Elms Road. Sam is bicycling along in her uniform. Moonlight Sonata plays in the background. She nods to an old woman in the front garden of one of the houses she passes.
Neighbour: Hello, Sam.
Sam gets off her bike at the next gate and wheels it towards the house.
CAPTION: SEPTEMBER 1940
Inside. Sam closes the front door behind her and picks up the post as she comes in. She glances through a doorway to the front room where the piano playing is coming from.
Sam: That's nice.
A young woman, Jenny Wentworth, is at the piano.
Jenny: Actually I was only playing it to annoy Mrs Harrison. The Moonlight Sonata. She says it's German music.
Night. An air-raid siren sounds. Sam reluctantly rolls over in bed.
Sam: Oh, no.
The bedroom door opens and Jenny comes in with a candle.
Jenny: Come on, Sam. We're going down to the cellar.
Sam: Can't you just tell Jerry to come back later?
Jenny sighs and heads back out. There's the whistle of a b*mb and Jenny screams as it explodes. The window of Sam's bedroom is blown out and she falls out of bed.
Outside. The house is on fire. A fire engine bell rings as Henry Jamieson's truck pulls up with members of the Auxiliary Fire Service on board.
Jamieson: Come on, lads, quickly. Lives to save.
An ambulance is parked nearby. Doctor Redmund approaches the house owner, Mrs Harrison, where she stands clutching her pet tortoise.
Harrison: Oh!
Redmund: Oh, dear. Dear, dear, dear. What's your name?
Harrison: Ha-Ha-Ha-Harrison.
Redmund: Harrison.
Harrison: M-Mrs Esther Harrison. My tortoise was...
Redmund: No, no, he tortoise is fine. He's fine. You've got a few cuts and bruises. Why don't you come along to the hospital with me? Here we are.
Harrison: Oh!
Redmund: Oh, so sorry.
He guides her away.
Photographer Colin Morton approaches a warden.
Morton: How many k*lled?
Warden: Who are you?
Morton: My name is Colin Morton. I'm with The Chronicle.
Warden: One. They're carrying her out now.
Two men are carrying a stretcher with a covered body. Morton takes a photograph.
Jamieson stops near the warden.
Jamieson: Anyone inside?
Warden: Nope, we got 'em all out.
Jamieson: Don't let anyone come in.
Man: Mind your head!
Morton takes more photographs of the scene as Jamieson heads into the house.
Inside. Jamieson and another firefighter, Kenny Hunter, shine torches around the smoky interior.
Jamieson: In here looks likely. Ken, stand on guard. Keep your eyes peeled.
Kenny stays by the door. Jamieson looks around and spots a wooden box on the ground.
Jamieson: Ah.
He opens the box. Seeing that it's full of coins, he shovels them into his satchel and grins at Ken.
OPENING CREDITS
Crown Court, Hastings. Foyle walks through the corridors. One of the barristers, Arthur Lewes, calls out to him as he passes.
Arthur: Christopher? I thought it was you. Arthur Lewes. Remember me?
Foyle: Arthur, of course. What are you doing in Hastings?
They shake hands.
Arthur: Oh, I live here now. Er, bought a house a year ago. Romney Point. I was hoping I'd bump into you. In fact, I was talking about you only the other night. I don't suppose you've heard of a man called Howard Paige?
Foyle: American. Something to do with cars.
Arthur: Yes. He invented the synchro-mesh gear system. Made himself a fortune. He's coming to stay.
Foyle: And you're gonna tell me he needs police protection?
Arthur laughs.
Arthur: No, no, nothing like that. He'll be in the house and I am throwing a dinner for him. Would you come? It's been suggested to me that he might like to meet a few of the local VIPs.
Foyle: Can't imagine why you're inviting me, then.
Arthur laughs.
Arthur: I thought you'd say that. I want to give him an idea of what life's really like down here on the south coast. Um, actually, it's quite important. He's going back to Washington at the end of a week and, well, I don't need to tell you, the Americans are quite keen to know what's going on over here. I really would appreciate it, and I know Elizabeth would be more than happy to see you.
Foyle: Yeah. Erm, how is she?
Arthur: Oh, well, you can ask her yourself. She'll be here in a minute. Would eight o'clock be all right?
Foyle: Yes, all right.
Arthur: Oh, black tie, I'm afraid.
Foyle: Yes, well, if I can find it.
Arthur: Good man. Oh, here she is.
Elizabeth Lewes approaches the two of them.
Elizabeth: Christopher.
Foyle: Elizabeth.
He tips his hat.
Elizabeth: Oh, this is a surprise.
Arthur: He's agreed to join us for dinner tonight.
Elizabeth: Oh, that's excellent. I'm afraid entertaining rich Americans isn't quite my forte.
Arthur: Oh, nonsense. You'll be splendid.
Elizabeth: So, how are you, Christopher? It's been a long time.
Foyle: Hasn't it? I thought you were still in London.
Elizabeth: Er, well, I never really took to London. Erm, but, of course, I'm glad we're not there now.
Arthur: Yes, it's pretty bad. You know the palace took a hit?
Foyle: Yes, I heard.
Elizabeth: Well, they say the King was actually grateful to the Germans. Put him on the same level as everyone else.
Arthur laughs.
Arthur: A propaganda coup.
Elizabeth: Well, I'm just happy to be back in Hastings.
Arthur: Well, um, until tonight.
Foyle: Yes, eight o'clock. Bye.
He tips his hat at Elizabeth again.
Elizabeth: Bye.
As Foyle walks away, Milner comes up behind him.
Milner: Sir. I thought I should come and find you. It's Sam.
Elms Road. The house is a b*rned-out shell. A man is nailing up a sign warning of punishments for looting. The neighbour who greeted Sam is talking to another woman.
Neighbour: Terrible, isn't it?
Foyle and Milner approach Sam where she's sitting on some of the recovered furniture in the front garden. She's wearing a jacket over her nightdress. Foyle kneels in front of her.
Foyle: Sam, are you all right?
Sam: Oh, sir. Sorry I didn't report in for duty this morning, sir.
She starts to stand and Foyle stands with her.
Foyle: Couldn't matter less. Do sit down.
She sits back down and he kneels down again.
Milner: Are you all right?
Sam: I'm all right.
Foyle: You sure?
Sam: I shouldn't be. I was lying in bed. They say it was a flying pencil.
Foyle: Anybody hurt?
Sam: Jenny Wentworth. I'm afraid she was k*lled. It's so unfair. She was a driver with the ambulance service. She only moved in here a couple of weeks ago. She was standing right outside my door. She was only a year older than me. 23.
Foyle: Get her to the station, would you?
Milner: Yes, sir.
Sam: Actually, sir, I, I'd rather stay.
Would you mind talking to Mrs Harrison? She was my landlady. This is her house.
Mrs Harrison comes up to them clutching the wooden box. Her right arm is now in a sling.
Harrison: Are you the policeman? Are you Mr Foyle?
Foyle: Yes.
Harrison: I want you to do something. My husband's coin collection - my late husband - he, he was a sub-editor on the Eastbourne Chronicle and a keen collector all his life.
Milner: Are you saying the coins have been taken?
Harrison: That's exactly what I'm saying. I kept them in a box on the mantelpiece. This is the box.
She hands it to Foyle.
Harrison: I found it on the floor, intact and empty. And the coins aren't the only thing that's gone missing, I assure you. There, there are some pieces of jewellery. A beautiful pearl necklace that belonged to my mother, a, a solid silver brooch.
Foyle: Had these been valued?
Harrison: No. But there were coins in there that dated back to the Normans. Jack always said it would be a nice nest egg for me.
Foyle: And you kept them in the box?
Harrison: It was his box. It was where he left them.
Foyle: I'm very sorry about your house, Mrs Harrison.
Harrison: We're at w*r. It's to be expected. But this? The idea that somebody went in there looting last night... That I find hard to forgive.
Foyle's office. Sam is now cleaned up and back in uniform.
Foyle: What about finding somewhere else to live?
Sam: I'll find something, sir.
Milner comes into the room carrying a glass of some kind of alcohol.
Foyle: And presumably there was a warden posted, wasn't there?
Milner: Yes, sir. He had the house boarded up.
He sets the glass down next to Sam.
Foyle: And who actually went in, er, after the expl*si*n?
Sam: Just about the whole street was in at one time or another. It was total chaos. The ambulance service came first. Poor Jenny. Then there was a doctor. Doctor Redmund. He gave me a check-up.
Foyle: Anybody else?
Sam: The AFS. There were four of them. Then there was a photographer who turned up out of the blue.
Foyle: Get a name?
Sam: No. He was from The Chronicle, though.
Milner: Harrison worked as a sub-editor there.
Sam: Yes. Funny, I never knew that. I never knew anything about Mrs Harrison. She was just the landlady. I always thought she was a bit of a dragon.
AFS station. Tom Fairweather is spinning a coin on the table. He reads the writing on it.
Tom: Edward IV. Who's that?
Bob Fraser sitting at the back. Jamieson comes over to join Tom and Ken at the central table.
Jamieson: Edward the Fourth, you idiot. And I want that.
Tom: I bet you do.
Jamieson: It goes with the rest, like we agreed.
Tom: I never agreed.
Jamieson: Well, I did and that's all that matters. Tom?
Tom tosses him the coin and he pockets it.
Tom: Where'd you put it all, anyway?
Jamieson: Somewhere nobody will ever find it. What's the matter with you, Kenny? Cat got your tongue?
Kenny stands up.
Kenny: I'm going home.
As he goes to leave, Tom and Bob both move to block him, and Jamieson grabs his arm.
Jamieson: Now that's not very friendly, is it, Kenny?
Kenny: Leave off. My dad'll want to know where I've been.
Jamieson: He worry about you, then, does he, your dad?
Kenny: Look, we're taking too much. We're going to get caught. I heard this geezer talking in the pub. What we're doing, we could get hanged.
Jamieson: That's rubbish.
Kenny: It's true. They've got new regulations. I don't want to be a part of this any more.
Jamieson: You are part of it, Kenny. You're in it up to your neck.
Kenny leaves.
Bob: What are you going to do about him?
Tom: And his dad?
Bob: You leave them to me.
Richard Hunter's shop. Richard turns the sign in the window from open to closed. His wife Valery is in the kitchen behind.
Valery: Richard.
He heads through into the dining table.
Richard: What is it?
Valery: Salmon. And don't complain. It's the last of the tins. I don't know what we're going to do. There's nothing in the house.
As they sit down at the table, Kenny comes in.
Richard: Where have you been?
Kenny: Where'd you think?
Valery: That's no way to talk to your father. Sit down. I'm just serving tea.
Kenny joins them at the table.
Kenny: Dad, I want to talk to you.
Richard: What about?
Kenny: Well, you know what about, De Havilland's.
Richard: Forget it, Ken. You're not going to Hatfield. The answer's no.
Kenny: I've worked it out. You see, I just need...
Richard: And I can't help you. I haven't got it. There's nothing I can do.
Kenny: Well, I'm wasting my time here.
Valery: You could help out in the shop a bit more.
Kenny: The shop? Selling bolts and washers at ha'penny a time?
Richard: It's a living.
Kenny: It's nothing of the sort and you know it. Oh, come on, Dad, you know how much it means to me. I've got the place.
Richard: I haven't got the money to pay for it.
Kenny: Well, maybe I can find the money another way.
Richard: What, with that lot of yours? I know what you're up to. You think I don't but I do. And I'm going to put a stop to it.
Kenny: Really. You haven't done anything for twenty years. Why start now?
Valery: Stop it.
Kenny: You're all talk, and that's all you've ever been.
Richard: To hell with this. I don't listen to this, not in my own house.
He stands up from the table.
Valery: Where are you going?
Richard: To the pub.
He leaves.
Valery: Now look what you've done!
The pub. Richard sits hunched over his beer, smoking. A man reading a paper at one of the barstools stands up to leave and offers the paper to Richard. Richard takes it but just puts it down, until something on the front page catches his eye. It's an article with the headline HOWARD PAIGE VISITS HASTINGS. Richard stares at the photo of Paige, then grabs his hat and puts it on to leave.
Lewes house. A car drives up to the house and Howard Paige gets out of the back.
Arthur: Howard. Welcome to Hastings.
He approaches the car and they shake hands.
Paige: Ah, Arthur. You look terrific. You've hardly changed at all.
Arthur: Oh, if only that was true. So how was your journey? How was London?
Paige: It's been quite a week. Oh, by the way, they've given me my own Man Friday.
Arthur: Oh, okay.
The driver of the car joins them.
Paige: This is John Bishop.
Bishop: How do you do, sir?
Arthur: Oh. Please, come in.
He and Paige head inside while Bishop goes to open the boot of the car.
Lounge. Arthur is shaking a cocktail shaker while Paige looks around.
Arthur: So, how did the talks go?
Paige: Oh, it's just about signed and sealed. Now all we have to do is see it delivered.
Arthur: You've done tremendous work. I must say, I don't know what we'd do without you.
He brings Paige a drink.
Paige: I'll tell you what you'd do without us, Arthur. You'd lose the g*dd*mn w*r.
Arthur scoffs. He turns as Elizabeth enters the room.
Arthur: Ah! Elizabeth. Howard's here. This is my wife.
Elizabeth: How do you do, Mr Paige?
She shakes his hand.
Paige: Delighted to meet you. And, please, make that Howard.
Elizabeth: Oh.
Arthur: Drink?
Elizabeth: Oh, yes, please.
She and Howard sit down on the sofa.
Elizabeth: So, Arthur's told me a lot about your days together at Oxford.
Paige: Oh, twenty years ago. Another world. You know, I came here, I didn't know anything about anything. Luckily, I found myself rooming with Arthur's family. I'd never have been able to look after myself.
Elizabeth: They loved having you.
Paige: And they're well?
Arthur: Oh, still in Oxford, yes. I think they find the world an increasingly difficult place to understand.
Paige: It's good versus evil, Arthur. It's all it boils down to. Nothing difficult about that.
Arthur: Well, it's good to have you on the right side. Happy days.
They all clink glasses.
Elizabeth: Yes, happy days.
Outside the room, Bishop listens in on their muffled conversation for a moment, then heads up the stairs with the suitcases.
Redmund House. Doctor Redmund is getting dressed in his office.
Redmund: Oh, these damn cufflinks. I... I, I can't get the, the, the thing to go through the thing!
His wife Eve comes over.
Eve: Let me do it for you.
Redmund: Oh...
Eve: Relax.
Redmund: Well...
Eve: You get yourself in such a state.
Redmund: Yes, yes.
Eve: You don't really want to go, do you?
Redmund: Yeah? What gave you that idea?
Eve: You don't like Americans.
Redmund: They were late arrivals in the last w*r and it's looking increasingly likely they won't show up for this one at all. Oh, no, no. I'll be interested to hear what this, er, this man Paige has got to say for himself.
Eve: Alan, you're not going to get into an argument?
Redmund: I don't remember asking your opinion.
Eve: Sorry. It's done.
Redmund: Thank you. Ah, the Americans think we've lost this w*r. That's the truth of it. But what's even worse is... they don't care.
Lewes house, evening. Richard Hunter stands in the entrance hall. A maid brings Elizabeth out to meet him.
Elizabeth: Mr Hunter. How can I help you?
Richard: Good evening, Mrs Lewes. Um, I'd like to see Howard Paige.
Elizabeth: I'm sorry?
Richard: I read in the paper he's staying here.
Elizabeth: I'm sorry. We're just about to have dinner. And I'm not sure Mr Paige is seeing anyone.
Richard: I think he'll see me.
Elizabeth: Well, if you'd like to wait here a moment I'll ask him.
She goes back in.
Sam and Foyle are driving along.
Sam: Do you think it was the warden, sir? Mrs Harrison's jewellery. He was the last one in the house.
Foyle: Well...
Sam: They say it's much worse in London. I heard this story the other day. A woman got bombed on her way home. She was knocked out, and when she came to, she found someone was fiddling with her hand. It was a policeman. At first she thought he was trying to help her. But then she realised he was actually pinching her rings. A policeman!
Foyle: I don't think it was the warden.
Sam: No. So, who are you having dinner with?
Foyle: A man called Arthur Lewes. He's a barrister. He's very good barrister. I knew him years ago.
Sam: You never mentioned him.
Foyle: No.
He looks away.
Ahead of them, Richard Hunter is walking away from the Lewes house. As the car approaches down the lane in the dark Sam has to screech to a halt, narrowly avoiding hitting him. He hurries on without stopping.
Sam: Was that him?
Foyle: No. No, it wasn't.
Sam: Well, I hope it wasn't the cook.
She drives the rest of the way up to the house.
Lewes entrance hall. The maid takes Foyle's coat and hat.
Foyle: Thank you.
Elizabeth (offscreen): Christopher.
She comes to meet him at the door.
Foyle: Elizabeth, hello. You're looking well.
Elizabeth: I'm glad you agreed to come. So are you. Er, how's Andrew?
Foyle: Andrew is, er, is very well. And you've got two sons, is that right?
Elizabeth: Yes, yes. Er, Jack's in London at the MOI. And, um, my other son Christopher is still at school, thank God.
Foyle: Right. Christopher?
Elizabeth: Yes.
Arthur Lewes comes out to join them.
Arthur: Christopher.
He laughs.
Arthur: Why is Elizabeth keeping you out in the hall? Please, come in.
They shake hands.
Elizabeth: This way.
Outside the house. Bishop is removing cases from Paige's car. Rustling in the trees draws his attention and he spots somebody moving. He draws a g*n and stands on guard for a moment before putting it away again and heading inside.
Romney Point. Someone flashes a torch out over the water, signalling. A U-boat surfaces and someone begins to signal back.
Lewes dining room. The group are all around the dinner table.
Paige: There's very little support for Herr h*tler in America but, er, the question we're asking ourselves now is this. Should we join you now and fight against a common enemy or consider this country the last frontier between n*zi Germany and ourselves?
Redmund: What, you mean wait until we've lost the w*r and then decide what to do?
Arthur: That's probably putting it a little strongly, Doctor Redmund.
Redmund: If America doesn't enter the w*r, at, at the very least helping us with arms and supplies, maybe we will lose.
Paige: And we've seen what happened in France. We send you weapons now, how do we know they won't end up in German hands in a few months' time?
Redmund: Is that what you think?
Paige: It's what many Americans think. And they're afraid. As a nation we don't want to go to w*r. There are those who say we were hoodwinked last time around. And this is an election year. Mr Roosevelt has to be very careful how he proceeds.
Arthur: Howard is very much a friend of this country, Doctor Redmund. He set up the committee, the American Allies of England.
Paige: We've been active in Washington. We've spent hundreds of dollars in the national press. We're gradually changing public opinion, but, er, give us time.
Redmund: You think we have time?
Paige: Well, I hope so. I really do.
Arthur clears his throat.
Paige: Well, I understand you have a son in the services, Mr Foyle?
Foyle: Er, yes, er, he's in the RAF.
Paige: Ah. Must be worried sick about him.
Foyle: Mmm.
Elizabeth: Andrew was at Oxford, the same college as you.
Paige: Oh. Is that a fact?
Elizabeth: Mr Paige was a Rhodes scholar.
Foyle: Oh, right.
Paige: So, Oxford, the RAF... no chance of your son following in his father's footsteps, then, and joining the police?
Foyle: We've never discussed it.
Arthur: Your father was a policeman, wasn't he, Christopher?
Foyle: Yes, he was a sergeant.
Paige: What, he, he talked you into this line of work?
Foyle: We never discussed it. It was, er, always assumed that I'd follow in my father's footsteps, as you put it, just as I've assumed my son won't.
Paige: I have sons, too.
Foyle: Do you? They listen to you?
Paige: Oh, sure they do. And then they do the exact opposite of what I say.
Foyle: Yes.
The group all laugh apart from Doctor Redmund.
Police station. Sam sits at a desk on the phone.
Sam: Yes. All right. Thank you very much.
Milner arrives in the doorway as she puts the phone down.
Sam: I thought you'd gone home.
Milner: Not yet. Have you managed to find anywhere yet?
Sam: No. I've been ringing round hotels and guest houses but, um, amazing. They all seem to be full.
Milner: How many have you tried?
Sam: About a dozen.
Milner: What will you do if you can't find anywhere?
Sam: I don't know. I suppose I'll have to stay here. Maybe someone will give me a cell. Funny. My father always said I'd end up behind bars.
Milner: You can't do that, Sam. You could come and stay with me, if you like.
Sam: Really?
Milner: Just for a few days, I mean. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. But my wife is away with her sister, in Wales, and I have a spare room at the back of the house.
Sam: Oh. Well, that would be really tickety-boo. Are you sure?
Milner: Yes. There is one thing, though. I don't think we should mention this to Mr Foyle.
Sam: No. I think you're right. I don't think he'd approve. This is very, very kind of you.
Milner: Don't mention it.
Lewes entrance hall. Elizabeth is seeing Foyle out.
Elizabeth: I'm glad you came, anyway. Can't understand, here we both are, living in Hastings and yet I never see anything of you. I'm afraid Mr Paige was rather tactless.
Foyle: Well, he's, um, he's American. Be nice to know why he's really here.
Elizabeth: He's involved in some sort of talks up in Whitehall. All very hush-hush.
Foyle: Right. Well, an interesting evening. Thank you.
He moves to leave and Elizabeth follows him.
Elizabeth: Christopher.
Foyle: Mm-hmm.
Elizabeth: Could we meet? I could call on you tomorrow afternoon.
Foyle: Why? I mean, is there really anything to be said?
Elizabeth: Yes. So much. I'd like to see you. Could I? Would you be there?
Arthur (offscreen): Elizabeth?
Foyle: (Yeah.)
Elizabeth: Thank you.
Arthur comes out to join them.
Foyle: Good night.
He leaves.
Romney Point. The U-boat is still visible above the waves.
Onshore, Richard Hunter stands holding a revolver. He checks his watch. A church bell rings in the distance.
Wood Lane. A car pulls up and parks in the lane. Colin Morton gets out of the driver's seat and gets into the back, lying down with a blanket.
Richard Hunter checks his watch again. The bells are still ringing.
Out on the water, the U-boat begins to descend as a man rows towards the shore in a small boat.
Outside the Redmund house. The Redmunds have just reached their front gate. Doctor Redmund opens it for his wife but stays outside.
Redmund: You go in.
Eve: What is it?
Redmund: I want to go for a walk.
The rowing boat continues to approach the shore. There's a g*nsh*t and the sound of shattering glass. The man rowing ducks and looks around.
Morton's parked car. Lying down in the back, he's disturbed by someone running past. He sits up to look out of the window.
Daylight. Sam and Foyle are driving along.
Foyle: Well, you seem a lot better today, Sam.
Sam: Just glad to be alive, I suppose, sir.
Foyle: Yeah. Did you find somewhere to stay?
Sam: Mmm. I'm being put up by a friend.
Foyle: Good.
Police station. Valery Hunter is talking to the man behind the desk, Sergeant Rivers.
Valery: His name's Richard Hunter. Aren't you going to write this down?
Rivers: I am writing it down, all right? Now, you say he didn't come home last night?
Valery: He's never stayed out before. Not all night. He wasn't there this morning.
Rivers: Do you know where he was going? He didn't say.
Foyle walks up behind Valery.
Valery: Morning, sir.
Foyle: Morning.
He and Sam walk on by.
Rivers: All right, then. So, let's start with his age.
Police station hallway. Milner calls out to Foyle as he passes by.
Milner: Sir, this looting business.
Foyle: Yeah.
Milner: I started with the AFS called out to Mrs Harrison two nights ago. They're from Station 41E, which is out on the Tideswell Road.
Foyle: Mm-hmm.
They arrive at Foyle's office.
Milner: And then there was the photographer. His name is Colin Morton. The Eastbourne Chronicle have confirmed he is one of theirs. He seems to have specialised in bombing raids.
Foyle: Er, any of these been involved in lootings before?
Milner: Well, there have only been half a dozen cases reported in the last two months.
Foyle: Well, fortunately there haven't been too many bombs.
Milner: But Colin Morton has turned up at no fewer than four of them, and this has to be more than a coincidence - station 41E, five out of six. The station officer is a man called Henry Jamieson. Works as a lorry driver. No police record that I can find but I'm still checking.
Foyle: We'll pay him a visit.
Milner: And I haven't had time to look into the others.
Foyle: And this, er, photographer, Colin Morton.
Milner: Who specialises in bombing raids.
Foyle: Maybe he, um, takes more than photographs.
AFS station. Jamieson sits reading a newspaper.
Foyle (offscreen): Mr Jamieson?
Jamieson: Yes?
He looks up and then stands as he sees Foyle and Milner.
Foyle: Er, the name's Foyle. I'm a police officer. Er, can you spare a minute?
Jamieson: I can spare all day, providing the Moaning Minnies don't go off.
Foyle: Well, it's quiet at the moment.
Jamieson: Thankfully, yes.
Foyle: Er, I understand you were called out the other night.
Jamieson: Was I?
Milner: Elms Road. The home of a Mrs Esther Harrison.
Jamieson: Elms Road. Yes, I remember that. Er, the house copped the HE.
Foyle: Yes.
Jamieson: A young girl got k*lled.
Foyle: That's right.
Jamieson: Tea?
Foyle: Er, no, thank you.
Jamieson: So, how can I help you?
Foyle: Oh, well, Mrs Harrison claims some property belonging to her late husband has gone missing.
Jamieson: And you think, what, you're calling me a thief?
Foyle: Oh, no, not at all, Mr Jamieson. I simply wondered if either you or your men had spotted anything.
Jamieson: Oh, you think one of my men might have taken something? Let me tell you something, Mr... Foyle, was it?
Foyle: Yes.
Jamieson: Me and my lads, we do a tough bloody job. 48 hours on, 24 hours off. No one else does those sort of hours, and I bet you don't.
Foyle: No.
Jamieson: And it's a stinking job. The real firemen hate us because we're prepared to do the same work as them at a fraction of the price. To the public we're 50-bob-a-week call-up dodgers, but we do it, 'cause we like to think we're doing our bit to help the w*r effort.
Foyle: Well, that's very commendable.
Jamieson: Well, it doesn't make things any easier when people like you start coming round here and accusing my boys of looting. Look at 'em.
He indicates the three men standing out by the fire engine.
Jamieson: Bob Fraser, Tom Fairweather, Ken Hunter, risking their lives night in, night out. They're good lads. You should be ashamed for thinking otherwise.
Foyle: Oh, I've made it perfectly clear. I'm not accusing anybody of anything. Er, just, er, making enquiries.
Jamieson: Look, you're not find anything here. You can search the whole place if you like.
Foyle: Oh, thank you. Milner, get them in.
Milner (offscreen): Yes, sir.
A group of uniformed officers enter the building. Jamieson heads outside to join his men.
Jamieson: Back to work.
Kenny: They know it was us.
Jamieson: They don't know anything. They're not going to find anything. Just relax.
Eastbourne Chronicle, editor's office. The editor, Mr Dunning, is speaking with Foyle.
Dunning: I'm sorry. Colin's out for the day. Went over to Wish Road. They got hit by a U-boat, would you believe it? f*ring from somewhere off of Cuckmere Haven. Bloody Germans. I ask you, what's the point in hitting a residential street? That's not w*r, that's just cowardice.
Foyle: Colin Morton always cover blast damage, that sort of thing?
Dunning: Not really. Evacuees, Spitfire fund. You name it he's done it.
Foyle: Can I see the photographs he took the other night?
Dunning: When they come back from the Ministry of Information. Had to send them in for the censors. Look, Come on, Chief Superintendent, do me a favour. Tell me what this is about.
Foyle: Wish I could.
Dunning: We've always done you favours. Put you on the front page when you make an arrest. Nice pictures.
Foyle: Yeah. Ask him to give me a call when he gets back in, would you?
He leaves.
Foyle's office. Milner and Foyle are both back at the station.
Milner: Absolutely nothing, sir. We searched the place from top to bottom. But I've put together an inventory of everything that went missing from the houses where Jamieson was involved. Coins, a necklace, silver thimbles, medals, cutlery. It's more or less what you'd expect, but they're leaving certain things behind. A fur coat, an antique pocket watch, a stamp collection, another watch with a gold bracelet.
Foyle: That's very selective.
Sergeant Rivers knocks on the open door.
Rivers: Sorry to bother you, sir. I've got something, and with Mr Reid away I'm, I'm not sure what to do.
Foyle: Go on.
Rivers: We've had a call from a Mr Letwin. Colonel Letwin, Home Guard. I know it sounds barmy, sir, but he says he's arrested a Jerry spy.
Home Guard base. Sam and Foyle get out of the car outside. Colonel Letwin approaches the two of them.
Letwin: Thank you for coming so promptly, Detective Chief Superintendent. I wasn't quite sure who to call.
They shake hands.
Foyle: Sorry, you're, um...?
Letwin: Er, Letwin. Commanding Officer, No. 1 Platoon, 58th Sussex Battalion Home Guard.
Foyle: Jolly good.
Letwin: I suppose you must be getting quite a few spy scares at the moment.
Foyle: Oh, well. Nervous times.
Letwin: Er, quite. Actually, we've been on alert all morning. I had one of my men report to me this morning. He assured me he'd seen signals being made last night. A flashing torch.
Foyle: Reliable man?
Letwin: Oh, yes, a retired headmaster. Not one to stir things up. He was walking the dog and swore he saw lights coming from Romney Point, signalling out to sea.
Foyle: Romney Point. Is he sure about that?
Letwin: Well, that's what he said. Anyway, I raised an alert, and the next thing I know, we get a call from the landlord of the Dog and Duck. He's got someone in there trying to buy a pint of beer at ten o'clock in the morning.
Foyle: Right. No knowledge of the licensing laws.
Letwin: Exactly.
Foyle: And what did you do?
Letwin: We went round there and arrested him and brought him here. And by the way, he has no means of identification. That's why we called you.
Foyle: And you've spoken to him?
Letwin: He doesn't seem in the mood for conversation. We gave him a cup of tea but that's about it.
Inside. Hans Maier sits at a table, being watched by one of the Home Guard armed with a r*fle. Foyle walks in, followed by a second member of the Home Guard.
Foyle: Good morning. Speak English?
Maier: Of course.
Foyle: But you're not English. Are you German? Scandinavian?
Maier: I, er, I have nothing to say to you.
Foyle: Right, that's fine. Nothing to do with me, anyway. You'll, um, be handed over to Special Branch.
He moves to leave.
Maier: So who are you?
Foyle: Er, my name's Foyle. I'm a policeman. Who are you?
Maier: My name is Hans Maier. Yeah, erm, I'm from Holland. I'm Dutch.
Foyle: Oh. How'd you get here?
Maier: I came by boat, from France.
Foyle: On your own?
Maier: Yes.
Foyle: I find that very hard to believe.
Maier: Even so, it, er, it happens to be true.
Foyle: You were that desperate to escape the German occupation?
Maier: Yes.
Foyle: Mmm. Well, it's my information that, um, you got a signal from the coast, which would sort of imply that, um, you didn't act alone.
Maier: There was no signal.
Foyle: Where's the boat you came in?
Maier: I don't know. I, I left it on the beach.
Foyle: Well, Mr Maier, as I said, there's nothing I can do for you, but if you're a genuine refugee then, er, you'll be taken care of. But that's for other people to decide.
He moves to leave.
Maier: So you are a policeman.
Foyle: Yes.
Maier: You investigate m*rder in a time of w*r?
Foyle: When I have to.
Maier nods a little, but doesn't say anything else.
Foyle emerges from the building.
Letwin: Well, Detective Chief Superintendent?
Foyle: Er, well, he claims to be a Dutch refugee.
Letwin: But do you think he's a German spy?
Foyle: Well, if he is, he's ill prepared, ill-equipped and his entire mission seems to have been put together without any knowledge or understanding of this country whatsoever. Let's hope they're all like that.
Letwin: The m*llitary police are on their way.
Foyle: Yeah. He claims to have, er, come across by boat and says he's left it somewhere on the beach. I don't want to tell you your job-
Letwin: I've already given the order, Mr Foyle. They've been out for the past hour.
Romney Point. The Home Guard are searching the beach.
Home Guard: Hey, lads. Over here.
They make their way over to the body of Richard Hunter, lying on the beach with his g*n in his hand.
Foyle's Office. Foyle is looking at photographs of the body.
Foyle: I've seen him before.
Milner: A Mrs Richard Hunter reported her husband missing this morning. Richard Hunter mean anything?
Foyle: Not the name, but I know the face.
Milner: Found with a g*n in his hand, two b*ll*ts missing from the chamber, one in his head. Looks like a su1c1de.
Foyle: Anything in his pockets?
Milner: No identification. Just, er, cigarettes, matches, a few coins. And this.
He holds out a key with gear attached to it as a keyring.
Milner: No serial number, and there are no markings on the key at all. It's an old-fashioned design so we may have trouble finding out what it opens.
Foyle: And on top of all this we've got this, erm, German spy business, if that's what he is.
Milner: Have they found his boat yet, sir?
Foyle: Yes, but not on the same beach.
He points out Romney Point on a map.
Foyle: That's, er, Romney Point. That's the Redmund House, the Lewes house. This is where the body was found. That's where the boat was found.
Milner: How did they know it was his boat, sir?
Foyle: Found a suitcase with a compass, maps, spare clothes... I know where I've seen him.
He goes back to take another look at the photographs.
Foyle: It was at the house.
Milner: Which house, sir?
Foyle: Arthur Lewes's house. Where I was having dinner.
Lewes house. Foyle and Milner join Elizabeth and Arthur and their guests in the lounge.
Foyle: Well, the, um, the problem is, er, er, a body has been found on the beach. Apparent su1c1de. Er, a man called Richard Hunter?
Arthur: Richard Hunter?
Elizabeth: He was here last night. He's not dead, is he?
Foyle: Yes. His, um, wife identified the body, er, a short while ago.
Elizabeth: Oh, poor man.
Foyle: How do you know him?
Elizabeth: Well, er, he used to come here from time to time. He did odd jobs for us, the plumbing, things like that.
Foyle: Right. And last night he was here for?
Paige: Oh, that was to see me. Er, yeah, it was just before you arrived. About seven o'clock, I think. Um, Elizabeth told me he was at the front door and I went out to meet him.
Foyle: Oh. What did he want?
Paige: Well, he, he asked me for money.
Arthur: Money?
Paige: 'Fraid so. Something I'm fairly used to, I'm afraid. Doesn't matter if it's old friends or complete strangers, people know I'm wealthy and assume, because I'm American I've got to be generous too.
Foyle: And how much did he want?
Paige: Well, we, we never got as far as figures. Er, I just told him to get lost. Well, I, I didn't even know why he was here, how he found out that I'm here.
Arthur: That's my fault, I'm afraid. There was a story in the local paper.
Paige: Did, did you say that, er, he committed su1c1de?
Foyle: Erm, yes. It does seem to be the case.
Paige: Well, maybe I can enlighten you there a little. Um, you know, this was a very desperate guy. He had some kind of trouble. It was a problem with his son, he said. Yeah, he needed the money for his son, and not for himself. Gee, you know, I, I'd hate to think that what I said to him drove him to take his own life.
Elizabeth: Oh, my goodness.
Foyle: The beach where the body was found is this beach, below the house here.
Arthur: Well, there's a- there's a path down the side of the cliff but it's, it's too dangerous. You get to it by the lane.
Elizabeth: Wood Lane.
Arthur: Yes. It cuts through, through the woods by Doctor Redmund's house. It's only a ten-minute walk to the sea.
Outside. Foyle and Milner are heading back to where Sam is waiting in the car. Bishop follows them out.
Bishop: Er, Mr Foyle? I just wanted to mention to you that Mr Paige is here as a guest of the British Government.
Foyle: Oh. Jolly good. Should that be of interest to me?
Bishop: Well, it's my job to look after him, Mr Foyle. Mr Paige has been involved in negotiations at the highest level and will be returning to the United States shortly. In the meantime, I must ask you not to harass him.
Foyle: What, in the same sort of way you're harassing me? I'll do my best.
He and Milner get into the car and they drive away.
Hunter dining room. Milner and Foyle are there with Valery and Kenny.
Valery: He wouldn't k*ll himself. He couldn't k*ll himself. He had things on his mind, I know. He was moody. But we've been married for so long. If he was going to do anything like that he would have told me.
Milner: Mrs Hunter, did your husband own a g*n?
Valery: Yes. It, it was his dad's, from the w*r.
Milner unwraps a revolver.
Milner: Is this his?
Valery sobs at the sight of it.
Kenny: That's his, yeah.
Milner: I'm sorry.
Foyle: Did he say, um, anything about going up to Romney Point last night?
Valery: No. He, he used to do jobs there but he never said anything. He said he was going to the pub. He, he went out but then he came back half an hour later.
Foyle: Speak to him?
Valery: No. He was only in the house for a minute, then he went out again.
Milner: Did he ever mention a Mr Howard Paige?
Valery: I've never even heard of him. He was upset. He and Kenny had been arguing.
Foyle: Ah. About what?
Kenny: Money. That's all we ever argued about. I've been offered a place. De Havilland's. They run an aeronautical school up in, in Hatfield. It's like college but it's all planes. It's all I want to do.
Foyle: And, um, how long have you been living in Hastings, Mrs Hunter?
Valery: We, we moved down here, er, when Kenny was still small. Richard got a job at Lower Meads. There's a factory there, making engineering components, cars, things like that. And then he got ill. And after that he set up on his own.
Milner: He opened the shop.
Valery: Yes, and he did odd jobs.
Foyle: He got sick. Was he very ill?
Valery: It was his nerves. You can speak to his doctor, Doctor Redmund. I can give you his address, if you like.
Foyle brings out the key with the gear attached.
Foyle: Is this his?
Valery: He carried that with him everywhere. Never let it out of his sight.
Foyle: And what does- er, what does this open?
Valery: There's a shed in the garden.
Shed. Foyle and Milner enter to look around, along with Kenny.
Kenny: I used to come down here with him when I was a kid. I thought it was an Aladdin's cave back then. We were gonna invent stuff. Death rays and rockets. My dad. I was very proud of him.
Milner: So why did you want to leave?
Kenny: Because it was all lies. He never did anything down here, he drank. He kept a bottle under the table. Gin, whisky, whatever he could get hold of. He sat here and he drank and he dreamed and he never did anything. And in the end I couldn't wait to get away from him.
Foyle: Why did, erm, your dad worry about you being in the AFS?
Kenny: Maybe he thought I was going to get my fingers burnt, I dunno. What does it matter now, anyway? He's k*lled himself, that's it.
Eastbourne Chronicle offices. Colin Morton is cleaning his camera when Dunning comes in.
Dunning: Ah, Morton. I've been looking for you.
Morton: What is it, Mr Dunning?
Dunning: I've had the police in here asking for you. Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle, no less.
Morton: What did he want?
Dunning: He didn't tell me. I'm only the editor. Nobody tells me anything. Maybe it's something to do with this.
He hands Morton a part-finished newspaper layout with the headline MAN'S BODY FOUND ON BEACH.
Romney Point. Foyle and Milner stand looking out to sea.
Foyle: It's quite a view.
Milner: On a clear day you can see France.
Foyle: And send a signal, if you feel inclined.
Milner: Could it have been someone from the house, sir?
Foyle: It could have been someone from the house. On the other hand, this is not private land. Anybody could have driven up here.
They leave.
Redmund house. Foyle is speaking with Redmund in his office.
Redmund: I'm afraid I can't tell you a great deal about Richard Hunter, Mr Foyle. I was treating him for a nervous condition. He was in and out of the surgery over the years. He was an alcoholic. And that's not easy these days, with spirits harder to come by.
Foyle: And he wasn't from here originally?
Redmund: No, he, he was from the north, I think. Er, York. Er, or was it Leeds? He mentioned once that his father worked for a confectionary firm. Um, both parents are dead. I'm afraid that's about it.
The door opens and Eve comes in.
Eve: Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company. Oh! Mr Foyle.
Foyle: Mrs Redmund.
Eve: This is a surprise.
Redmund: Mr Foyle's here on police business, my dear.
Eve: What business?
Foyle: It was something that happened last night.
Eve: Oh. You mean... the signals?
Redmund: No. No, he's not here about that.
Foyle: What makes you think I might be, Mrs Redmund?
Eve: Well, people were talking this morning.
Redmund: Signals in the night. It's a load of nonsense. Home Guard don't know what they're talking about.
Foyle: Well, as a matter of fact, um, they've caught a man who looks as if he came into the country last night by boat.
Redmund: Really?
Eve: What incident were you actually referring to, Mr Foyle?
Foyle: Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you, Mrs Redmund, that, um, a man has been found sh*t dead on the beach.
Eve: Oh.
Redmund: He sh*t himself?
Foyle: Seems so, yes.
Redmund: Hmm. Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Richard Hunter was a wreck of a human being. I don't think I've ever met anyone who had less reason to be alive.
Foyle: Did you speak to him last night?
Redmund: He was at the house?
Foyle: Briefly, yes, before dinner.
Redmund: It's not my habit to chat with patients, Mr Foyle, particularly ones like Richard Hunter. I mean, he, he made a complete mess of his life. Well, it's all the more of a pity when you consider he'd been up at Oxford.
Foyle: Had he really?
Redmund: Mmm. Well, so he claimed. Wouldn't think it, would you? No, he, er, he told me once that he got a bursary or a grant or something from the confectionary firm that employed his father. Well, they were wasting their money, because nothing came of it.
Foyle: Would he have known Howard Paige, do you think?
Redmund: Oh, I very much doubt it. No, Oxford University back in the '20s? People like Paige and Hunter didn't mix. People knew their place, if you know what I mean? I mean, these days, of course, everything's changed. You can call me old-fashioned if you like, but I don't think it's a change for the better.
Foyle: I imagine you're rather careful about the company you keep, Doctor Redmund.
Redmund: You're right.
Foyle: And what did you make of Howard Paige last night?
Redmund: Brash, opinionated. But you were there, Mr Foyle. Why do you need to ask me?
Police station. Colin Morton is at the front desk.
Rivers: I'm sorry. I'm afraid Mr Foyle isn't here.
Morton: He asked to see me. My name is Colin Morton. I'm a photographer with the Eastbourne Chronicle.
Rivers: Well, he didn't say anything to me.
Morton: Look, it's important. It just happens I was in Wood Lane last night in my car.
Rivers: So where were you going, then?
Morton: I wasn't driving. It's not easy to explain, but I was sitting there and the point is I think I saw something.
Rivers: And what was that?
Morton: I'd prefer to talk to Mr Foyle.
Rivers: I've just told you, sir, he's not here, but I can pass on anything you want to say.
Morton: No, it, it's too important. He knows where to find me. Ask him to call.
Rivers: If that's what you want, all right. I'll, er, I'll put a note on his desk.
Morton: Thank you.
He leaves. Rivers writes something down.
Milner house. Sam and Milner are eating together, music playing on the wireless in the background.
Milner: Mmm. This is really good, Sam. You're not such a bad cook after all.
Sam: It's one of my father's recipes. Coq-au-vin without the vin. He's a teetotaller.
Milner: So what is in it?
Sam: Um, chicken, vegetables, and I used all the rest of the bacon, I'm afraid.
Milner: What, all of it? That was the last of my ration.
Sam: Sorry.
Milner: Never mind.
Sam: So, how's the case going? You are lucky, you know, getting to rummage around all those dead bodies.
Milner: Well, we're fairly sure it wasn't su1c1de, but then that leaves the question who would want to k*ll Richard Hunter, and why?
Sam: If his son was in the AFS and they were the ones doing the looting...
Milner: Well, you see, that's another mystery. Henry Jamieson. He's guilty, I'm certain of it. But at your landlady's house, he took her coins and her necklace and so on, but he left behind a valuable pocket watch. Why?
Sam: Maybe Richard Hunter knew the answer, he was going to tell and that's why he had to be silenced.
Milner: Have you managed to find anywhere yet?
Sam: You're not kicking me out?
Milner: No, no, not at all. Actually, I, I like having you here.
Sam: Mr Foyle would have a fit if he found out!
He chuckles.
Milner: Yes, I don't think he'd be entirely happy.
Sam: Well, I am looking.
The music on the wireless changes to a more upbeat jazz number.
Sam: I love this one.
She goes over to turn it up, starting to dance.
Sam: Will you dance with me?
Milner: No.
Sam: Dance with me!
Milner: No.
Sam: Don't be such a cold fish. I've been bombed, I've lost my house and just about all of my possessions, and here I am, stuck with you.
Milner: Well, thank you.
Sam: Just one little dance, that's all.
Milner stands up.
Out in the hall, the door closes as Jane Milner arrives with her suitcase.
Milner (offscreen): All right, I'll have a go. But I'm warning you, I was never much of a dancer, even with the leg.
Sam: That's just an excuse.
Jane listens to them from out in the hall.
Milner (offscreen): No, it's true, really.
Sam laughs.
Sam: I used to love going to dance halls. As a trainee, we'd to go up to London. Mayfair, Grosvenor...
Jane comes into the room.
Milner: Jane.
Jane: What are you doing?
Milner: Jane, this isn't what you think.
She leaves the room and Milner goes after her.
Milner: Jane.
Police station, night. Rivers leaves the front desk to go into the break room, where there's a comedy show playing on the wireless.
Woman (radio): Oh, sir, you are a caution.
Foyle's office. A torch shines through the window of the office from outside.
Man (radio): Now, you'll have to be quick, Mrs B. I'm due at a wedding ceremony at 11:30.
Woman (radio): Very good, sir.
Man (radio): My wife and I had a very quiet wedding, you know. The vicar had laryngitis.
Break room. Rivers pours himself a cup of tea.
Foyle's office. The window is opened from outside.
Man (radio): Hmm. Now, tell me, whatever happened to that vicar from Bristol?
Break room. Rivers continues making tea.
Man (radio): Used to do fire-watch duty at the depot.
Woman (radio): Couldn't cope with the hours, sir. One minute he'd be needing the dough, next he was flat as a pancake.
Foyle's office. Two men with torches r*fle through the office as the wireless show continues faintly in the background. One spots and the note about Colin Morton's visit on the desk.
Break room. Rivers leaves the room with his tea.
Woman (radio): You don't know what I've been through.
The two men retreat into the corners of Foyle's office as Rivers passes by in the corridor outside. Then they climb back out of the window.
Wood Lane. Colin Morton's car is parked again. Another car pulls up behind it. Men with torches get out and shine them in on Morton asleep in the back. One of them opens the door.
Man: Mr Morton?
Morton: Yeah?
Man: Come with me.
Morton: Why? Who are you?
Man: Take him.
They drag him bodily out of his car and towards theirs.
Oxford University. Foyle is approached where he's standing in the hallway by Professor Phillips.
Phillips: How d'you do, Mr Foyle? How very good to meet you. I tutored your son, you know. Andrew. How is he?
Foyle: Well, thank you.
Phillips: Oh. Last I heard, he was in Scotland.
Foyle: Er, no, he was posted to the south coast, not too far from me.
They start walking together.
Phillips: Oh, well, there's some mercy in that, I suppose. I heard him speak once, in a debate. "Modern patriotism is a false emotion." He was very persuasive. And then the moment the w*r began, he was gone. Him and so many others. Just boys. Laughing boys. Turned into men.
Foyle: Yeah.
Phillips: I'm sorry. You're not here because of him.
Foyle: Well, the, um, the registrar told me that, er, you also tutored, er, a boy called Richard Hunter.
Phillips: Hunter?
Foyle: He was here in '22 on a bursary. Studied physics, left with a First.
Phillips: Yes, of course. Hunter. Working-class boy from Yorkshire. Harrogate, I think. Yeah, we didn't get too many of them. Not back in the '20s, anyway.
Foyle: Anything else you can tell me about him?
Phillips: Oh, he was quiet, diligent, smoked a pipe.
Foyle: Possible link with a Rhodes Scholar here at the same time, Howard Paige?
Phillips: Ooh, yes, of course. Hunter and Paige. Hunter and Paige! You should have mentioned him in the first place. Most unlikely couple, but the two of them were involved in a minor scandal. A four-seater Austin Seven. They borrowed it from another student, and between them they took the whole thing apart, piece by piece. You, you have to remember that, er, this was the time when cars were, were quite a rarity.
Foyle: Mm-hmm. And it was, er, done as a joke?
Phillips: No, no, no. They put it back together again. Er, good as new. No, they just wanted to look at it, see how it functioned.
Foyle: Ah.
Phillips: The owner wasn't too pleased, though. There was a quite a contretemps.
He laughs.
Foyle: So, they were close friends?
Phillips: No, I wouldn't say that. The American boy was only here for a, a short time. But, but that's one incident I certainly remember.
Lewes house. Foyle stands waiting in the entrance hall.
Paige's room. He's shaving when Bishop comes in.
Bishop: Mr Foyle is here again. He wants to have another word with you.
Paige: Frankly, I'm getting tired of this. Do I have to talk to him?
Bishop: I think it would probably be for the best.
Paige: Goddammit, Bishop, I thought it was your job to protect me?
Bishop: Do I need to protect you, Mr Paige?
Paige: Oh, no, no. Of course not. Just, um, getting tired of the way the guy's hounding me. You know why I'm here. You know the stakes we're playing.
Bishop: Yes.
Paige: Well, maybe it's time somebody told him.
Bishop leaves and he goes back to shaving.
Entrance hall, later. Paige comes down the stairs.
Paige: Ah, Mr Foyle. You, er, come to wish me bon voyage?
Foyle: Well, um, not exactly.
Paige chuckles.
Paige: I leave tomorrow, so maybe you should. Is this still, um, about the dead man on the beach?
Foyle: Oh. That's an odd thing to say.
Paige: Well, that's what he is.
Foyle: Well, yeah, I mean it's, er, an odd way to describe, um, someone it turns out you knew. You were at Oxford together.
Paige: Oh, yeah, I, I didn't mention Oxford. Didn't seem relevant, but, er, I did tell you I knew him.
Foyle: Ah. No recollection of that.
Paige: Yeah. We were, um, we were in the other room there, talking, Arthur and Elizabeth were there. Let's see. I, I was talking about, well, Richard, how he'd asked me for money and I said, I told you, I was often approached by old friends.
Foyle: Ah, right. Yes, I remember you saying you were, um, approached by, er, old friends and, er, complete strangers. You didn't specify which of the two he was, though.
Paige: Well, um, I can only apologise. I surely didn't intend to, er, mislead you, Mr Foyle. Not that I think it makes an iota of difference.
Foyle: No?
Paige: Oh, come on. I haven't been in England for twenty years. Not since I was a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford. Sure, I knew Richard then. Yeah, we got on, we had a good time. But it was, er, was a casual friendship.
Foyle: There was something about a, a four-seater Austin Seven?
Paige: Oh, boy. Oh, no. Don't tell me the law's finally caught up with me on that. Yep, we stole the car. It was a joke. We, we took it apart, put it all back together again.
Foyle: Why?
Paige: Why?
He chuckles.
Paige: To prove we could. Look, Mr Foyle, the man I saw on that doorstep was a complete stranger to me. I hadn't seen or heard from him for, what, quarter of a century? I'm, I'm sorry I didn't make my connection with him clearer, but, er, I can assure you that it wasn't intentional.
Sam and Foyle are driving along.
Sam: Howard Paige can't have had anything to do with the death, can he, sir?
Foyle: Why is that?
Sam: Well, he's not English. I mean, he hasn't been in England for ages, has he? What reason could he possibly have?
She yawns.
Foyle: Tired?
Sam: I, I didn't get much sleep last night, sir.
Foyle: Still at your friend's?
Sam: I don't think so.
Foyle: If you manage to stay awake just till we get there, I'd be grateful.
She snorts.
AFS station. Kenny is scrubbing something in a bucket when Foyle walks in behind him.
Foyle: Kenneth.
Kenny: Mr Foyle. There's no one here.
Foyle: No, no, no. It's, erm, it's you I wanted to talk to. How are you?
Kenny: I'm fine.
Foyle: Must have been very hard, losing your dad like that. Do you think he sh*t himself?
Kenny: I don't know.
Foyle: You see, if he didn't sh**t himself, then, er, somebody else did. And, er, there'd be a reason for that. And it did cross my mind that it might have been you.
Kenny: What?
Foyle: I mean, why was he so very worried about you?
Kenny: I already told you I don't know.
Foyle: The very last thing he did in his life was try to find the money to get you to aeronautical school, which might have been the reason he d*ed. See, I know you were disappointed in him, but there must have been a part of him you were fond of.
Kenny: Maybe.
Foyle: What do you know, that you're not telling me?
Kenny is silent for a moment, then stands up.
Kenny: If I talk to you, then maybe I'll end up like my dad, with a b*llet in my head! I don't know anything about anything, all right?
Sam comes in through the door behind him.
Kenny: And you shouldn't come round here. If you've got any questions, you should talk to Henry.
He leaves.
Sam: Do you want me to go after him, sir?
Foyle: No, there's no point. I mean, he's quite frightened.
Sam: Frightened? What of?
Foyle pauses, contemplating the water running out of a pipe for a moment, then leaves.
Police station break room. Milner stands reading a paper. Sam comes in behind him.
Sam: I'm sorry about last night.
Milner: Oh, Sam, don't worry. It wasn't your fault. I invited you.
Sam: Did your wife understand my situation?
Milner: Yes. Eventually. Where did you go?
Sam: Oh, I found somewhere.
Milner: Good.
Foyle's office. Foyle has just arrived, setting his hat down. He studies the desk as Sam approaches along the corridor outside, speaking to Rivers in passing.
Foyle: There's something odd here.
Sam: What?
Foyle: It's different. Sergeant!
Rivers looks in through the doorway.
Rivers: Sir?
Foyle: Anybody been in here?
Rivers: No one would come in without your say-so, Mr Foyle. Except I did look in while you were away, left a note on your desk. Nothing wrong, is there?
Foyle: Where's the note?
Eastbourne Chronicle, editor's office. Dunning is talking to Foyle.
Dunning: No, I haven't seen him. And before you ask, he isn't at home. I sent someone round. I need him. I've got a local platoon of Home Guard demonstrating their prowess on roller skates, would you believe it? Fancy themselves as despatch racers. I wouldn't have minded a picture. Would have been good for a laugh. Why do you want him?
Foyle: Er, well, he came to the station to see me. I wasn't there. Um, said he had something important to tell me.
Dunning: He should have told me first.
Foyle: Well, he told the duty officer he, er, may have seen something. Mentioned he'd been parked in Wood Lane. Mean anything?
Dunning: Colin told you that?
Foyle: Any idea why he'd have been parked in the middle of nowhere in the blackout?
Dunning: As a matter of fact, I have. Oh, there's plenty of them. Coming out of London, Bristol, all the big cities. They drive out every evening and sleep in the open. Away from built-up areas. Scared of the bombs.
Foyle: He's a trekker?
Dunning: Yes. He isn't a coward. Colin's a good man. But... Oh, for heaven's sake, he was out 24 hours a day, photographing bombed-out houses. People on the streets, stretchers, corpses. Is it any wonder it got to him in the end?
Foyle: Do you have his car registration number?
Wood Lane. Sam and Foyle are studying Morton's abandoned car.
Sam: Well, he certainly seems to have left in a hurry.
Foyle: And not of his own free will, it would seem.
Sam: Why do you say that, sir?
Foyle: Well, you tell me.
Sam sighs and looks around, then shrugs a little. Foyle nods for her to look at the ground.
Sam: Oh. I see. He was dragged. These are his footmarks, perhaps.
Foyle: Mmm.
Sam: But why?
Foyle: Well, why do you think?
Sam: Morton knew something and somebody didn't want him to tell you.
Foyle: This leads down to the beach where Richard Hunter was found.
Sam: Do you think this has got something to do with the German spy? He landed here the same night.
Foyle: Yeah, but that was a mile and a half away. How far to Romney House, do you think?
Sam: About ten minutes on foot, I'd say. D'you think that's where they sent the signals from?
Foyle: Well, there are only two houses up here at Romney Point. It seems possible that they might have come from one of them.
Sam nods.
A taxi pulls up outside Foyle's house.
Inside. Foyle leads Elizabeth through to the front room.
Foyle: Can I offer you anything?
Elizabeth: No. No, thank you. You, you said I could come and see you.
Foyle: Yes.
Elizabeth: It seems so strange, seeing so much of you suddenly, after such a long time. How's the investigation?
Foyle: Oh, it's coming along.
Elizabeth: You don't think Mr Hunter k*lled himself, do you? Do you think Mr Paige had something to do with it?
Foyle: Oh, well, it's, erm, not impossible.
Elizabeth: If America does come into the w*r, it'll be at least partly due to him. He's terribly important, Arthur says.
Foyle: Have you told, erm, Arthur that, er, you're here?
Elizabeth: No. Um, he's in London. In chambers. You know who k*lled that poor man, don't you?
Foyle: Is this, er, why you've come here, to talk about this case?
Elizabeth: No. No, of course not. I, I, I, came to see you.
She sits down.
Elizabeth: I, I felt so wretched, sitting at the dinner table, talking about the w*r and America, and, well, that peculiar doctor going on about supplies. When all I wanted, really, was to be alone with you.
He moves away to sit down opposite.
Foyle: Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: How are you, Christopher? I mean, are you happy?
Foyle: Well, er... we're at w*r. And, er, I do worry about Andrew.
Elizabeth: I'm not happy. I've been married to Arthur for twenty years. It was our wedding anniversary a week ago. He's been very kind to me. He, he's a very kind man. But I, I've never loved him. Not even for a day. Not the way I loved you. There, I've said it. Oh, I'm sorry, I feel... I sound like something out of Noel Coward.
Foyle: And, er, you never did like his plays, did you?
Elizabeth: I was so sorry when I heard about Rosalind, really I was. I wanted to write. I, I tried, but all the time I kept thinking, after she d*ed, um, maybe you and I- I, I hoped...
Foyle: Shouldn't be doing this. It was all far too long ago. It was very different then.
Elizabeth: Well, everything's different now.
He stands up.
Foyle: This is a mistake, Elizabeth.
She stands up too.
Elizabeth: No. I made the mistake years ago. I know that now. Can you forgive me?
Foyle: There's nothing to forgive. Er, we were both very different people.
Elizabeth: You asked me to marry you.
Foyle: And when your father refused permission for you to marry me and you married Arthur instead, I understood the very difficult position you'd been placed in.
Elizabeth: Well, he, he gave me no choice. You don't understand.
Foyle: Well, your father understood perfectly well that a policeman's son was clearly not good enough and I should never have asked.
Elizabeth: I couldn't go against him, Christopher. You knew that.
Foyle: I never said you should.
Elizabeth: You've grown very hard. Was it Rosalind dying that did that?
Foyle: No. Losing her changed nothing. Marrying her changed everything. But you've got a good husband and two wonderful sons. But the truth is we should leave this exactly the way it is, and I'm sorry.
Elizabeth: I'm the one who's sorry. You're right, I shouldn't have come. I am so sorry, Christopher. I want you to know that barely a day has gone by, in all these years, when I haven't been sorry.
She leaves. Foyle looks over at a framed photo of his wife that stands nearby.
Police station break room. Foyle is reading the paper while he pours himself some tea. He goes over to pick up a teaspoon and knocks a packet of tea into the washing up bowl in the sink. He rescues it and goes to move away, then stops to look at the tea leaves floating in the water.
AFS station. Water is still trickling from the pipe Foyle noticed before.
Jamieson: Why don't you leave us alone, Mr Foyle? You've searched the place once already. You found nothing.
He, Tom and Bob stand facing Foyle, Milner and Sam as they arrive with uniformed officers.
Foyle: Absolutely right, Mr Jamieson, which is precisely the reason why we're going to search it again.
A policeman climbs a ladder to look into the water t*nk that the pipe is attached to.
Foyle: You were right about them being selective about what they took, Milner. All the things that were stolen had the same thing in common.
The policeman pulls a sack out of the t*nk.
Policeman: Sir!
Milner: And what was that, sir?
Foyle: They were waterproof.
Policeman: I've got it!
He lowers the sack down and Milner opens it, tipping out the stolen valuables.
Jamieson and his men make a run for it. As Milner and the other police restrain Tom and Bob, Foyle knocks Jamieson down with a punch to the face. He steps back to join Sam.
Foyle: You know, I quite enjoyed that.
She laughs.
Police interview room. Jamieson sits behind the table. Milner, Foyle and another officer are there.
Jamieson: I haven't got anything to say to you.
Foyle: Yeah, well, that doesn't surprise me. You know, I regularly wonder why I do this job. And then I come across somebody like you. We are living in such evil times and the whole world seems to be sinking into some sort of mire, and as if h*tler wasn't enough, we've got the likes of you. Who capitalise on other people's misery, who hurt them, make things worse for them when they're at their weakest. And it's with the likes of you that this mire begins. And it's some small consolation to know that I've helped to clean up just a little bit of it.
Milner: You'll be charged under Defence Regulations 38A. And I should warn you that you could be facing the death penalty.
Jamieson: What?
Milner: Malicious damage and larceny in w*r-damaged areas.
Jamieson: No. No, you can't hang me. I mean, I wasn't doing nothing that anyone else isn't doing. I mean... (Oh, Jeez.)
Foyle and Milner leave the room.
Milner's office, later. Milner calls out as Foyle passed the doorway.
Milner: Sir! I think I might have something for you.
Foyle: Yeah?
Milner: I've been looking at the winds and currents the night that Hunter d*ed.
Foyle: Mmm.
Milner: This is Romney Point. Romney House here and Wood Lane running down here. And this is the beach, about a mile and a half away, where the rowing boat was found. Now, the Germans drop off a boat, and the nearest landing point is this beach here.
Foyle: Where the body was found.
Milner: Yes, but there was a strong current that night, heading west. And from what I've been told, a boat would have had trouble getting into the coast anywhere. Especially if there was just one man.
Foyle: And no one else has been caught.
Milner: So it would have been hard work. He'd have been swept somewhere out to the west.
Foyle: Which is where he landed.
Milner: See, I wonder whether the German spy, Maier, might have had something to do with Hunter's death.
Foyle: Well, I don't know about that, but if he's sitting in the boat off the coast, we might at least have a witness.
Detention centre. Sam and Foyle pull up outside in the car. Foyle gets out and Sam calls to him through the car window.
Sam: Good luck, sir. What do we do if they don't let you out again?
Foyle: Well, you can take over.
Foyle is escorted up by a soldier to see the commander, Simmons, in his office.
Simmons: I'm sorry, Mr Foyle, but what you're asking is quite out of the question. There's absolutely no way I can allow you to see Maier without the necessary authorisation.
Foyle: Oh. How long are you going to keep him here?
Simmons: Until m*llitary Intelligence decide what to do with him.
Foyle: And what are the options?
Simmons: Well, it's possible they'll turn him and try to use him against the Germans.
Foyle: Or sh**t him?
Simmons: I'm afraid that's much more likely to be the case. Do you... really believe that this man may have been witness to a m*rder?
Foyle: Well, yes. Very possible.
Simmons: Look, Mr Foyle, even if I were to turn a blind eye and let you in, what on Earth makes you think Maier would even consider cooperating? I mean, he's an enemy agent, for heaven's sake.
Foyle: Richard Hunter was not a casualty of w*r. Maier and I have met before.
Simmons: And?
Foyle: Well, enemy agent or whatever, he did strike me as being reasonably civilised.
Simmons: Meaning what, exactly?
Well, he's risked his life for his country. He was simply doing his duty as he saw it.
Simmons: And now he's got nothing left to lose.
Foyle: Well, precisely, but more importantly, at the end of our first meeting, he asked me if I investigated m*rder in a time of w*r. Which didn't mean very much to me at the time, but then, of course, we hadn't found the body.
Simmons: Yes. Odd.
Foyle: Ten minutes alone with him?
Simmons: This is totally contrary to regulations.
Foyle gives him an expectant look.
Simmons: All right. Ten minutes.
Maier's cell. He's standing by the window and looks round when Foyle is let in.
Foyle: Remember me?
Maier: Of course I remember you. It is Mr Foyle, is it not? The policeman.
Foyle: They treating you well?
Maier laughs.
Maier: I know they are going to k*ll me.
Foyle: I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do to help you.
Maier: Then why are you here?
Foyle: Because I hoped you could help me.
Maier: You want me to help you?
Foyle: Yes.
Maier: Er, there's an expression that you use... Um... I'm lost for words. How do you imagine I could possibly help you?
Foyle: Well, it concerns what you saw the night you arrived in England.
Maier: And what makes you think I would wish to help you?
Foyle: That's a very good question.
Maier: You have a very good answer?
Foyle: No. I do know that you arrived by U-boat, and that you're German and not Dutch, and as such we are enemies, and so I quite understand why you'd feel unwilling to help. I certainly don't expect it. But what you saw, what I believe you saw, is nothing to do with our countries being at w*r. It's m*rder.
Maier: Maybe we can help each other.
They both sit down at the table.
Maier: You will be one of the last people to see me alive. I would like you to get a message to my family.
Foyle: What message is that?
Maier: What sort of message can a man in my position give? Only that... I said goodbye, and that I was thinking of them at the end. My mother is 80 years old. She may not even survive the w*r. And it will not be easy to find her. But I will accept your word that you will try.
Foyle: How will I find her?
Maier: We live in Alfeld. It's a town south of Hanover. My mother's family name is Hartman.
Foyle: Hartman?
Maier: It may help you find her.
Foyle: Right.
Maier: And now... I will tell you what I heard and what I saw.
Flashback to Maier rowing in to the shore from the U-boat.
Maier (voiceover): I had to work hard to reach the shore. There was a tide and it was taking me to the west. Nobody had warned me of this. And after about five minutes, I heard a sh*t.
Maier ducks and looks round at the sound of the g*nsh*t.
Maier (voiceover): It was a single sh*t, fired from a g*n. I also heard breaking glass. My, my first thought was that someone was f*ring at me, but then I realised this was not the case. I heard a man.
There's a pained cry from where two figures stand near the shore.
Maier (voiceover): He was far away but the night was still and the sound carried. It seemed to me the man had been sh*t. He was in pain.
Cut back to the cell.
Maier: He was... sobbing. I could see very little in the darkness but there were two men there, on the beach.
Flashback to the shore. One of the men is now down on his knees.
Maier (voiceover): One man was standing, the other was kneeling. And then there was a second sh*t.
The standing figure aims and fires at the kneeling one, who tumbles down onto the beach below.
Maier (voiceover): The man who was standing had sh*t the man who was kneeling. He then ran away. By this time, my boat had drifted some distance and I began again to row.
Cut back to Maier's cell.
Foyle: How long between the two sh*ts?
Maier: Less than one minute. And that is all I can tell you, Mr Foyle.
Foyle: Thank you.
Maier: And you will speak one day with my family?
Foyle: I will.
Maier: Thank you.
Foyle goes to leave.
Maier: Auf wiedersehen.
Foyle looks back at him and nods slightly before leaving.
Police station cells. Sam is sitting on one of the beds. She unbuttons her uniform jacket and takes off her belt, which she drops into a suitcase on the floor. Sergeant Rivers comes in with a blanket.
Rivers: I hope you realise I could be sh*t for this. This isn't a hotel, you know.
Sam: It's very kind of you, sergeant.
Rivers: Just so long as you don't mention it to Mr Foyle. He'd hit the bloody roof.
Sam: I'm quite good at keeping my living arrangements a secret from Mr Foyle.
Rivers: So, you want the door locked, then?
She laughs.
Sam: No, thank you.
Rivers hands her the blanket.
Rivers: Just get yourself a billet. And the sooner, the better.
He leaves, closing the door. Sam lies down, covering herself with the blanket.
Redmund house. Doctor Redmund is just showing Foyle into the lounge, where Eve is sitting in one of the armchairs.
Foyle: Thank you.
He and Redmund both sit.
Foyle: The, er, the man arrested as a spy on the coast the other night is a German called Hans Maier.
He raises his eyebrows expectantly at the Redmunds.
Redmund: Yes?
Foyle: I met him today.
He waits again for a response.
Redmund: Yes?
Foyle: He's a very brave man, in many ways. He's acutely aware of the situation he's in. And of what's likely to happen to him.
Eve: What will happen to him?
Foyle: He'll very probably be ex*cuted, Mrs Redmund. He asked me to get a message to his family. To say goodbye and to tell them that he loved them and that he was thinking of them at the end.
Redmund: Yes. I, I don't understand why you're telling us all this.
Foyle: Don't you?
He looks at Eve.
Foyle: Do you? To make sure that I was able to find his mother, to deliver the message, he told me that she lived in Alfeld and that her maiden name was Hartman. It's probably just as well that I'm the only person with this information.
Eve: What do you mean, Mr Foyle?
Foyle: Well, your maiden name is Hartman, Mrs Redmund. Your father's sister emigrated to Germany just before the last w*r. So you and Hans are cousins.
Redmund: Eve?
Eve: Yes. I haven't seen the family for many years. Hans and I used to play together. I had no knowledge that he was coming to this country. I knew nothing.
Foyle: Just a coincidence, then, that of all the miles of British coastline he could have chosen he landed just along the beach from the house from which the Home Guard saw the signal being made and where you were having dinner.
Redmund: Mr Foyle, I, I, I, I think you should be very careful what you're saying. If you're implying that my wife-
Foyle: No. No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I have absolutely no evidence whatsoever that you did slip out of the Lewes's house and made the signal to the submarine. Now, if I did, I'd have to arrest you.
Eve: You have my name.
Foyle: Circumstantial. As I said, he's a very brave man and I'm very grateful to him for the information he's given me regarding the death of Richard Hunter. Er, he's in jail. He was arrested too quickly to do anyone any harm, and as far as I'm concerned, how he got here and who helped him is none of my business.
He stands up, and the Redmunds do too.
Foyle: I hope you're able to pass the message on to his mother. I'll see myself out.
He leaves. Redmund turns to face his wife.
Redmund: I knew.
Eve: What?
Redmund: I knew it was you.
Eve: No.
Redmund: Yes. It was just before dinner was served. You disappeared. You were gone for about ten minutes. I wondered, at the time. Then, later, I retraced your steps to the edge of the cliff. I knew it was you. Did, um, Hans contact you? Tell me the truth.
Eve: It wasn't Hans. It was just a voice on the telephone. They told me he was coming and what they wanted me to do. Oh, I didn't know what to do, Alan. I just wanted him to arrive safely.
Redmund: You just wanted him to arrive safely? Do you know what you are? Do you know what that makes you?
Eve: Oh, he's my family!
Redmund: You're a traitor!
Eve: No!
Redmund: Yes! That man is a spy! He should have arrested you! I should call him back!
Eve: Oh, well, why don't you?
Redmund: Because you're my wife!
He backhands her across the face and she cries out at she falls back into the armchair.
Redmund: I will never speak to you again. I don't care if you stay or if you go, but as far as I'm concerned, you don't exist. If I come into a room, I want you to leave it. If you try to speak to me, I'll walk out. You can sleep in the spare room. You can prepare your own meals, and you can eat them alone. I want nothing more to do with you. Now get out.
Eve: Alan...
He turns away to go, leaving her sobbing in the chair.
Romney Point. Foyle looks out over the water, then turns to survey the scene.
Maier (voiceover): It was a single sh*t, fired from a g*n. I also heard breaking glass.
Foyle's gaze falls on a boathouse with a broken window. He lets himself in, studying the wall opposite the window. He spots a b*llet embedded in the wood and digs it out with a Kn*fe.
Foyle's office. He's at work at his typewriter. Sam comes in, her hair rather dishevelled.
Sam: Sir?
Foyle: Sam. Oh, you're looking, er... tired. Are you not sleeping?
She brushes her hair back.
Sam: Not a great deal. I've got a rather hard bed.
Foyle: You all right to drive?
Sam: Absolutely.
Foyle: Well, sit down. I've just got to finish this.
Sam: What is it?
Foyle: An arrest report.
Sam sits down opposite him and picks up the key with the gear attached.
Sam: Where'd you get this from?
Foyle: It, um, was found in Richard Hunter's pocket. It's the key to his garden shed.
Sam: Was he a mechanic?
Foyle: Yes. Why do you ask?
Sam: This fob. It's, er, a cone from a gearbox, isn't it?
Foyle: Is it?
Sam: There's an inner cone and an outer cone, and they sort of connect together on the gearwheel and that's what changes the speed. When I was in the MTC we used to have to strip down engines all the time. The trouble was I could never put them back together again, but I did learn all about the synchro-mesh gearbox.
Foyle: The synchro-mesh gearbox.
Bishop and Paige are driving along.
Bishop: Your flight leaves at 1900 hours from here to Lisbon and over to Washington. I'm afraid it's going to be a bumpy ride.
Paige: Oh. Weather?
Bishop: Storms over the Atlantic.
Paige: I don't care about that. I just want to get home.
They're approaching a roadblock, Foyle's car parked in front of it.
Paige: What the hell is...?
Bishop: It's Foyle.
They come to a halt and Foyle approaches the car as Paige gets out.
Paige: Mr Foyle. You have a habit of turning up at unexpected times. I'm afraid I can't stop for a chat. If you don't mind, I have a plane to catch.
Foyle: There's no rush, Mr Paige. The, er, plane's not going anywhere, and, as a matter of fact, neither are you.
Paige: Why's that?
Foyle: Because I'm arresting you for the m*rder of Richard Hunter.
Bishop gets out of the car too.
Bishop: You're not being serious, are you?
Foyle: And quite possibly you as well, Mr Bishop, if that's your name, as an accessory.
Paige: The hell's going on here? Just tell him to get out of the way.
Foyle: Well, does your jurisdiction go as far as that?
Paige: Bishop!
Bishop: Let's hear what he has to say.
The three of them walk into a meeting hall.
Paige: This is... unbelievable. Have you forgotten who I am, Mr Foyle? I think you know why I'm here.
Foyle: Oh, it's no longer relevant, Mr Paige.
Paige: What, so, er, I k*lled Richard Hunter? Why?
Foyle: Because about twenty years ago, he invented a system of cones on a gear wheel. A revolutionary idea, which formed the basis of what became known as the synchro-mesh gear system. He invented it, you stole it. You patented it in America two years later and made a fortune out of it. D'you want me to go on?
Paige: No. No, no, not really.
Bishop: I'd like to hear the rest of it.
Foyle: Richard Hunter was a brilliant first-class honours student with a bursary from a highly-respected British company. Stealing his idea from him reduced him to a broken alcoholic failure. You k*lled him twice, Mr Paige.
Paige: I did not k*ll Richard Hunter. If you want the truth, it was Hunter that wanted to k*ll me.
Foyle: Absolutely true, which is why he had the g*n with him when he came to the house. He'd always imagined there was nothing he could do. You were in America, multimillionaire on the other side of the world. When he saw your name in the newspaper and realised you were actually here in Hastings, he knew exactly what he was gonna do. He wasn't gonna sh**t himself. He was gonna try and get money out of you and sh**t you if he couldn't. Must have been quite a shock for you, wasn't it, setting eyes on him again? Especially in this place.
Paige: Yeah, that was certainly true.
Foyle: But what wasn't true is that you refused to meet him. You arranged to see him on the beach, after dinner.
Flashback to Sam and Foyle braking to avoid hitting Richard.
Foyle (voiceover): I saw him leaving the house.
Cut back to the meeting hall.
Foyle: He threatened you, didn't he?
Flashback to Richard Hunter waiting with the g*n. Paige arrives to meet him.
Richard: You know what I want. I want money. It was my idea and you took it from me.
Paige: Come on, Richard. You know that's not true. You helped me, sure. But I'm the one had to make it work.
Richard: No, no, no, no, no, no. No, that's not true, either. If it hadn't been for me, you'd have been nothing.
Paige: Well, forgive me, but I'd have said you're the one who's nothing.
Richard: Yeah, but, I mean, my son could be something. With your money, he could get an apprenticeship. He could have his chance. You owe me.
Paige: I don't owe you anything.
Richard aims the g*n at him.
Richard: It was my idea. You took it from me. You said you were gonna get the backing, the support. You never answered my letters. You pretended I didn't exist.
Paige: Put the g*n down.
Foyle (voiceover): He had the g*n.
Paige: You're not going to use it.
Foyle (voiceover): But you're a risk-taker, Mr Paige. You knew he couldn't k*ll.
Paige: Put it down.
Foyle (voiceover): And you were right.
Richard lets out an anguished cry and fires off to the right, breaking the boathouse window. Out on the water, Maier witnesses events as Richard sinks to his knees, letting go of the g*n.
Richard: I'm gonna do for you, Paige. I'm gonna tell everybody. I should have told everybody years ago. I'm gonna tell the whole world what you did to me.
Paige grabs the g*n from the ground and Richard cries out in fear as Paige takes aim at him. Paige sh**t and Richard falls. Paige looks around, then kneels by the body.
Foyle (voiceover): He couldn't k*ll, but you could.
Cut back to the meeting hall.
Foyle: You knew exactly what it would look like. A wreck of a man, found dead on a deserted beach with his own g*n? A risk to sh**t him, yes. A bigger one to let him live? I don't think so, Mr Paige. He couldn't have been any trouble to you. You took the wrong one.
Paige: You have a fine imagination, Mr Foyle. But if you'll forgive me for pointing this out, you can't prove a single word you've said.
Foyle: Well, as a matter of fact, I can. You see, wrong again. Er, there's a witness. In fact, there are two.
Paige: Two witnesses?
Foyle: One was in a boat off the coast, the other was in a car in Wood Lane, the track you took from Romney House.
He looks over at Bishop.
Foyle: You know about him, don't you?
Paige: What?
Foyle: Colin Morton.
Flashback to Wood Lane. Paige runs past Morton's car, disturbing his sleep. Morton sits up to look out of the car window. Paige lingers a moment, checking to see if anyone's following him, before moving on.
Foyle (voiceover): He's what's known as a trekker. Trekkers sleep in their cars away from built-up areas to escape the bombing. He saw you.
Cut back to the meeting hall.
Foyle: And he'll testify against you.
He looks at Bishop again.
Foyle: And it was you who abducted him.
Bishop: I arrested him, yes.
Foyle: And you're, what, m*llitary Intelligence?
Paige: Doesn't matter what he is. And I don't give a damn about your deductions, Mr Foyle. You can't arrest me. Tell him.
Bishop: Yes, I'm afraid Mr Paige is right. I outrank you, Mr Foyle. May I ask you to come with me?
Foyle looks at Paige, who smiles.
A pair of RAF officers escort Paige out of the hall.
Bishop and Foyle walk across the RAF base together.
Bishop: Yes, I'm very sorry I can't let you arrest him.
Foyle: Why?
Bishop: Because of 50 ships, Mr Foyle. Out-of-date rusting ships, with appalling armaments and accommodation. Ships we may never actually use.
Foyle: American ships?
Bishop: Yes.
They enter another building together.
Out on the airfield, a plane is being made ready
Bishop (voiceover): We need the Americans, Mr Foyle. They're the best friends we have.
Cut back to Foyle and Bishop.
Bishop: If we can't persuade them to provide us with arms, food, amm*nit*on and all the rest of it, we will not survive.
Foyle sits down opposite him.
Foyle: Why do we need Howard Paige?
Bishop: Whatever else he may be, Paige has been a great supporter of this country. The American Allies of England have made a huge difference. They've managed to broker a deal that will almost certainly be the start of many more. They've created a lifeline that could last the entire w*r.
Foyle: Starting with 50 ships?
Bishop: Well, the ships are largely symbolic. You have to be Americans to understand their real significance.
Paige enters an office and is given a file marked TOP SECRET by an RAF officer.
Bishop (voiceover): They get very emotional about it, giving away a piece of their navy to a foreign country. They even had to change their own laws to make it possible. But the point is, it opens the floodgates. By this one commitment, they'll show the world whose side they're really on.
Paige looks at the file, then puts it in a case and goes to leave.
Bishop (voiceover): America will become the arsenal of democracy, Mr Foyle. Nothing less.
Cut back to Foyle and Bishop.
Foyle: And arresting him is gonna compromise all this?
Bishop: It would destroy it. The American Allies of England would lose all credibility. The scandal would have repercussions you can't begin to imagine. The ships might not even sail. Mr Foyle, this isn't the first time you've crossed paths with m*llitary Intelligence, and I very much hope you understand that the actions I've taken have been forced on me and not taken lightly.
Foyle: What, you mean, er, protecting him, lying on his behalf, er, searching my office, arresting Colin Morton because he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Bishop: Mr Morton is in Whitehall being interviewed.
Foyle: And you'll go on interviewing him, presumably until Paige is safely out of the country.
Bishop: I don't like this any more than you do, Mr Foyle. The man is a k*ller and he should be hanged. But right now, you can draw a direct line between Howard Paige and the outcome of this w*r.
Paige walks out onto the airfield where a plane is waiting.
Cut back to Foyle and Bishop.
Foyle: You planning to arrest me?
Bishop: I hope you won't make that necessary.
Foyle: And, er, what am I gonna to tell Richard Hunter's widow? What am I gonna tell his son?
Bishop: You could tell them that he was a casualty of the w*r.
Foyle: And if I don't go along with all this?
Bishop: You're an intelligent and capable man, Mr Foyle. I am sure in this instance you will bring yourself to see things from our point of view.
Foyle: I want to see him.
He stands up.
Bishop: Why?
Foyle: Well, I'd love to say goodbye.
Airfield. Paige is heading towards the plane when Foyle calls out to him.
Foyle (offscreen): Mr Paige.
Paige: Mr Foyle. I really hope this is a final goodbye.
Foyle and Bishop walk up.
Foyle: Oh, well, not at all. Only temporary.
Paige: You sound like a sore loser. You know what the French say? C'est la guerre.
Foyle: Precisely, Mr Paige. It's the w*r. And no w*r has lasted forever and neither will this. A year, maybe ten, but it will end. And when it does, Mr Paige, you will still be a thief, a liar, and a m*rder, and I will not have forgotten. And wherever you are, I will find you.
He holds up Richard Hunter's workshop key with the gear attached.
Foyle: You're not escaping justice, merely postponing it. Au revoir.
He walks away with Bishop. Paige gets on board the plane and it prepares takes off. Foyle stops and looks back to watch it leave.
Police station. Foyle is walking past the cells when he spots Sam lying down in one of them with a book.
Foyle: Sam?
Sam: Sir.
She sits up.
Foyle: What are you doing here?
Sam: Well, it's a long story, really. You'd be amazed how many guesthouses and hotels are full. I've spoken to the billeting officer, and although I should take priority, there just isn't anything.
Foyle: What, you haven't found anywhere else to live?
Sam: The long and short of it is I've ended up here.
Foyle: You can't sleep here.
Sam: It's not too bad. I mean, the mattress is a bit hard. It's not really a mattress, it's more of a sort of... plank.
Foyle: Oh, for God's sake. Really?
Sam's silent for a moment.
Foyle: Look. Won't bother me if it doesn't bother you, but you can use the back room at my house. Andrew isn't there. Just until you get yourself sorted - if you like.
Sam: Could I, sir? Are you sure?
Foyle: Yes, yes. Yeah. But, um, look, do me a favour, will you? Don't mention it to the others. They really wouldn't approve, you know?
Sam: No. I can be very discreet.
Foyle: Good. Come on.
She picks up her suitcase and they walk out through the station together.
Sam: Have you had dinner, sir?
Foyle: No. Why?
Sam: Well, I could cook for you, if you like.
Foyle: Well, that's very decent of you.
Sam: I don't mind. Do you like coq-au-vin?
The doors swing shut behind them.
02x01 - Fifty Ships
Moderator: nomadicwriter
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While WWII rages across the Channel, a police detective reluctantly remains on duty in his quiet English coastal town. The battle comes to Foyle in its own way as he probes w*r-related cases of m*rder, espionage, and treason. Mystery blends with history, moral complexity, and period atmosphere.
While WWII rages across the Channel, a police detective reluctantly remains on duty in his quiet English coastal town. The battle comes to Foyle in its own way as he probes w*r-related cases of m*rder, espionage, and treason. Mystery blends with history, moral complexity, and period atmosphere.