01x01 - Slightly Foxed - Part One

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They don't get any lighter.

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Bit lost love? Ah... 158?
Just there, sweetheart.

Ta.

Hold that, would you?

What do you make of it?
Looks old.

It is barely indifferent. Jacobean poetry.
Calfskin binding worth a couple

of bob. What are these
brown spots on the pages?

You get straight to the heart of the
matter, Mr. um Jack. It's just Jack.

That's called foxing. Jack. Just Jack.
It's what time does to books.

To all of us. In the profession we
say it's slightly foxed. Interested?

You know, there's a mistake.
A mistake?

Well, isn't there?
Above the door, a sign.

What about it?
Well, it's wrong, isn't it?

There's no apostrophe in books.
There is.

There isn't. There is.
There isn't. There is.

There isn't. There is if your name is Book
and you own the shop, which it is, and I do.

My name is Book. Book's books.
Confusing, I know. Or is it handy?

I can never decide.
Anyway, I'm Book and I run a

bookshop. This one, obviously.
You must be here about the job. Tea?

Not quite there yet.

I'm trying to make ginger snaps.
How much?

Where were you dragged up?
One for each person and one for the pot.

Oh, where have we got to Jack?
Just Jack.

Uh, this is dog book dog job.
I have a little hobby on the side and I find it's

taking me away from the shop more and more.
So, I require assistance.

God.

Oh, that's better. I must have tea.
Without tea, I am merely unreconstituted

dust.

Look, this isn't really my sort of gaff.
I mean, I thought they'd maybe send me

to a factory or something.
They Well, you know where I've come from,

don't you? You know that I was No
need to mention it again. What are

you hoping for now?
You've got the job, Jack. Just as Jack,

I just want to keep my head down, you
know, try and get back to normal. Wait,

I've got the job. Normality is overrated.
Yes, you got the

job if you want it.
Darling, you must come at once.

Oh. Uh, Trottie, this is Jack.
Just Jack.

Jack, this is Trottie, my wife.
Hello.

Hello. Well, what is it? The b*mb site.
The men carrying the b*mb

site. You know where
Inkermman Street used to be?

Oh, yes, that one. What of it?
Well, they found something in suspicious

circumstances.
My favourite kind of circumstances.

Heat. Heat.

Heat.

Heat.

Wow.

Me.

I was wondering if we'd be seeing
you like a bad penny, Sergeant.

Yeah, well, you know my feelings.
You've made them exquisitely plain, but

as you know, I do have a special
letter from Churchill. Yeah,

it's good to cover them up.

All right. Oh, hello book.
Mrs. Book, thought this

might be up your street.
Almost literally.

Start at the beginning, Inspector,
and leave nothing out. Especially if it's

salacious, gory, or vaguely scandalous.
Bit of a puzzle. Mr. Basehart here was

starting to clear away the rubble
from his cell b*mb site the other day.

Inkerman Street caught it in


Yes, sir. Terrible pounding.
Do you remember that raid, sir?

How could I forget? Trottie and I ended
up cheek by jowl in the Anderson shelter

with the man from the credential
insurance company. You had lovely

fingernails. Terrible halitosis.
Those shelters

weren't built for sharing.
w*r's over, Mr. Basehart.

Quite so, sir. But I still like to
patrol my route for old time's sake. And

to keep an eye on old Brenda
there, my trusty search light.

Well, here he was trying to clear away
the rubble when lo, what does he find?

Lo? What?

What happened to Betsy?
Tossed together like a skeletal salad.

How many?
It's hard to tell cuz they're all

jumbled up. But 10 or 12, I'd say.
Quite why Mr. Basehart didn't tell the

authorities about his discovery
forthwith with is another matter.

He didn't? No.
Some kiddies who were playing here

let us know.
As I was saying, I have a theory.

Well, obviously they copped it in the
raid, didn't they?

What do you think, Jack? Me.

You?

Uh, yeah.
That's what must have happened.

Air raid k*lled him. Died 2 years
ago and now they're all rotted away.

That would be a logical assumption.
Who's this?

So, you don't think they
died in an air raid?

If you recall, Inkerman Street was already
empty, wasn't it, Mr. Basehart?

Scheduled for demolition.
So, nobody was living here, in which case.

Who are they?
Well, anybody, surely?

Anybody could have taken shelter from
the bombing in one of the empty houses?

A dozen of them. What about clothes?
Clothes? All flesh is grass. The raid

was only 2 years ago. Even if the bodies
had rotted away, their clothes would

still be intact.
I think Mr. Bart and I are thinking along

similar lines.

Well, that would appear
to be the clincher.

What do you think?

The unmistakable bonds
of King Charles II.

Oh, does it have a date on it, too?


Plague pit. Yeah.
So, it would seem.

A what? Plague pit. The great plague.
London's burial grounds were

overflowing, so they dug these great big
pits and dumped all the corpses in them.

I I'm a bit of an archaeologist on the side.
Strictly amateur, you understand?

So, why didn't you tell us
straight away when you found them?

Well, I I knew I'd never get a chance
like this again. I just wanted a bit of

time to excavate them.
Fascinating stuff.

I really am very sorry, Inspector.
Yes. Well, no harm done, I suppose.

Not sure about that.
These skeletons might still be lively.

Well, you mean it's still catching.
The jury, as they say, is out, but I

think it's very unlikely.
Do you mind if I hang on to this?

You're welcome to it.
Right, Mr. Book?

Well, hello, Nora. Why?
I'm not surprised to see you here. Did you know

that back then they used to use great
catapults to toss plaguey corpses into

besieged cities to
deliberately infect people?

That's horrible, Nora.
I know.

And a split infinitive.
Even more horrible.

Might be worth a bit too.
Sergeant get this lot taken care of in a

pronto with care. And where to sir?
Uh uh morgue I suppose get Dr. Gold to take a

shufty. See if there's any chance
they're still infectious. Sure.

Thank you book
anytime, Inspector.

Sergeant, why can't you
collect stamps like normal

people?

Oh dear.

Are you all right? Yeah. Um,

it's all just a bit
uh being coppers.

I've uh been away, you see.
And.

Oh, yes, I I know. Can't have been very nice.
Tell me all about it when

you're ready. Hey, let me take this.
Well, you must stay with us, mustn't

you? Now that you've got the job,
I have the premises next door. Book has his

books. I have my wallpaper.
And there is a darling little attic room between the

two. Why are you
helping me like this?

Why not?

World Harkup. Suicide.
I heard heard uh from your colleague over there.

Oh, I’ll have his ruddy guts for garters.
This goes

against all the rules of Right, Sergeant.
All right.

Mr. Book's always welcome to give us
the benefit of his wisdom, as you know.

Yes. Yes.

Bad business, but very bad.
Poor sod.

What the hell do you
think you're playing?

But look, Morris has a point.
This is a plain ordinary suicide. I mean, I can be

flexible, as you know.
When something a little bit more

rash but anything with an acute accent
unusual comes along like like our our

friends the skeleton but this is a meat
and potatoes job you know the sergeant

and I are perfectly capable
who found him charred

pretty shook up, she is. Dredge it
rings a little bell she's been

doing for Harkup for donkeys
ding dong was there a note

no no note How did he do it?
Prussic acid

nasty and intriguing,
don't you think,

Mr. Harkup? Afraid so.
Looks like suicide.

Oh, dreadful.
Well, I'd better get on. Too much

excitement for one day.
Jack, nip back the shop, would you?

There's a pile of newspapers.
Third stack on the right as you come in.

Charing cross dispatch underneath two
volumes of Eleanor of Castile and the

wilting aspidistra.
Fetch them for me would you?

Okay. And put the kettle on again.
We're going to have company.

All right.

Oh, well, see as it's from him.
Oh, I I brought a coffee and walnut cake

round for Mr. Harkup.
You might as well have it.

This is your usual char day.
Yes, every week regular as clockwork.

But I only saw him yesterday
popped around to get some bandages.

Bandages? Oh, my son.
He was injured in the w*r.

He needs constant attention.
The dressing.

What time did you see Mr. Harkup?


possible. Him standing there
all full of life and then

finding him lying there like that.
You're doing very well. And was he

was he full of life when you
saw him in good spirits, I mean.

Well, to be honest,
he seemed a little down.

Though why’d he want to go and do a
horrible thing like that to himself.

Any vices? Vices, sir.

We must investigate all angles, alas, dear lady.

Man of very regular habits.
He was church every Sunday. Kept his accounts

in very neat order. I think that was the
soldier in him. He... he did play dominoes.

Dominoes? Every Monday
and Thursday night in the

Bull with Mr. Basehart and some others.
Does that count as a vice?

I hardly think so.
You have any family?

My mother always said, "If you can't say
anything nice about someone, don't open"

"your trap." So,
there was bad blood then.

There's a daughter, isn't there?
Some estrangement.

I wouldn't like to say.
Don't seem right.

What with Mr. H not cold in his grave?
Heavens, this cake.

Yes. Oh, it's superb.

Oh, too kind, sir.
But then I'd expect nothing less.

Oh, why'd you say that?
From Miss Lyon's Corner House, 1921.

Fancy you knowing that.
It was 1922, though.

My mistake. How the Dickens.

Oh, I store up a lot of little tidbits like that.
Mostly useless. Must have

been a lovely experience. Oh yes.
Oh, I've never felt so

glamorous. I bought a new hat and
the Lord Mayor winked at me. Winked

fancy. Worked there for years.
I did at the

corner house.
So I got very good with the baking.

Mr. H used to love my pineapple upside down.
You know, it really would be most

helpful to know why he and his daughter
Sarah uh Lar Marula, that's right. Why

he and Marula no longer saw eye to eye.
Well, seeing as you've been so kind,

sir. Very good of you.

She was a cow. A right.
Horrible, money grabbing

little cow. I see.

Apple of his eye she was, after his wife passed on.
But she knew how to twist him around

her little finger. Nothing was too much
for his little princess. Oh, and then

she has the gall to
run off with him. Him?

Mickey. Mickey Hall. It's a right ne’er-do-well.
Do well. Up to all sorts in the w*r spy

stuff. You know, black market.
He's a motor mechanic. They've got a garage out

Mile End way. Mile End, charming.

And now Marula will
inherit the lot.

Don't seem right, do it.
No, it, um,

don't. Thanks for the cake.

What the hell do you think you're doing?
Just being neighbourly, Sergeant. Uh your

witness, I think.

Hello again. Oh, hello, Book.

I just wondered if I could have a little
nosy around before I head out. See if I

can help at all. Head out.

Oh, Mrs. Book and I are often pleasure bent.
The new boys babysitting. Up

for the dog. Dog.
There's no definite article.

Off to the pictures. Rerunning a Sandra
Dare at the Rialto. The opera. Fat.

Ladies singing.
Speaking of which, may I, um.

There's a daughter, but Mrs.
Dredge says they didn't get on.

So, I gather.
Yeah, we're endeavouring to Trace her.

She has a garage, Mile End.
Oh, right.

Thanks.

Funny, aren't they? Mrs.
Bliss goes in for something

similar. Little... little knickknacks.
Not quite the same. I think these are

jade. Rather fine.
And this one,

Mr. Harkup was obviously
a connoisseur.

So bad.

Do you think it was suicide?
You have doubts?

I do. What's your theory?
Evening, gentlemen.

Evening. Oh, Eric. Black Lamb and Grave Falcon.
Hey, that book for Sheila. It's arrived

Oh, smashing.
Um, she'll come over

tomorrow for it. Right. Quite a whistle.
Oh, thank you. I was never keen on him

myself. Harkup. God forgive me.
Bit of a little Hitler. Still poor bugger

offing himself like that.
So is that what's your theory?

Patience, Inspector. Patience.
The two most powerful warriors are patience and

time. Tolstoy. Couldn't get into it.
Tried that one,

you know, where she chucks
herself up in front of a train.

No. No.

Inspector.

Too much?

No, not at all.
Uh, you look amazing.

I meant the walls. Oh,

Book says it's an affront to good taste,
but I don't know. I think it has a

certain something. Don't you?
I'm good at knocking things together. I I always

have been. Wardrobes, wireless sets, heads.
I was in the land army. Gin?

What? Oh, yeah. Please.

So, you're going out then? My day.
We're always going out. Well,

one has to live, doesn't one?
Especially after the time we've all had. There's

some chops in the larder.
I think your room's up at the top. I've aired the

sheets.

You're I mean thank you

Better go and unpack.

Well, well,

I know that look.
You're onto something.

Nonsense. Merely the happy look of a contented man.
I have my lovely wife, my

lovely shop, my lovely dog.
What more could a man ask for?

Broad. Three things then.
Mr. Harkup collected

Chinese jade figures of exceptional quality.
But dust is eloquent. As

someone once said, dust doesn't lie.
One of the figures has been replaced with a

bit of cheap trash, a chess piece,
but the larger outline remains clear. Mrs.

Dredge hasn't cleaned in a while,
despite what she said. Secondly, Mr.

Harkup has a small lump on the back of his head.
Not caused by him falling, I

don't think. Or probably a blow with
a blunt instrument. A blunt instrument

that didn't break the skin.
And yet, there is blood on the back of Mr.

Harkup's scalp. Thirdly, yes,

Darkling I listen and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful

death. Called him soft names and many
amused rhyme to take into the air my

quiet breath. Pardon?

Why would a chemist with every known
gentle poison in the shop choose to k*ll

himself with something
as horrible as Prussic acid?

Well, Book.
There you are, then.

Yes, Trottie. There we are.

It's m*rder.

Book? Mrs. Book?

Be careful.

Shop.

Ah, good morning.

How can I help?
Oh, well, I'm... I'm after a book.

You are very much in the right place.
What do you think, young man? What would

suit the lady best?
Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Henry James.

Do you have the new Georgette Heyer?
Ah,

well, I I've read all her other ones.
Me, too. And what a smasher she is. But

that would be a new book.
Miss um Mrs. Goodwin.

Mrs. Goodwin. Jean.

Jean. We don't really go for
those, do we?

We should try Foyle’s.
It's a bit of a trudge. Well, my feet

being what they are.
I have the perfect alternative. One who

is spinning romantic yarns when Miss
Heyer was still in the cradle, probably.

Oh, well, if you think that,
but I mean, if you'd recommend Shy,

pardon, I'm sure.
Sorry. Thinking. Ah.

Orczy. Never heard of him.

Her. Baroness, Hungarian.
The Scarlet Pimpanel.

Oh, I've heard of that.
French Revolution.

It's a delight. You won't regret it.
When you've finished, come back and I'll

find you the sequel.
Oh, that's very good of you. What do I

hear of you? Oh, let's call it a Bob.
Hang on. Feet, feet, feet, feet.

This is free.

Oh, I I couldn't possibly.
Oh, there's nothing but sending you off

happily on the bus without further
bunions is a price above rubies.

Wouldn't you agree, Jean?
Thank you.

Cheer by Come on, woman.

I never make any money like
that, will I?

He h*. Now then, Jack, excited to start the day.
There's a whole world of

learning in here. All human life and some inhuman.
Still got that coin?

Well, oh, uh, yeah.
Yeah, of course. Good.

I don't mean to pry, Mr. Book, but um,
what exactly is it you do? I would have

thought that was obvious. I sell books.
Yeah, but that's not all, is it?

Yesterday out there at the b*mb
site, chat with a char lady.

Yes. Well, is that like your

your hobby?
I mean, the way you talk to those

coppers where they let you roam around that pit.
Are you like some sort of

adviser to them or something?
I mean, why should they listen to you?

They frequently don't, more fool them.
I did the inspector a favour once during

the w*r. He hasn't forgotten.
Also, I have a special letter.

A letter from Churchill.
Yeah, the cop has said that.

A letter saying what?
It's a chaotic world, Jack. I have a

system. Sometimes people like me to give
an opinion on things, impose a little

order. That's all.
You can read all sorts of things,

as well as books.

This... This is your system.
Yes.

What's wrong with it?
Well, they're not in any kind of order.

cataracts of denial.

Diseases of the eye and their treatment.
Cataracts. Eye disease. Logical.

The guillotine. A practical guide.
The life and death of Alfred Mutton's Gent.

Coins of the realm. I mean, there's no system.
There's no system at all.

Well, it's all up here, isn't it?
How best to explain?

Alfred Martins was a career criminal,
very successful forger in his day, which

was Queen Victoria's day.
Extraordinary chap in his field. He was a coiner, a

forger of coins, but his luck ran out
in Paris and they chopped off his head,

which is why all those books
are clumped together, you see.

Yeah, but that's, I
mean, that's silly.

Nevertheless,

well, I shall leave you
to, uh, hold the fort.

Slightly foxed.

Slightly foxed. Says it all.

Morning.

Yeah. Uh, can I help you?
I've come to collect an order.

Uh, Right. Um, what's the name?
Sheila. Wellbeloved.

Hello, Jack.

Yeah, I'm Nora.
We've got lots to talk about.

Thank you, miss.
Uh, again, very sorry for you.

Can I go now? Well, if you wouldn't
mind just answering a few questions.

Um, would you just just come with
me, please.

Fascinating.
Where better to hide a tree

than in a forest?
And these markings

indeed. Look, look.
Oh, hello. Just checking in

on those skeletons
with Dr. Calder here.

Ah, yes. Any risk of infection?
Quite safe on that, Count Inspector.

However, ah, loose lips drop
slips, as they say in

the nicker trade. Wouldn't want
to spoil the surprise, would we?

Surprise.
Anyway, back to the case in hand,

this is Miss Marula Harkup.
Oh, my dear child, I'm so very sorry.

A few questions, you said.
Do you mind if I tag along?

Oh, don't forget that
blood test will you? On its way…

Sorry about that. There you go.
Black lamb and grey falcon

sounds interesting. T

getting the hang
of it, slowly.

So, who are you? Nora.
I live across the road in the

Turkish restaurant.
Help out in the shop sometimes.

So, um, do you know him well
then, Mr. And Mrs. Book?

Yeah. And do you know
about his little hobby?

Bloody hell. Yes.
It's all I think about.

Isn't all that I
mean, isn't that

unhealthy? I should think so.

What d’your mom and dad think?
Don't have any.

What do you mean?
Well, it was the w*r, wasn't it?

Everyone lost someone.
I lost them.

Sorry.

What happened?
So, how we getting on anyway with the

Books, Mr. and Mrs.

It's not quite what I expected.
What is his Christian name, by the way? What do

you think?
Cookbook, scrapbook, mucky book,

Gabriel. Ah,

Like the angel. Archangel.
I think you'll find they're a

dream. Both of them
such sweethearts. So,

what's your story?

They think I'm hard. I'm not
sniffling, boohooing all over the shop.

I mean, it's just not the way I'm made.
So there,

your father. I'm sorry that he's dead.
Of course I

am. He was my dad in
spite of everything.

He didn't make it easy
to, um, to love him though.

Can you think of any reason why
he'd want to take his own life?

None. No. He was nicely
set up with a shop and

well, mum had left him
a few bob when she died.

You don't think your
estrangement? No.

Nothing to do with that.
He wasn't the type to get all emotional.

Maybe that's where I get it from.
I mean, he made it very clear that he

didn't approve of, um, me and Mickey,
but um he'd hardly have gotten k*lled

himself in a fit of the glums about it.
He just he weren't the type, as I say.

Tell us about Mickey.

What's to say? He's my fellow.
How was his w*r?

Why do you ask that?
Well, we know how much our father

appreciated the armed forces.
Always wore his medal ribbons with great pride.

Yes. Well, Mickey wasn't lucky.
His eyes, they're not they're not good.

I say that's why he ended up with me.
I mean, he wouldn't have been much good

against Jerry with eyes like his.
Dad didn't like that. Thought he was a

Shirker. That was the start of it.
What was the finish?

Well, dad was convinced that
Mickey was thieving from him.

Cash? Morphine.

Mickey got up to some shady business
during the w*r. Just stockings,

cigarettes, small stuff. Dad had, um, just
got it into his head that Mickey was

bad. And he'd noticed
morphine had gone

missing. Yes.

Wouldn't speak to us.
But you'd had a bit of news, haven't you?

I thought a little one might be the
thing that brings us back together.

What's all this about? Why are you so
interested in Mickey if if dad has gone

and topped himself?

Stories. Detective stories.
That's what I want to

write. I've got so many ideas.
It's Such an exciting new world out there.

Everything's all smashed up. The whole world.
No one knows what to do anymore.

Well, I do. The w*r turned everything upside down.
Shook it up. That's great.

There's no going back to
how things used to be,

including murders. Including murders.
Half the soldiers in.

Britain have come home with pistols they
stole from dead Nazis, the country is a

wash with them. So,

so we only seem civilised in this
country because we're not armed. Think

of all that throbbing suburban passion.
Husbands having affairs with

secretaries, ladies having affairs with
their chauffeurs, all those contested

wills and domestic rows. People used to
k*ll each other by boiling down arsenic

from their wallpaper.
Now they just have to reach for a Luger.

Pow pow pow.

What did happen to your parents?
You're supposed to be telling me your

story.

I'm an orphan, too. I never knew my mum.
I got a picture of

my dad. That's all.

I’m sorry. It's

all right.

I should um Yeah,

it was nice to meet you.
It was an incendiary.

What?

An incendiary.

Set the roof on
fire in the blitz.

Mom got me out and
went back for dad.

Then the roof fell in.
I just sat there in the garden looking

at the house. Just felt

sort of numb.

The ARP warden found me.
Then my uncle took me in. So

now I have to help him
out with the restaurant.

But you'd rather be..

much more exciting over
here, isn't it?

See the skull.

I gave up pleasure for Lent.

I gave up Lent for pleasure.

Well, what's your answer?

I told you before, I'm just a book seller.
I sell books again

like I did before the w*r.
This would be for old times’ sake.

And we did help you find him.
Very kind of you.

How's all that working out?
It's complicated.

Well, yes,
I imagine it is… delicate.

And we wouldn't want
anything to go wrong,

now, would we?

So, what do we make of him? Mm?

Jack, put him in the attic room. Like Mrs.
Rochester, only slightly more

butch. Has it ever occurred
to you that you are

such a bibliophile?

Because of your name?
Nominative determinism.

I mean, if you've been called butcher,
you might be slicing up choice cuts of

meat. Flensing, that's the word.
Removing fat

from a carcass. Wonderfully descriptive word.
Flensing. I shall endeavour to

bring it back.
Well, I wish you joy with that. Yes, you

could be slipping me black market chops
under the counter like Mr. Wellbeloved.

Much more useful than books these days.
I could have been an archer or a baker

or a chandler.
Speaking of which, farewell, my lovely.

Oh, you're going out again.
You're so sharp you'll cut yourself.

Crime fiction, American. Customer put in a request.
I know it's here somewhere. I

saw a lady in the lake recently.
Anyway, Jack,

definite promise. Definite promise.
He didn't try to flog that coin.

So, jail hasn't made a wrong ‘un for life.
Touchwood.

And the, uh, other matter.

It's too soon to tell him.

What was so special about your book?
Nothing really. It's just about some

chaps at school playing cricket.
And what do you think of Carol Darley?

You've read Tim started it

when? After I saved it
from the incinerator.

Look, what's your name? Budge up.

It's a funny name.

Thank you,

Strotford Perry.
But my friends call me Trottie.

You're splendid. You owe me.

I do. So when I get
into trouble here, will

you help me out?
Let us make a solemn pact.

Put your strong arms around me, Carol,
and raise me a little. I can talk

better. So,

Carol bowed his head without a word and kissed
him, and thus their friendship

was sealed.

Good night, Mrs. Book.
Good night, Mr. Book.

The daughter, the spiv,
the char, the warden.

Who gave Harkup
the ruddy poison?

Absent friends.

Hi.

Sir, you'll never believe it.
It takes a lot to surprise me. Mor,

what? What is it? We just got the
chemist's will through, sir. Yeah.

Daughter doesn't get a bean.
No. No. Well, who does?

Oh, the char. Mrs.
Ada Dredge.

No.

No.

No.