone

who can translate.

Understand?

This is -- this is sister Mary.

T mo mhthair tar

is m a dhol cheana.

T fear do m'fhuadach

ar mo l breithe.

The child says

she's not for sale.

Her mum's got a fella

taking her on her next birthday.

No, no, please.

Tell her my colleague

showed her some photographs,

suspects in a crime.

She seemed to recognize

one of them.

We need to know where

and when she saw him.

Flood:
Sir, this is where

Solomon weil lived!

The scholar, the third victim.

Which house number did he --

-kildare:
Number 4.

This man?

Families starve in the streets.

Women are used up

and thrown away, then you --

you persecute one

who fights for the people.

You're not fit to clean the

boots of a man like Karl Marx.

So...

London declares that

the Jew was murdered

by a Jewish monster?

And so absolves itself

of all responsibility.

Make no mistake, gentlemen,

it is not Solomon weil

who's mutilated

and murdered here.

It is the Jew.

None of the golem's

other victims were hebrews, sir.

Marx:
But do you not see?

This murderer strikes at

the very symbols of the city --

the Jew, the whore.

They are

the sacrificial tributes

in this labyrinth of London.

And so of course must

be ritually butchered.

What is it that

you wish me to write?

"The morning herald...

Had declined

to review my debut."

Marx:

All that work for nothing.

I resolved that this time

I'd put on a show

that everyone would notice.

A fine opening act

of the crowd-pleasing sort.

Marx:
And I went

on to create a spectacle

that no beholder

would ever forget.

"It was all too easy

to kill a whore.

Tonight I would return

to kill the Jew."

This is absurd.

You didn't do this.

Of course I didn't.

Greatorex:
Would you agree

with the defendant

that in the weeks

before his death,

Mr. cree had seemed "morbid"?

No, sir.

He was in good spirits.

Greatorex:
And how would you

describe relations

between Mr. cree and his wife?

Aveline:

Not especially good, sir.

They saw very little

of each other.

And yet Mrs. cree insisted on

preparing him a nightly draft?

That is correct, sir.

Greatorex:
And did you hear

Mr. cree express suspicions

that she might have tainted

this draft with something?

Not quite.

Though just before his death,

I overheard them in dispute.

I heard Mr. cree say,

"you devil.

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