A courtyard in wartime Germany. Members of the British Free Corps give the n*zi salute.
CAPTION: GERMANY February 1945
A German officer corrects the angle of one of the men's salutes. Two other members of the British Free Corps, James Devereaux and Jack Stanford, watch from the sidelines.
Stanford: Look at them. Couldn't march their way out of a paper bag. Strange, isn't it? h*tler said there'd be a thousand of us one day, and in the end, he couldn't even manage 30. Not the most glorious episode in m*llitary history, I'd say. Do you think we'll be hanged or sh*t? Mind you, in Carrington's case, it might be neither. He might get lucky and die of the clap first. Are you talking to me today?
James: Which would you choose? Hanging or sh**ting?
Stanford: Oh, I'm all for hanging. It's quieter.
James chuckles a little.
Stanford: Strange, isn't it? The two of us ending up here. We could start a reunion club. Hang together.
German cafe. A man in uniform is playing the accordion while the crowd sing along with him. There's raucous laughter going on in the background.
♪ Muss i' denn, muss i' denn ♪
♪ Muss i' denn, muss i' denn ♪
A woman kisses the accordion player on the cheek.
♪ Zum Staedtele hinaus, Staedtele hinaus ♪
♪ And du mein Schatz bleibst hier... ♪
Men clink glasses and a barmaid walks through with two beer steins, followed by Jack Stanford. The woman who kissed the accordion player goes over to sit with her arm around another man. The barmaid turns to her.
Barmaid: Bis spaeter.
Then she moves off to speak to someone else.
Barmaid: Ja?
Stanford gestures after her.
Stanford: What did I tell you? One of the most beautiful cities in Europe!
He approaches James where he's standing with a glass of beer.
Stanford: And some of the most beautiful women.
There's the sound of air-raid sirens, and James looks up.
Stanford: Life isn't too bad.
He laughs.
James: It's a raid.
Stanford: Huh? Nah. They're on their way somewhere else.
He goes over and puts his arm around the barmaid's shoulders, kissing her on the cheek.
Stanford: James, let's eat.
As another man comes in, Stanford closes the door behind him, revealing that the name of the cafe is 'Der Alte Palast, Dresden'. There's an expl*si*n outside, and Stanford looks round, then gestures for everyone to sit down.
Man (offscreen): Ah, hilfe! Hilfe!
Stanford continues drinking his beer as the bombs drop. James stands looking dazed as people scream and bombs explode in the background.
OPENING CREDITS
Hastings police station.
CAPTION: Six months later
Inside, police officers are lined up to shake the hand of DCS Clarkeson as he walks through towards Foyle's office.
McDonald: DS McDonald.
Clarkeson: Right.
Jones: DI Jones.
Clarkeson: How do you do?
Morgan: DI Morgan.
Clarkeson: Oh, good to see you again.
Rowle: Sergeant Rowle.
Clarkeson: How do you do?
Parr: Sergeant Parr.
Clarkeson: Pleased to meet you.
As Clarkeson reaches the end of the line, Foyle appears in his office doorway.
Clarkeson: Mr Foyle.
Foyle: Yes.
Clarkeson: I'm DCS Clarkeson.
Foyle: I know exactly who you are.
They shake hands.
Foyle: How do you do? Pleased to meet you. Do come in.
Clarkeson: I'm here to replace you.
Foyle: Well, so I understand. What kept you?
Clarkeson laughs.
Foyle: You'll be very pleased to hear, er, everything's in order. It's in my report.
Clarkeson: Good.
Foyle drops a folder onto the desk.
Foyle: I'll just leave that there for you.
Clarkeson: Er...
Foyle: What that doesn't mention is that, er, anything related to current investigations you'll find in this office here.
Clarkeson: Right.
Foyle: All pre-w*r and wartime records, er, are kept next door.
Clarkeson: Ah-
Foyle: Just ask the desk sergeant. He'll be happy to help. And I think that's about it.
He grabs his hat to leave.
Foyle: Erm... congratulations on the post. Or commiserations, whichever you think is appropriate. And, er, jolly good luck.
Clarkeson: Oh, well, yeah.
Foyle shakes his hand again.
Foyle: Pleasure to meet you. Goodbye.
Clarkeson: Er-
Foyle walks out, passing another member of staff, who shakes his hand.
Man: Good luck, sir.
Foyle: Thank you.
Outside. Foyle walks out of the station, stops and smiles for a moment, then heads down the steps.
Royal Sussex Bank.
Harmworth (voiceover): I've now had the opportunity to examine your accounts, Mr Wainwright. Er, here we have your outgoings.
Adam and Sam are sitting in front of banker Mr Harmworth in his office.
Harmworth: General expenses, salaries, supplies, etc. And here we have payments in. It would seem this is not a felicitous time for the catering and hotel business in Hastings.
Adam: Things are bound to pick up eventually, Mr Harmworth.
Harmworth: That may be the case, but here you are, asking us to extend your overdraft limit.
Adam: Just for a few months.
Harmworth: But you've already overstepped that limit on three occasions, and I see no evidence here that your situation is going to improve at any time in the near future.
Sam: Well, it can't get any worse!
Harmworth: I wish I shared your confidence, Miss Stewart. I'm sorry. Not only can the bank not help you, but I must ask you to take immediate steps to clear your existing overdraft, taking whatever actions are necessary. Thank you. Good day.
He stands up and hands Adam's account books back to him.
Outside. Sam and Adam emerge from the building together.
Adam: I'm sorry, Sam.
Sam: Don't be.
Adam: No, you don't understand. I won't be able to pay you this month.
Sam: Well, that's okay. You didn't pay me last month, so it's not as if I'll notice.
Adam: You are a sport.
Sam: We'll make a go of it somehow. I know we will.
Sam: What shall we do now? Cup of tea at Lyons?
Adam: No. We ought to get back.
Later. Sam and Adam walk across Highcliffe Green together.
Adam: Sometimes I wish the whole bloody guesthouse would just... I don't know, disappear.
Sam: You ought never to have taken it on.
Adam: I had this romantic view it would sort of run itself. Instead it's been an absolute nightmare. The only good thing to come out of it is... well... meeting you. Oh, sod it. Let's go to Lyons.
Sam: Can we afford it?
Adam: Well, we can go halves on a currant bun.
She laughs.
Docks. Commander Charles Howard hands Foyle an envelope.
Howard: Here you are, Christopher. I had a devil of a job getting them.
They walk along together as Foyle takes the documents out of the envelope to look at.
Howard: I managed to square the visa with the Americans, but, as for the Queen Mary, she's been requisitioned. For m*llitary and naval use only.
Foyle: Mm-hmm?
Howard: I could've tried sending you as a GI bride, but I don't think it would've worked.
Foyle: I wonder why. So what has happened?
Howard: I had a word with the MOI. You're departing Southampton on the 17th.
Foyle: Mm-hmm.
Howard: And if anyone asks, you're on a sponsored lecture tour, all right?
Foyle: Right.
Howard: Remember, it's my neck on the line.
Foyle: I will. I'm grateful. Thank you.
They reach Foyle's car.
Howard: You know, there are times when I really don't understand you.
Foyle: Why's that?
Howard: The w*r is finally completely over. The Japanese surrender. This new b*mb they're talking about. Makes me feel like we're entering a new world.
Foyle: I'd agree.
Howard: But you refuse to let go of the old one. Unfinished business? I thought you'd retired.
Foyle: Oh, not quite the case. Resigned.
Howard: Well, take care. America may not take too kindly to an ex-detective chief superintendent from Hastings sniffing around, asking awkward questions.
Foyle: I'll take the chance.
Howard: Well then, good luck.
They shake hands.
Foyle: Thank you.
He gets into the car.
Hastings. Foyle is driving along, and stops at an intersection. He hears a news vendor calling from the street corner.
News Vendor (offscreen): Late edition! Read all about it! Devereaux stands trial for treason.
Foyle gets out of the car and goes to buy a copy. The headline reads 'British Free Corps Treason Trial', and there's a photo of James Devereaux in his British Free Corps uniform. Foyle closes his eyes and has a memory flashback of a young soldier standing on the beach next to the pier with a woman.
Same location, present day. Foyle stands on the beach, facing the water, and takes a deep breath.
Church Lane. Foyle parks and heads down a set of steps to the office of Alan Deakin, solicitor.
Inside. A man escorts Foyle into Deakin's office. Deakin has an eyepatch over his left eye and uses a cane.
Man: Mr Foyle, sir.
Deakin: Ah.
Foyle: How do you do?
Deakin: How do you do?
They shake hands.
Deakin: Please sit down, Mr Foyle.
Foyle: Thank you.
Deakin: Have you been offered tea?
Foyle: I won't, thank you very much.
Deakin: Well, let's get straight to the point, then. You want to talk to me about my client, James Devereaux.
Foyle: Well, er, not so much about him as the unit he belonged to in Germany.
They both sit down at Deakin's desk.
Deakin: The British Free Corps?
Foyle: That's right.
Deakin: How much do you know about them?
Foyle: Well, not as much as we'd like to, which is why a meeting with your client could prove enormously helpful. How much do you know about them?
Deakin: Well, it was just a propaganda exercise, really, wasn't it? One of h*tler's crazier ideas. Get a bunch of misfits and ne'er-do-wells out of the POW camps, dress them up in German uniforms with Union Jacks, send them off to fight against the Russians. My client was picked up in Dresden, what was left of it. And for a few months he was, er, missing, believed dead, and then the Russians handed him over. I, I may as well tell you now... it's almost certain he'll hang. We're talking about traitors, Mr Foyle. William Joyce, Lord Haw-Haw. John Amery, son of the Secretary of State for India. The whole lot of them. Well, they're only getting what they deserve. I think you'd agree.
Foyle: Well, there are those who think that a series of trials, treason trials, could be counterproductive at the moment.
Deakin: And you've been asked to look into it. Well, I suppose I could try to arrange a meeting, but, um, I should warn you now, it, it may be a complete waste of time. He refused to talk to me. Not a word.
Foyle: Perhaps he feels you've given up on him.
Deakin: He's given up on himself. It's almost as if he wants to die. Well, far be it for me to stand in the way of the police or the intelligence services. I'll see what I can do.
The both get up.
Foyle: Thank you.
They shake hands again and Foyle goes to leave.
Deakin: He, he did join the Nazis, Mr Foyle. He's admitted to it. And for what it's worth, I'd try to defend him if he'd let me, er, but he won't. There's really nothing more I can do.
Foyle: Right.
He nods and leaves.
Penbridge Road. Mrs Ramsay leaves her house, her lodger Agnes Littleton standing on the doorstep to see her off.
Ramsay: All right. Well, have a lovely evening.
Agnes waves to her and then heads back inside. As Ramsay continues along the street, a man drops his cigarette to crush out with his shoe, then heads over to the house and lets himself inside. He closes the door behind him.
Upstairs. The door to Agnes's bedroom stands ajar. The man eases it open and creeps towards Agnes where she sits at the dresser with her back to him. He picks up a stocking hanging over the end of the bed and moves towards her. Agnes looks up and gasps. He wraps the stocking round her neck and begins to strangle her.
Later. Agnes lies dead on the floor, the stocking still wrapped around her throat. The man picks up a picture frame and takes out a photo of James Devereaux before leaving.
Penbridge Road, next day. An ambulance is just parking in front of the house as a police car pulls up and Milner gets out. He looks up at the house, then heads towards him. A uniformed policeman gestures towards the door.
Policeman: She's upstairs, sir.
Inside. Milner enters Agnes's bedroom, where Perkins is already there with another uniformed officer and a photographer.
Policeman: Sir.
He leaves.
Perkins: Ah. She's been strangled, sir, with a nylon stocking. I bet you she'd been saving it up for after the w*r.
Milner walks round to look at the body.
Milner: Does she have a name?
Perkins: Agnes Lyttleton. She rents the room from a Mrs Ramsay. She's downstairs.
Milner: Who found her?
Perkins: She did. Er, Mrs Ramsay. So, what do you think, sir? Boyfriend comes home, finds her canoodling with some Yank? It wouldn't be the first time.
Milner notices the empty picture frame left on the bed and picks it up to look at.
Downstairs. Perkins brings Mrs Ramsay a cup of tea where she sits in the armchair.
Ramsay: (Oh.)
She takes it. Milner sits down next to her.
Ramsay: I can't believe such a thing could happen in my home. I just can't believe it.
Milner: Er, when did you know something was wrong?
Ramsay: Well, this morning. She didn't come down for breakfast and I thought she'd overslept.
Milner: Were you here last night?
Ramsay: No. I was playing bridge with some friends. I didn't arrive home until about ten o'clock. I was here, in the house last night, and all the time she was...
She covers her mouth with her hand.
Perkins: You, you want some more tea?
Ramsay: No. No, thank you. Thank you.
Milner: Um, did she have a job? Did she work here in Brighton?
Ramsay: Er, just outside. White Friars. Well, I, I'm sure you know it. It's the family estate of the Devereaux.
Milner: And did she have any friends? Or any visitors?
Ramsay: She did have a friend. Erm... Sylvie, I think her name was. A stablegirl. Er, and there was a young man, but he was a prisoner of w*r in Germany. He wrote to her regularly, though.
Milner: Oh. Most of the prisoners of the German camps have returned home now. He hasn't been here?
Ramsay: No. Miss Lyttleton would have asked me first. She was that, that sort of girl. Very considerate.
Milner: Erm, Mrs Ramsay...
He stands up and fetches the empty picture frame.
Milner: What can you tell me about this?
Ramsay: Isn't that the frame from her, her bedroom?
Milner: It is, yes.
Ramsay: But the photograph is, is missing.
Milner: Do you know who the photograph was of? Did you ever see it? It wasn't my habit to enter her room, but I did glimpse it. A young man in uniform. I can't tell you very much more than that. Where, where d'you think it's gone?
White Friars. Perkins and Milner drive up to the house and get out.
Perkins: Cor! Quite a place, sir.
Milner: It certainly is.
Perkins: To live somewhere like this, you wouldn't even know there's been a w*r.
Inside. Perkins and Milner are interviewing Sir Charles Devereaux and his wife Jane in the lounge.
Sir Charles: It's a dreadful thing to have happened, and I'm very sorry to hear it.
Jane: Agnes was a very pleasant girl. I can't imagine anyone would want to hurt her.
Sir Charles: But I'm afraid I can't help you, Detective Inspector. I engaged Miss Lyttleton nine months ago, to help me with a project I'm working on.
Milner: And what is that, sir?
Sir Charles: A history of the Devereaux family. It required a considerable amount of research.
Perkins: Er, been here long have you, sir?
Sir Charles: We were given this land by William the Conqueror. Miss Lyttleton worked here for six hours a day. She had excellent shorthand and she was very diligent. Apart from that, I know nothing about her at all.
Milner: What about her family or friends?
Sir Charles: Mr Milner, she was my secretary, not my confidante. And, apart from that, I have absolutely nothing more to say. Jane?
He leaves.
Jane: Er, please excuse me, gentlemen.
She follows him out. Perkins and Milner exchange a look.
Outside. As Milner and Perkins are leaving, Jane comes out after them.
Jane: Detective Inspector?
She walks over to join them.
Jane: I'm very sorry, the way my husband spoke to you just now. He didn't mean to be rude, but you've come at a very difficult time. He has a son... who's in a great deal of trouble. Please don't ask me to explain, but you have no idea how ill it's made him. And if he spoke offhandedly, I can only apologise on his behalf.
Milner: "He has a son." I take it that he's not your son, Mrs Devereaux?
Jane: No. I'm Charles's second wife. He lost his first wife, Caroline, almost twenty years ago.
Milner: And Agnes Lyttleton?
Jane: I'm afraid I can't tell you very much about her. We hardly spoke. She was living with our housekeeper, Mrs Ramsay.
Milner: Mrs Ramsay works here?
Jane: She used to. She's retired. Miss Lyttleton had always lived in Brighton, at least for the last few years, but her house was bombed. She needed somewhere to live, so we recommended her to Mrs Ramsay.
Milner: Thank you.
They leave.
Cell block. A prison guard lets Foyle and Deakin in through the gates, then escorts them in to a waiting area.
Guard: Gentleman to see Prisoner 484.
Deakin takes a seat on a bench as the guard leads Foyle onwards. He unlocks the barred gate of a visitors' room, where James Devereaux stands gazing out of the window. Foyle enters, and the guard closes the gate behind him.
Foyle: Hello.
James looks at him silently, then turns away to look out of the window again.
Foyle: The name's Foyle. They tell you who I am? I understand, er, you were reluctant to see me. Er, thank you for agreeing anyway.
James: Anything to get out of my cell.
Foyle: Ah, I see. Er, they tell you why I'm here?
James: They said you were a policeman and you want to know about the British Free Corps.
Foyle: Er, that's about the strength of it, yes. D'you mind if I sit down?
James shakes his head and turns his face to the window again. Foyle sits down at the table.
Foyle: Erm, what can you tell me?
James stays silent.
Foyle: I understand why you don't want to talk about it. It's not a very pleasant subject, er, but you have agreed to see me.
James: I've nothing to read. The people here aren't exactly chatty. I don't get many visitors.
Foyle: Right. No family?
James: I don't want to see my family.
Foyle: Why would that be?
James is silent again.
Foyle: Listen, there's an understanding that there are various reasons why people are or have become n*zi sympathisers. And in the case of members of the British Free Corps, it seems important to establish to what extent that sympathy is genuine or to what extent coercion has been involved. Why did you join? Are you sorry the Germans lost, that h*tler's dead? Erm, did you want them to win?
James: I don't care who won.
Foyle: Is that really the case?
James: Thousands of people dead. Everywhere burnt out. Theatres, museums, all rubble. What difference does it make?
Foyle: Is this Dresden you're talking about? I understand you were there.
James: I was in a lot of places.
Foyle: Dunkirk, as well, I gather, and, er, served with distinction, according to your men. So it's very difficult for someone like me to understand why you'd find yourself in this position and why you'd choose to die in such a useless way.
James: What makes you think it's useless? I was told you wanted to ask me about the British Free Corps. All you've done is ask questions about me. I don't know you. I don't need to talk to you. Please, just go away.
Foyle hesitates, then gets up to leave. The guard unlocks the door to let him out, and he looks back at James for a moment before turning to leave. James remains standing gazing out of the window.
Flashback. Young James runs through the grounds of White Friars. He spots his mother, Caroline Devereaux, and runs after her.
James: Mum! I see you! I see you!
He laughs as he chases her.
James: I see you, Mum!
Caroline: Oh, okay, you got me, you got me, you got me!
Present. James is shoved back into his cell. As he leans back against the wall, he hears phantom sounds of warning sirens, bombs dropping and screams.
Waiting area. Deakin stands up as Foyle returns.
Deakin: So, did you get the information you wanted?
Foyle: Any idea what happened to him in Dresden?
Deakin: No.
Foyle: Did you ask?
Deakin: I shouldn't have thought that was any of my business. Or yours.
He heads back towards the exit and Foyle follows. The guard brings them up to the gate.
Guard: Wait here.
He leaves.
Foyle: Mr Deakin, er, forgive me for asking, are these w*r injuries?
Deakin: Er, yes, they are.
Foyle: Then I'd understand your difficulty representing somebody on these sort of charges. He did speak to me, er, not a great deal, but enough, and I can tell you that, er, whatever else he might be, he's not a n*zi sympathiser, nor is he guilty of treason. And I'd hope to persuade you not to assume his guilt or, indeed, to abandon him to hang. Er, there are a couple of things I could do to help. If you'd accept the offer, I'd be pleased to-
The guard returns with another who unlocks the gate for them, and they leave.
Highcliffe Green. A pair of surveyors are placing poles while another man, Michael Harrison, sights through a tripod.
Harrison: Right, you're gonna to have to raise it.
Surveyor: All right. How's that?
Harrison: Yep. Keep coming. Bit more.
Surveyor: Good?
Sam approaches Harrison at the tripod.
Sam: Hello. What's going on here?
Harrison: And who are you, darling?
Sam: Well, I'm Sam Stewart.
Harrison: I don't suppose you live in one of these big houses, do you?
Sam: I do, as a matter of fact. That one over there.
Harrison: Then this is your lucky day. We want to knock it down.
He laughs.
Hill House guesthouse. Sam approaches the building. An old woman, Mrs Crawley, is just leaving the building as she arrives.
Crawley: Good evening, Miss Stewart.
Sam watches her go, then heads inside. There's the sound of pouring water.
Sam: Adam?
Adam: I'm up here!
Water is collecting in pots around buckets by the stairs as Sam heads up.
Upstairs. Adam is climbing down the ladder from the loft.
Adam: What do you mean, knock us down?
Sam: Yes.
Adam: Why?
Sam: For the access road.
Adam: Access to what?
Sam: All the shops and houses they're going to be building on the green.
Adam: Well, Hastings may need shops and houses, but why build on the green?
Sam: I thought you'd be pleased.
Adam: I am, I think. I should be delighted, I suppose.
Sam: It's exactly what you wanted. And, of course, they'll pay you compensation. There's a meeting at the town hall tomorrow evening.
Adam: That's not much notice!
Sam: Well, provided they give you a good offer, how much notice do you need?
Another guest, Mr West, arrives.
West (offscreen): Oh dear! More problems?
Adam: I'm afraid so.
West heads past them up the stairs.
White Friars estate. Foyle drives through the grounds with Deakin.
Deakin: In answer to your question, I was with Monty in the Eighth Army. Tunisia, May 1943, a place called Medjerda.
Foyle: I'm sorry to hear it.
Deakin: I'm not asking for sympathy. A lot of my friends were k*lled. I was invalided home and, er, went back to the Bar. Wasn't much else I could do.
They pull up in front of the house and Foyle gets out.
Lounge. Foyle and Deakin are sitting with Jane and Sir Charles.
Sir Charles: James won't speak to me. He won't speak to any of us. But you've seen him?
Foyle: I have.
Sir Charles: And?
Jane: Is there anything that can give us any hope?
Sir Charles: Deakin says you believe he may be innocent.
Foyle: That's right.
Sir Charles: Well, do you really think you can find a way through this?
Foyle: Well, I'm not at all sure. Just seen him the once, but it's certainly worth the attempt.
Sir Charles: What did he tell you?
Foyle: Very little. But it does seem to me that there's more to the situation than he's allowing anyone to know.
Sir Charles: Jane, I'll talk to Mr Foyle alone, if you don't mind. Why don't you show Deakin round the garden?
He stands up.
Jane: Er, yes, of course, dear, whatever you say. Shall we?
She and Deakin leave.
Sir Charles: James was never the same after his mother d*ed. He was only eight. Maybe that's what this is all about. She was the only one he confided in. I loved Caroline more than anyone in the world. She was everything to me. But James was more her son than mine, and after she d*ed he... drifted away.
Foyle: Ever any mention of or sympathy with right-wing causes?
Sir Charles: No! A model student at Eton, and at Sandhurst. A credit to his regiment. When he was taken prisoner at Dunkirk, I thought I'd lost him. Now I almost wish I had. We're one of the oldest families in England, and we have a long history of service to our country. My father was at the Colonial Office, my grandfather served in Salisbury's administration. I myself was an MP for 30 years.
Foyle: This unit, the British Free Corps.
Sir Charles: They're disgusting! Nothing.
Foyle: What do you think drove James to join it?
Sir Charles: He was a prisoner of w*r. He had been for three years. He was starving and they offered him an alternative to a life behind barbed wire. He didn't know what he was doing.
Foyle: Well, I'd have thought that would have been his defence.
Sir Charles: Of course it's his defence!
Foyle: He's not using it.
Sir Charles: He's ashamed of himself.
Foyle: Doesn't appear to be the case.
Sir Charles: He's destroying me. This house, this land, my name, all that I've ever stood for, he'll bring it all crashing down. Mr Foyle, you told Deakin you could help us, but all you've done so far is ask a lot of questions. Why exactly are you here?
Outside. Foyle walks towards Jane and Deakin through the grounds as Charles watches them from the window.
Jane: Caroline Devereaux. Sometimes I think she never left this house. It's as if she never d*ed.
Deakin: So, er, how did it happen exactly?
Jane: Oh, it was a horrible accident. She was walking over there. It was late summer. Deer can be very dangerous at that time of year. Nobody knows why she got so close to them, but they gored her with their antlers.
Charles continues to watch from the window as Foyle catches up to the others.
Deakin: Hello. All right?
Foyle: I think so.
Jane: Do come with us. Erm, I was going to show Mr Deakin the hide.
Foyle: I'd love to.
They walk on together. At the window, Charles gazes at lake..
Flashback. Caroline and young James walk along the edge of the lake together.
Present. Charles turns away from the window.
Flashback. Young James runs along, Caroline following.
James: Come on!
Caroline: I'm coming!
James: Slowcoach!
James reaches a birdwatching hide and Caroline follows him in.
James (voiceover): It's got a black beak...
Hide. James is standing on a ladder, looking out through the high windows with binoculars. Caroline climbs another ladder beside him.
James: And... white patches on its wings.
Caroline: And what do you think it is?
James: A... nightingale?
Caroline: Hmm, let me see.
He gives her the binoculars. She looks out at the bird.
Caroline: Hmm. Oh! No, it's a pied flycatcher. It's come all the way from Africa to be here.
She gives the binoculars back to him.
Jane (voiceover): She had it built...
Present. She, Deakin and Foyle approach the hide.
Jane: ...specially for James.
The hide is now partly overgrown.
Deakin: Does anyone use it any more?
Jane: Well, he wouldn't go near it after she d*ed.
Foyle: Hope you don't mind me asking, erm... how well do you get on with him?
Jane: Well, he, er, was fourteen when I married Charles. He was already at Eton. But, erm, I did what I could. Tried to be close.
Foyle: And any sign of any interest in politics, that sort of thing, at that time?
Jane: Not that I know of. Ah, I think he did want to become a policeman.
Foyle: Really?
Jane: He was very young. I don't think he was serious.
Foyle: So... what other interests might he have had?
Jane: Er, he used to play the piano.
Foyle: Ah.
Jane: He was actually very good. But there was this business with his piano teacher. A man called, er, Rothmann or Rothstein or something. Anyway, erm, he left under a bit of a cloud.
Foyle: Mm-hmm?
Jane: And, er, James lost interest after that and stopped.
Foyle: Who else might I talk to who, erm, knew him as a boy?
Jane: There was our old housekeeper, Mrs Ramsay.
Foyle: Mm-hmm?
Jane: But there's been this terrible business.
Foyle: What's that?
Jane: A young woman was found m*rder*d in her house.
Deakin: m*rder*d?
Jane: Oh, I, I'm sorry, I, I thought you'd know all about it. The police were only here yesterday.
She sighs.
Jane: My husband's secretary. She was found strangled.
Flashback. Young James opens a sliding hatch in the wall of the hide and looks out with binoculars.
Present, James's cell. He's sitting down on the bed. A prison warder unlocks the door and another comes in with a plate and mug.
Warder: Dinner, Mr Devereaux.
He sets the plate down on the table in the corner. James doesn't look at him.
Warder: You still not talkative?
He picks the plate back up and brings it over to the bed.
Warder: Well, let's see what we've got for you. Corn-beef hash, beans and mashed potato.
Warder 2 (offscreen): Heh.
He tips the water in the cup out over James. The other warder chuckles.
Warder: I am sorry. That was very clumsy of me.
He tips the plate of food out over James's head as well. The man over at the door chuckles.
Warder 2: n*zi scum! Eat it off the floor.
Warder: And you'd better get this cell cleaned up, or I'll have you up before the governor.
They leave and lock the door. James laughs a little to himself.
Hastings town hall. Sam and Adam head into the building together.
Meeting hall. There's a buzz of conversation as people look at displays about the construction plans.
Adam: Not many people here.
Sam: Well, they only called the meeting yesterday.
Adam: Don't you think that's a bit strange?
Sam: No. Why?
Harrison: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Please, take your seats.
Sam sits down. Adam studies the displays a moment before following.
Harrison: Let me introduce myself. I'm Michael Harrison, working with Harry Clifton here for the Hastings Planning Committee.
Man: Never heard of it! Well, what good's it ever done?
There are a few laughs. Harrison gestures to the plans on display.
Harrison: Ladies and gentlemen, these are the facts. In the last five years, more than three million houses have been damaged or destroyed. As a country, we now need to build 750,000 new homes, 7,000 of them here in Hastings. But it may well be that the Luftwaffe has done us a favour.
Jeers from the crowd.
Harrison: We can look on this not as a challenge, but as an opportunity. Highcliffe Green. It's an empty space, even though it's only minutes away from the centre of Hastings. And here it is again.
He moves over to another display.
Harrison: The hub of a new development zone, with purpose-built housing, improved traffic flow, the sense and simplicity of concentric rings.
Man: What's he talking about? I don't understand a word.
Harrison: A new modern Hastings, with a bustling new heart.
Man: But what happens to us?
Man: And what about the existing b*mb damage?
Harrison: One at a time, please. May I ask where you live, sir?
Man: Gladwell Avenue.
Harrison: Well, then I congratulate you on your good fortune.
There are derisive chuckles.
Harrison: Every resident of Highcliffe Street, Quay Street and Gladwell Avenue is going to be required to move...
Man: Move?
Man: Build it somewhere else!
Harrison: ...but will be generously compensated.
Man: I like the sound of that.
Harrison: What I'm here to talk to you about, ladies and gentlemen, is a new start. I've looked at these old houses. Many of them are in a state of disrepair, with outmoded plumbing and electrics.
Man: Yeah, that's true.
Harrison: They're too big and they're expensive to run. What I want to say to you is, welcome to the future.
People applaud. Adam stands up.
Adam: Adam Wainwright. I own the guesthouse, Hill House, on Highcliffe Street. So you're proposing to buy it, knock it down, and do what exactly?
Harrison: Yeah, well, Hill House stands on what will be the main thoroughfare to the new shopping centre, Mr Wainwright.
Adam: And this shopping centre, you're going to build that on the green?
Harrison: That's right.
Adam: But the green's always been there.
Harrison: Well, there is no historical significance to the green. It's, it's just an empty space.
Man: Yeah, but it's, it's common land.
Adam: Exactly. Isn't it common land?
Harrison: Well, yes, it is. But I, I don't think there'd be any great objections...
Man: Oh, yes, there will.
Harrison: Brilliant plan-
Adam: Isn't it protected, though?
Harrison: Well, I think you're rather overstating its importance.
Sam: People have been grazing their animals there...
Man: Sit down.
Sam: ...for centuries.
Man: Let him speak. He's got a point.
Man: How much are gonna pay us?
Man: Yeah!
There's laughter from the crowd.
Harrison: Now, that's the question I'd have asked. We'll be making valuations in the weeks to come.
Man: Oh, now you're talking!
Adam stands up again.
Adam: Hang on. Are we sure about this? Why do we need a new development? Why can't we improve the Hastings we've already got?
Man: Sit down!
Man: You've had your turn!
Harrison: There will, of course, be a full and proper consultation before any works begin.
Woman: There won't.
The crowd mutter. Harrison turns and winks at Harry Clifton behind him.
Highcliffe Green. Sam and Adam are walking back together.
Sam: Adam, are you all right? You haven't said anything this past half hour.
Adam: I'm sorry, Sam. Miles away.
Sam: We should be celebrating, shouldn't we? You get the money, you get sh*t of Hill House, you can start again.
Adam: I wasn't thinking about Hill House. I really like Hastings. I know I haven't been here long, but... it's just, ah, it's the arrogance of it all that gets me, Sam. I mean, look at this green. It's been here forever. When William the Conqueror landed, he probably stood right here. Isn't this what we've been fighting for, for the past six years?
Sam: England's green and pleasant land.
Adam: Exactly. I think we've earned the right to run our own lives, not be pushed around by some n*zi in a pinstripe suit. I mean, this is part of the England we've been defending. Jerry couldn't inv*de us. They couldn't destroy us, so why should we let someone like Harrison achieve what they didn't?
Sam: Are you going to start a resistance movement?
Adam: Yes. That's exactly what I'm gonna do.
He heads back towards Hill House.
Sam: Well then, count me in. I'll wave the flag or the machinegun or whatever.
She links her arm with his.
Adam: Perfect.
He turns and kisses her on the cheek.
Sam: Oh!
They walk on together.
Prison. James is let into the visiting room, where Foyle stands waiting for him.
James: Back again.
Foyle holds up a couple of books.
Foyle: Brought some books.
He sets them down on the table.
James: Decline and Fall. Seems appropriate.
Foyle: Mmm.
James: I like Evelyn Waugh.
Foyle: So do I.
James: And it's not too long. I don't think I should be starting long books. Thank you. That's very kind of you.
Foyle: Not at all.
He sits down at the table.
Foyle: A couple of things have happened since, er, we last met which may be of interest to you. I went to White Friars and met your father.
James: Why did you do that? What's White Friars got to do with the British Free Corps?
Foyle: Oh, it'd help to know why you joined.
James: And you think my father can tell you?
Foyle: He had an opinion.
James: I bet he did.
Foyle: Mmm. I also learned that you were very close to your mother. I wondered what she'd have made of all this. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but, erm, goose-stepping your way around Dresden in an SS uniform isn't something that I'd imagine would have endeared you to her.
James: I've had enough of this.
He turns and raises his voice to address the guard.
James: I'd like to go back to my cell, please.
As the guard unlocks the door, Foyle stands up and hands James the books. He takes them and leaves.
Stables. Milner and Perkins enter the stable block where Sylvie Johnstone is just bringing a horse out.
Milner: Sylvie Johnstone?
Sylvie: Yeah, that's me.
Milner: I'm Detective Inspector Milner and this is Detective Constable Perkins.
Sylvie: Right.
She leads the horse out into the yard, followed by another woman with a second horse.
Milner: Er, I believe you know Agnes Lyttleton?
Sylvie: Yes, I know Agnes. Why are you asking?
Milner: I'm afraid you're gonna have to prepare yourself for some bad news. Agnes is dead.
Sylvie: Oh.
She lets go of the reins.
Milner: Perkins.
He gestures after the horse.
Milner: Could you?
Sylvie: Dead?
Milner: I'm sorry.
Sylvie: What happened?
Milner: She was found at home. She was living with a Mrs Ramsay.
Sylvie: I know. I went there once. Agnes was very happy there.
Milner: It seems that someone came to the house when she was on her own and att*cked her. She was k*lled in the bedroom.
Sylvie: Oh, Lord.
Milner: We have to ask you some questions. But we can come back, if you prefer.
Sylvie: I hadn't known her that long. We met in a pub, got chatting about horses. She liked them, too. I'd moved down from London. I didn't know anyone and the two of us became friends. Is she really dead?
Milner: I'm afraid so.
Sylvie: I wonder if Jack knows?
Milner: Jack? Who's Jack?
Sylvie: Her young man. She never told me his surname. Er, Jack. She was crazy about him. Photo by the bed, all that sort of thing.
Milner: Did you ever see the photograph?
Sylvie: No.
Perkins: Look, er, shall I go and tie this up?
Sylvie gestures vaguely across the yard.
Milner: Erm... what else can you tell me about Jack?
Sylvie: Erm, not very much. She, she was very secretive about him 'cause he was, you know, he was doing something hush-hush overseas.
Milner: Do you know where? Er, was it France?
Sylvie: No, in Germany. She shouldn't have told me that, but she mentioned it once. I couldn't believe it. Jack had a friend. He was coming to see her.
Milner: What friend?
Sylvie: She didn't say. She just said she'd heard from someone who had news about Jack. Course, she was sick with worry about him, but he had news for her and he was coming down to Brighton and he'd see her. That was about a week ago.
Milner: And she didn't give you the name of this friend?
Sylvie: She never said, no.
Perkins: So, what's she called, then?
Sylvie: Who?
Perkins: The horse.
Sylvie: It's not a mare. It's a stallion. Can't, can't you tell?
Perkins looks sheepish.
Hastings. Adam and Sam are pasting up posters that read 'LET'S KEEP OUR PASTURES GREEN, NO TO HASTINGS NORTH' outside of the Hastings Town Development Corporation. Harrison emerges from the building and sees them.
Adam: Come on, Sam.
Later. Adam is speaking in the street with Sam and another man as the audience.
Adam: We fought them on the beaches. We fought them on the fields and on the hills. We fought them on the streets. But what was the point if we were going to sell those beaches, those hills and those fields and those streets?
A larger crowd has now gathered to listen. There are nods.
Woman: Yes.
Sam steps forward with a clipboard.
Sam: Would you be able to sign this petition.
Highcliffe Green. Adam sets up a camera while Sam points.
Sam: For the human interest. Get a sense of perspective.
Adam: Yes.
They look down over a view of the town. Sam cups her hands around her eyes like binoculars, then turns to face Adam's camera, waggling her fingers at him. He takes a picture.
Adam (voiceover): We fought them on the streets.
Cut to Adam speaking to another group. Harrison passes by and Adam turns to address the words towards him.
Adam: But what was the point if we were going to sell those beaches, those hills and those fields and streets for the sake of flats and shops we don't even need?
Mrs Ramsay's house. She brings a tea set over to where Foyle sits in one of the armchairs.
Ramsay: I can't talk about the family, Mr Foyle.
She sits down opposite him.
Ramsay: I was with them for many years, anything I might have seen, well... you know, it wasn't my place to see anything.
Foyle: I do understand your discretion, of course. But we must remember that tomorrow this boy could be sentenced to hang.
Ramsay: It's a terrible thing, him going over to the Germans like that.
Foyle: Was it a surprise?
Ramsay: Of course it was. He was never like that. Well, obviously, he was- he was never the same after the death of his mother. He adored her. We all did.
Foyle: A happy family, would you say?
Ramsay: They were a family like any other, Mr Foyle. They had their ups and downs.
Foyle: What can you tell me about the piano teacher?
Ramsay: Oh, yes, that was a bad business, too. His name was Rothstein. Simon Rothstein. He was a Hebrew. He was a good man. That's what I thought. He stole some of Lady Devereaux's jewellery and went to prison. That was just a few weeks before her own accident. You see what I'm saying? James lost the two people who were closest to him, and maybe that was what turned his head.
Foyle: Thank you.
He stands up.
Foyle: Sir Charles's secretary was staying here, er, isn't that right?
Ramsay: Agnes Lyttleton. You heard about that?
Foyle: Mm-hmm.
Ramsay: I'm not sure I can live here now. The house isn't the same any more.
Foyle: I'd understand that.
Ramsay: You don't suppose... It couldn't have had anything to do with Master James, could it?
Foyle: Of course it's possible.
Ramsay: Because I have something that might help you.
She gets up and picks up an envelope.
Ramsay: I, er, I found it when I was going through her laundry and it fell out of a pocket.
The envelope is addressed to a Mr George Armstrong at the Crown Hotel. Foyle opens it and finds another envelope inside, this one addressed to Agnes.
Ramsay: Now, that is from her young man. He was a prisoner-of-w*r in Germany. And he wrote regularly.
Foyle: And this is addressed to a hotel in London.
Ramsay: And that's her handwriting on the envelope.
Foyle: So she might have been forwarding it, perhaps?
Ramsay: So it would seem.
Foyle: She ever mention this, er, Mr Armstrong?
Ramsay: No. And as far as I know, she never visited London, not while she was with me. I was going to pass it on to the detective who was here.
Foyle: Well, I could do that for you. What's his name?
Church Lane. Jack Stanford approaches Deakin's office building.
Inside. Stanford enters Deakin's office and closes the door.
Stanford: My name's Jack Stanford. Thank you for agreeing to see me.
They shake hands.
Deakin: You're a friend of James Devereaux?
Stanford: Yes, yes. You're representing him, is that right?
Deakin: Er, I would do, if he let me.
He sits down.
Stanford: Thank you.
He takes a seat as well.
Stanford: Erm, James and I were POWs together.
Deakin: Where?
Stanford: Oflag 79. In Brunswick.
Deakin: That would have been before '43.
Stanford: I knew him later as well.
Deakin: The British Free Corps?
Stanford: I'm afraid you're going to have to forgive me. I can't fully explain myself. Indeed, I must ask you not to mention to anyone that you've met me. It's, er, it's a matter of national security.
Deakin: How can I help you?
Stanford: Has he said anything? I mean, he's on trial for his life. Has he put forward any defence?
Deakin: Not at all. He refuses to speak.
Stanford: Why?
Deakin: Well, maybe you could tell me.
Stanford: I knew James very well, for a time, but I never completely understood him. Actually, I thought he was dead. I couldn't believe it when he turned up after Dresden. Maybe, in a way, it would have been better if he had d*ed.
Deakin: Maybe it would.
Stanford: Erm, when does the trial begin?
Deakin: Tomorrow. Er, the trial's a formality. Er, he's pleading guilty.
Stanford: Oh, well, then there's nothing I can do.
He stands up.
Country lane. Perkins leans against the parked car while Milner walks along with Foyle. Milner takes the letter to Agnes out of the envelope.
Milner: This is from Jack.
Foyle: D'you know who that is?
Milner: Er, Jack was Agnes Lyttleton's young man. And I presume the man in the photograph that had been taken from her room. He was a prisoner of w*r. It was written in February. It took almost six months to arrive.
Foyle: Well, not surprising, given the state of things in Europe.
Milner: Doesn't give much away. Which, I suppose, is what you expect with German censorship. He wonders when the w*r will end. I imagine there were thousands of letters like this written every day.
Foyle takes the letter back from him.
Foyle: This thing about the weather. "It's raining dogs and cats." Do we normally say it like that?
Milner: No, it should be "cats and dogs". He's got it the wrong way round. Unless he's trying to tell us something.
Foyle: And the date? Is that unusual or am I imagining it?
The letter is dated '1945 February 10th'.
Foyle: We'd normally write it...
Milner: The other way round.
Foyle: 10th of February 1945.
Milner: Sir, I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.
Foyle: I thought I'd take a look at the hotel this is addressed to. D'you mind if I hang onto this a little longer?
Milner: Course not.
Foyle: Thank you.
Milner: And if there's anything else I can do to help.
Foyle: There is. Simon Rothstein, piano teacher to the Devereaux. Arrested for theft a long while ago, but anything you can turn up would help.
Milner: I'll check the files.
Foyle returns to his car and Milner goes back over to rejoin Perkins.
Perkins: So, what did he want?
Milner: You searched the house and the room, Agnes's room.
Perkins: Yes.
Milner: So, why didn't you find the letter?
Perkins: Which letter?
Milner: The letter from Jack, Agnes' young man.
Perkins:
I never saw any letter.
Milner: Exactly, constable. But if you'd been doing your job properly, you'd have found it.
Perkins: So, has he got it?
Milner: If you're referring to DCS Foyle, yes, he's got it. And he's going to keep it a while longer. Mr Foyle is helping us with our enquiries.
Perkins: I thought he'd left the police.
They both get into the car.
Milner: Constable? If you and I are going to work together, do you think you could try showing just a modicum of respect?
Perkins: Er, of course, sir. For you or for him?
Milner looks at him as Perkins starts the engine.
Highcliffe Green. Harrison is talking with one of the surveyors.
Harrison: So, we've got the mains drainage coming down this right flank to that point and then cutting in where it will be terraced, right? And that will service all that area.
Adam approaches them.
Adam: You're a bit premature, aren't you?
Harrison: I'm sorry?
Adam: D'you remember me?
Harrison: No.
Adam: We met at the town hall the other evening. Because I opposed your sordid little scheme, I don't suppose you took a blind bit of notice?
Harrison: All right, keep your hair on. Yeah, I remember you, you're, um...
Adam: Adam Wainwright.
Harrison: Gladwell Avenue.
Adam: Hill House, Highcliffe Street.
Harrison: Well, I'm sorry, Mr Wainwright, but the meeting's over and I'm busy.
Adam: D'you know what I despise about you, Mr Harrison? It's not that you're changing Hastings, it's not that you have a vision for the future. No, what I detest about you is your high-handed attitude. This unshakeable belief that you really know what's best.
Another of the surveyors comes over. A woman walking her dog has stopped to watch.
Harrison: We are consulting with the Hastings...
Adam: You don't care about this area, do you? That this piece of land has history or what it means to the people who live here. It's all just money to you.
Harrison gestures to one of the surveyors.
Harrison: Eric, will you ask this gentleman to move on?
Adam: No, I will not move on. I live here. Why don't you move on? Take your equipment with you!
He throws a nearby tripod to the ground. Eric grabs Adam's arm to try and restrain him.
Harrison: I'll have the law onto you! That's council property.
Adam kicks another piece of equipment over.
Adam: Is this council property?
Harrison and the surveyors all try to restrain him.
Harrison: Someone call a policeman!
Adam: Get off!
Harrison: That's enough! Stop that!
Adam: Get off!
He elbows one of the surveyors, knocking him to the ground.
Adam: Get off me!
He turns and sees the man he elbowed lying slumped on the grass, his head bleeding. Harrison rushes over to check on him.
Harrison: What have you done?
Hastings police station. Foyle pulls up outside in his car and heads into the building.
Cell. Adam is sitting on the bed. A uniformed officer unlocks the door to let Foyle in. Adam stands up.
Adam: Mr Foyle! What are you doing here?
Foyle: Sam told me what happened.
Adam: Am I in a lot of trouble? The man, is he...?
Foyle: Oh, he's all right, as it turns out, but, er, assaulting a planning committee member is perhaps not the wisest thing to be doing.
Adam: Are they gonna press charges?
Foyle: No, I persuaded Mr Harrison that, er, a court case might not be in his best interests.
Adam: So I can go?
Foyle: You can.
Adam: Thank you.
He picks up his jacket.
Adam: How am I gonna face Sam?
Foyle: Good question.
Adam: Do you think she'll forgive me?
Foyle: I don't think you've got too much to worry about.
They head out of the cell.
The Old Bailey. James Devereaux's hands are cuffed behind him. Deakin approaches him with his lawyer, Carstairs.
Deakin: Mr Devereaux. You remember your KC, Mr Carstairs.
James: Yes, of course.
Carstairs: Mr Devereaux, let me implore you for one last time. When we go upstairs, you will be tried for high treason under the Treachery Act of 1940, as opposed to offences against the Defence Regulations of the year before. There is one critical difference between them. If you are found guilty, there can be no leeway. The judge can show you no clemency, do you understand that?
James: How long will it take?
Carstairs: If you insist on offering no defence, if you intend to plead guilty, then the whole thing may be over very quickly. The judge will sentence you and that will be that.
James: No witnesses?
Carstairs: Not unless you enter a defence.
James: Is my father there?
Deakin: I believe he's in the public gallery.
James: Well, thanks for your time, Mr Deakin, Mr Carstairs. I just want it to be over with. Thank you.
He's led away by a pair of guards. Carstairs watches him go for a moment, then turns to follow Deakin.
Guesthouse dining room. Sam is clearing plates away.
Sam: I think it's absolutely splendid. I didn't know you had it in you.
Adam and Foyle are standing by the table.
Adam: Didn't you?
Sam: You're quite right to show them they're not gonna get away with it. Don't you agree, sir?
Foyle: Er, there might be more productive routes. I must go.
He turns to leave.
Adam: The trouble is, everybody's taking the money.
Sam: That's because they don't care about the green.
Adam: To them, it's just a patch of grass.
Mr West brings a teacup over and sets it down in front of Sam.
Sam: Thank you, Mr West.
West (offscreen): Thank you!
Foyle: Which green are you talking about?
Sam: Our green.
Foyle: This one?
Sam: Yes, the very same.
Foyle: Well, that's not just any old green.
Adam: Isn't it?
Foyle: Well, no, it's not. They, er, they were going to excavate that, erm, not so very many years ago. Some settlement site or another.
Adam: Settlement? How do you know about that?
Foyle: School. Used to dig up all sorts of stuff there, pottery, that sort of thing.
Adam: And where is it now?
Foyle: No idea. Could very well still be there.
Sam: Where?
Foyle: The school. St Saviour's.
Adam: Thank you.
Foyle: Not at all. Bye.
He leaves.
Sam: St Saviour's. How appropriate.
Old Bailey. James is led up a set of steps into the courtroom. Sir Charles is among the audience watching from the gallery above. James looks up at him, then turns away.
Official: All rise.
Everyone stands as the judge enters.
Country lane. Foyle pulls up outside the home of Henry Blakesway and gets out of the car.
Blakesway (voiceover): Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle. We met in court rather more times than either of us might care to remember.
Back garden. Foyle follows Blakesway through the garden.
Blakesway: Now, what is it that brings you here today?
Foyle: Er, well, I hope you can tell me, er, what you remember about a, an old case that needs clearing up. A man called Rothstein, piano teacher?
Blakesway: Piano teacher?
Foyle: Simon Rothstein, erm, piano teacher to the Devereaux.
Blakesway: Oh, yes. Rothstein. I remember now. Petty theft. What exactly is your interest in the case?
Foyle: Well, not so much in the case as, erm, the sentence you handed down.
Blakesway: Five years.
Foyle: With hard labour, which led to his death in prison.
Blakesway: Yes, well, I can't comment on past cases.
He picks up a basket and turns away, heading across the garden. Foyle follows him.
Foyle: Well, it seems the jewellery he's supposed to have stolen was worth only about £50 or so.
Blakesway: Theft is still theft, Foyle. I'd have thought you of all people would appreciate that.
Foyle: Well, of course, but even so, er, five years' hard labour for a first offence seems unnecessarily harsh.
Blakesway: It was a grave breach of trust. Here you have a man, a refugee, welcomed into this country and into the home of one of our most ancient and distinguished families...
Foyle: How many cases would you say you'd tried over the years?
Blakesway: Thousands.
Foyle: Do you remember them all in such detail or is it just this one?
Blakesway: I'm not quite sure I like your tone.
Foyle: No, no, no, er, simply wondering what makes this one so memorable for you?
Blakesway: I've already told you. I greatly admired Sir Charles Devereaux. He was an outstanding MP.
Foyle: Do you know him?
Blakesway: We may have met. But I had absolutely no reason not to try that case. The evidence was indisputable. Charles didn't even appear as a witness.
Foyle: "Charles"? That would be Sir Charles? And it would help, don't you think, to discount the possibility that, er, Charles, in any way, influenced this hugely disproportionate sentence?
Blakesway: I think you should leave now.
Foyle: I'll see myself out.
He turns to go.
Judge (voiceover): James Devereaux.
Courtroom.
Judge: I have read the depositions and the exhibits in this case. I am satisfied you knew what you did. And you did it intentionally and deliberately, in the knowledge that becoming a member...
Cut to Foyle driving along in his car.
Judge (voiceover): ...of the so-called British Free Corps amounted to high treason.
Foyle gets out of the car outside the house of Isaac Rothstein.
Isaac (voiceover): But it was a lie.
Inside. Isaac picks up a framed photo of his son Simon.
Isaac: It was all lies. He stole nothing.
Foyle: Wasn't there something about the necklace?
Isaac: You think he would steal from Lady Devereaux? He respected her. He would do anything for her, and for her son, also.
Flashback. Simon Rothstein plays the piano at White Friars while young James chases Caroline around the table with a lady sword.
Caroline: Rothstein, you must help me!
Simon: Run, Lady Devereaux, run!
Caroline: This warrior from England shall-
James points the sword at her.
James: Die!
Caroline: Oh!
The door opens and Sir Charles enters.
Sir Charles: What's going on here?
Simon stops playing and he and James both stand up straight. Caroline leaves the room while Charles glares at James.
Judge (voiceover): James Devereaux.
Courtroom. James stands listening impassively.
Judge: you come from a noble family, one that has long given service to the nation. But that only casts your transgressions in a harsher light.
Up in the gallery, Sir Charles closes his eyes.
Judge: You now stand a self-confessed traitor to your king and country.
Jack Stanford is also watching from the gallery.
Judge: And you have forfeited your right to live.
Isaac (voiceover): But that was the mistake he made, you see.
Isaac's house.
Isaac: He got too close to her.
Flashback to Caroline and Simon walking through the grounds at White Friars and talking.
Isaac (voiceover): 'My son knew too many secrets, Mr Foyle.
Cut back to the present.
Isaac: That is why he had to be got out of there. That is why he had to be locked away.
Courtroom. A court official places the black cap atop the judge's head.
Judge: The sentence of this court is that you be taken from here to a place of lawful execution and hanged from the neck until you are dead. The Lord have mercy on your soul.
Vicar: Amen.
Deakin shakes his head slightly. Sir Charles looks down. James gazes up at him, expressionless, then turns away.
Judge (offscreen): Take him down!
James is led back out of the courtroom.
Outside. A crowd of journalists shout questions at the people coming out of the courtroom.
Journalist: Sir Charles! Any comments?
Journalist: Sir Charles! Any comment?
Sir Charles pushes his way through without responding.
Journalist: How's Lady Devereaux taking it?
Journalist: Will there be an appeal?
Sir Charles passes Deakin.
Journalist: Is there gonna be an appeal?
Journalist: Sir Charles!
Journalist: Do you have anything to say to the press.
The journalists and the rest of the crowd follow him out, leaving Deakin and Carstairs behind.
Deakin: Thank you, Mr Carstairs.
Carstairs: I wish I could have done something more to help. You know, I can't help feeling there's something more to all this. I wonder-
Jack Stanford bumps into Deakin as he strides away.
Stanford: I'm so sorry.
He turns away.
London. Foyle drives through the streets.
Crown Hotel. Foyle walks into the building. As he enters the empty reception are, the news is playing on a wireless behind the desk.
Radio: In his summing-up, the judge said that he had no alternative but to pass the gravest sentence of all. James Devereaux had been able to offer no defence and will now be returned to his cell to await the hangman.
The receptionist, Dillon, turns it off as he returns to the desk.
Foyle: Afternoon.
Dillon: Can I help you?
Foyle: I hope so. Do you have a George Armstrong staying or working here?
Dillon: Never heard of him.
Foyle: Got a letter for him.
He shows Dillon the envelope.
Dillon: No, there's no George Armstrong here. Who are you?
Foyle: The name's Foyle.
Dillon: I can't help you, I'm afraid.
Foyle: Right. Never received anything like this before?
Dillon: No.
Foyle: No, and you're not used as a mail box or a forwarding address?
Dillon: We're a hotel, Mr Foyle, that's all. You can see for yourself.
Foyle: Thank you very much.
He tucks the envelope into his pocket.
Dillon: I can take that for you, if you like.
Foyle: Why would you wanna do that, Mr, erm...?
Dillon: Dillon. It's got our address on it. If someone comes in, I can hand it over.
Foyle: Better still, if anyone comes in, send them to me. I'll hand it over.
He leaves. Dillon picks up the phone and dials.
Dillon: This is Dillon. There's something you need to know.
St Saviour's School. Sam and Adam are there with one of the teachers, Miss Longbridge. Sam picks up a blackened bone from a table.
Sam: What's this?
Longbridge: It's a radius.
Sam: A radius of what?
Longbridge: A radius is a bone in the forearm, my dear.
Adam: What else did you find, Miss Longbridge?
Longbridge: Ooh. Coins and pottery.
She gestures to the finds set out on a table.
Longbridge: And we've found some lanterns. Some of them are in very good condition. And this.
She goes over to a cupboard and takes out a cloth-wrapped package.
Longbridge: It's very old.
She unwraps it to reveal a tube-shaped object.
Longbridge: But I've never been able to discover what it's for.
Adam: I don't suppose we can borrow this?
Longbridge: Oh, I don't think so.
Adam: We'll take very great care of it.
Longbridge: I suppose so.
Adam: Thank you. Thank you very much.
Miss Longbridge leads the two of them back out.
Sam: I don't suppose you remember a pupil called Christopher Foyle?
Longbridge: Christopher Foyle? Yes! Christopher Foyle. I remember him. Always asking questions. I often wondered what happened to him.
Hill House guesthouse. Sam returns to the building, dodging round one of the guests as he comes out.
Sam: Ooh, I'm sorry.
Dining room. Adam sits at a desk covered in maps. Sam brings over a stack of books.
Adam: There were Romans in Hastings. Somebody must have written about it.
Crawley (offscreen): Goodbye!
Mrs Crawley waves to them from the lounge as she heads out.
Sam: So, where do we start?
Adam: Well, there's the museum. Or back to the library. Or there's that college in Brighton.
Sam goes through the stack of photographs Adam took on the green, laughing when she finds one of herself. The next one is Adam striking a pose. She shows it to him.
Sam: Well, I know where I'm going to start. The kitchen. Tea!
Church Lane. Deakin returns to his office building.
Inside. Deakin leads Foyle through into the office.
Deakin: Well, went exactly as I said. Sentenced to hang.
Foyle: And when is that likely to happen?
Deakin: 17th. Devilish quick. I suppose they want to get it over with. So, when are you leaving for America?
Deakin: Same day.
Deakin: Well, you did everything you could.
Foyle: I wonder.
Deakin: Look here, Mr Foyle. Why don't you come clean with me? I've made some enquiries about you and, frankly, you've misled me. You're, you're not even a policeman, not any more. What is your interest in James Devereaux?
Foyle: Well, in the circumstances, whatever interest I may or may not have in him is irrelevant. In the interests of justice, my concern is as great as I'd expect yours to be.
Deakin: The sentence has been passed in a court of law. It's over. There's nothing you can do, Mr Foyle.
Foyle: I disagree. I mean, it's obviously of no interest to you. It certainly is to me why Sir Charles's secretary was m*rder*d at the time all this was happening. I'd certainly like to know where Jack is, the prisoner-of-w*r who was writing to her, and why the Devereaux's piano teacher was the victim of an obvious miscarriage of justice and d*ed in prison. So it seems to me there's a lot to be done. And since clearly no one else is gonna do it, I will. Excuse me.
He goes to leave?
Deakin: Jack?
Foyle turns back.
Deakin: Erm... er, I had a young man in the office named Jack a couple of days ago. Introduced himself as a friend of James Devereaux. They were POWs together in Germany.
Foyle: And?
Deakin: He was very mysterious. Er, perhaps I shouldn't be telling you this. He wanted to help James. But, at the same time, he wasn't giving anything away. I also saw him in court.
Foyle: Surname?
Deakin: Stanford.
Foyle: Thank you.
He leaves.
Outside. Foyle heads back up the steps to his car. A man in a suit, Walcott, is waiting for him at the top.
Walcott (offscreen): Mr Foyle?
Foyle: Yeah.
Walcott: I wonder if you could come with me, sir?
Foyle: Yes, all right.
He lead Foyle to another car and Foyle gets in the back.
MI9 building. Walcott escorts Foyle into the office of Edward Brenner.
Walcott: Mr Foyle for you, sir.
Brenner: Ah. Mr Foyle.
He shakes Foyle's hand. Jack Stanford walks up behind him.
Brenner: I suppose we ought to apologise to you for bringing you here in this way.
Foyle: No, not at all. Always a pleasure.
Brenner: Thank you, Walcott.
Walcott leaves.
Brenner: I expect you're wondering what this is all about?
Foyle: Well, intelligence services communicating with prisoners overseas, perhaps?
Brenner: You have a letter of ours. I wonder if I could have it?
Foyle: Ah. Forgive me. You are?
Brenner: My name is Brenner. And this is Jack Stanford. He was with James Devereaux in Oflag 79 and then in Dresden.
Stanford: How do you do?
Foyle: How do you do?
He takes out the letter.
Foyle: This is not actually addressed to you.
Brenner: Er, even so, it was intended for my office, Mr Foyle, and it is quite important.
Foyle: Well, it's also quite important to the police, since it's turned up as part of a m*rder investigation, so any light you could shed on that would be appreciated.
Brenner: I know you've had dealings with us before, Mr Foyle, so I'm sure I can rely on your discretion. I head up a section here within MI9. We were established in December '41 to teach evasion and escape techniques to personnel. That's ordinary officers and servicemen heading into action.
Stanford: There were a series of seminars.
Brenner: Exactly. We basically taught them how to make a nuisance of themselves if they got caught by the enemy. And one vital part of the work was getting information to us behind Jerry's back.
Stanford: Er, via coded letters.
Brenner: POWs would send letters to family and friends and they then forwarded them on to us.
Foyle: How many agents were there?
Brenner: Oh, there were hundreds of them, all over Europe.
He gestures to a large map on the wall.
Foyle: And how did you communicate with them?
Brenner: We couldn't. By the end of the w*r, we weren't sure how many of them we had or who they were. Our office in Southgate took a direct hit and many of the records were destroyed. So we've had to rely on agents like Stanford here to get in touch with us.
Foyle: Hmm. And you were a member of the British Free Corps?
Stanford: Yes, yes, it seemed like a good idea. At first I thought they might amount to something. My aim was to spread discord, undermine morale and keep MI9 aware of their movements.
Brenner: Stanford was afforded a remarkable degree of freedom. And thanks to him, we received a great deal of information about troop movements, b*mb damage, much, much more.
Foyle: Mm-hmm. What about James Devereaux?
Stanford: Oh, he, he wasn't like the others, Mr Foyle. I knew him before the w*r. We were at Eton together. I don't know what he was doing in the Free Corps and I'm being completely honest when I say I feel sorry for him.
Foyle: Hmm. Is he a traitor?
Stanford: They all are, but for different reasons. My feeling about Devereaux is that he was out of his depth.
Foyle: Went missing for a very long time after Dresden.
Stanford: Mmm.
Foyle: What do you think happened to him?
Stanford: The bombing of Dresden. Was a dreadful business. Er, we were in a cafe together when it started. We got separated in the street. It was dark, there was a lot of panic. I thought he must have been k*lled.
Foyle: Mm-hmm.
Stanford: The city, the next morning, you've no idea. So many bodies.
Foyle: Yes, so you knew Agnes Lyttleton?
Stanford: Yes, yes, she was a friend of mine. James introduced us. As you know, I used her to drop off my letters.
Foyle: You knew she was dead?
Stanford: Yes, yes. I read about it in the papers. Shocking.
Foyle: And were you able to see her after you got back?
Stanford: No.
Brenner: The letter, Mr Foyle.
Foyle: Oh, yeah. No need to remind you that it's, er, police evidence.
He hands it over.
Brenner: Of course. We have absolutely no intention of interfering with any police investigation.
Foyle: Well, clearly no intention of, er, helping it either.
Brenner: I don't see it makes much difference. You're no longer a police officer.
Foyle: Absolutely right. Doesn't stop the rest of them investigating.
Brenner: Then I suggest you leave it to them, Mr Foyle. This really isn't your affair.
Foyle: Point taken.
He leaves.
Guesthouse. Adam is still at the dining table with all their research materials. He sits back and stretches as Sam comes down the stairs behind him with Mr West. She nods to West as he leaves.
Sam: Mr West.
She enters the dining room.
Sam: Perhaps Mr Foyle was wrong about the settlement.
Adam: Mr Foyle is never wrong.
Mrs Ramsay's house. She escorts Milner, Perkins and Foyle into the sitting room.
Ramsay: So there are three of you now?
Milner: Well, Mr Foyle has kindly agreed to help us with our investigation.
Ramsay: I'd have thought you'd have caught him by this time. Erm, so, why are you here? I told you everything I know the last time.
Foyle: We wondered what the name Jack might mean to you?
Ramsay: Jack?
Milner: Jack Stanford. She never mentioned him?
Ramsay: No.
Foyle: But the name did seem to mean something to you just now.
Ramsay: Well, I did know a Jack. But that was a long time ago.
Foyle: Go on.
Flashback. Young James runs down a staircase at White Friars, dressed as an explore and holding his wooden sword. Caroline emerges from one of the rooms behind. James runs into another room where Mrs Ramsay is cleaning and shuts the door. He turns to Mrs Ramsay.
James: Shh!
A moment later, Caroline enters the room.
Caroline: Mrs Ramsay. I don't suppose you've seen a dark, dangerous-looking adventurer by the name of Jack Harkaway, have you?
Ramsay: No, Lady Devereaux. I've just been cleaning in here.
Caroline: I see. Ah! Now, I wonder where he could be hiding? Wait a minute. I saw that curtain move.
James jumps out from behind the curtain with his sword.
Caroline: Ah!
James: Have at you!
Caroline: I have you, Jack Harkaway. My boy, Jack!
Mrs Ramsay's house.
Caroline (voiceover): Come on, it's lunch time. Adventurers must eat.
Ramsay: Jack. That was her name for him. That's what she always used to call him. After the hero in the comic books.
Outside. Foyle lingers to talks with Milner and Perkins on the doorstep. Perkins heads over to get into the car, and a moment later Foyle and Milner part and head over to their separate cars as well.
Prison visiting room. James Devereaux stands waiting. The guard unlocks the door to let Foyle inside.
Foyle: Why do you keep agreeing to see me?
James: To find out why you keep coming back. Presumably this time it's to say goodbye?
Foyle: Oh, far from it. Er, but I do think it's time we were honest with each other.
James: It's certainly time you were honest with me.
Foyle: Has Agnes been to see you?
James: How do you know about her?
Foyle: Because I know about you... Jack. Has she been?
James: No.
Foyle: D'you know why?
James shakes his head. Foyle sits down at the table.
Foyle: I know what you're doing. Not at all sure why you're doing it, but it's a tragedy you haven't been able to see the consequences. And I think it's time you stopped. Because she's dead.
James: How?
Foyle: She was strangled at an address in Brighton, an address you'd be very familiar with. And you know who did it.
Hastings Town Development Corporation. Sam and Adam enter the building along with another man, Mr Huntsville.
Inside. The three of them are with Mr Harrison in his office.
Harrison: To be perfectly honest, Mr Wainwright, I don't know why you just can't take the money like everyone else.
Adam: Because it's not just a matter of money, Mr Harrison.
Harrison: Isn't it? How many names did you manage to get on that petition of yours?
Sam: We got over 200.
Harrison: 200.
He laughs.
Adam: The petition is irrelevant. You're not building on the green because there's evidence of a settlement.
Harrison: What because you found a few old coins and broken lanterns?
Sam: We never mentioned anything about lanterns. But I will tell you that we found this.
She unwraps the tube-shaped object from its cloth covering.
Harrison: What is that?
Adam: The coins are to pay the ferryman. The lantern's to light the way to Hades. And this, as Mr Huntsville has verified, is a tubulus. They poured honey and wine through it to feed the dead. Everything points to there being a major Roman burial site underneath Highcliffe Green, Mr Harrison. So no one's going to let you anywhere near it.
Harrison turns away and thumps the table.
Harrison: Why? Why did you have to get involved in all that? Don't you believe in progress?
Adam: Progress or profit? I think I know which one you believe in.
Outside. Sam and Adam leave the building together.
Sam: Adam, you were magnificent!
Adam: Do you think so?
Sam: Oh, it's nothing less than a triumph for democracy.
Adam: Well, common sense.
Sam: And Hill House. We could have a fête on the green to celebrate. Yes. What do you think?
There's a sudden expl*si*n from the buildings on the other side of the green, and they both jump in shock.
Adam: That's Hill House.
Sam: Crikey!
Adam: Not another b*mb!
There are screams. Sam and Adam run back to the wrecked guesthouse. As they head towards the door, debris falls from above.
Sam: Oh! No, Adam, wait. Wait for the fire brigade.
She holds him back.
Adam: What about the guests?
He heads into the building and Sam follows him in.
Inside. A man is making his way out, covered in dust with a cloth over his face.
Adam: Are you all right?
Man: Yes, I'm fine!
Debris is falling onto the stairs as Mr West makes his way down, shielding his head.
West: Stay back, Mr Wainwright!
Adam: Mr West! Get out of here. Is there anybody else up there?
West: I don't think so. Don't think so.
Sam walks through into one of the downstairs rooms, and Adam chases after her.
Adam: Sam?
Mrs Crawley is slumped in one of the chairs in the lounge.
Adam: Mrs Crawley!
Sam: Is she all right?
She hurries over to join them. The bell of a fire engine rings outside.
Adam checks Mrs Crawley's pulse.
Adam: She's still got a pulse, she's still breathing.
Fireman (offscreen): Anybody in there?
A pair of firemen enter the building.
Fireman: I can smell gas.
Fireman: Anybody here?
Fireman: What the hell are you doing in here? This whole place could collapse at any moment.
Adam: It's my hotel!
Sam: We've got someone here who's hurt.
Fireman: All right, we'll take over now. Look, just get out into the street.
They head back out and he approaches Mrs Crawley.
Fireman: Come on, I've got you now. Come on, darling. There you go.
Sam stops in the front hall, looking up at the devastation.
Sam: Oh, Adam. I'm sorry.
Adam: I don't know, Sam. I never was cut out to run a hotel, anyway.
Mrs Crawley groans weakly as the fireman carries her out past them.
Fireman: There you go.
Adam: What will you do now?
Fireman: That's it.
Adam: I thought I might marry you.
Sam: What?
Adam: I've got no house, no job, no money and no future.
He gets down on one knee.
Adam: Will you marry me, Sam?
She covers her mouth, then clasps his hands.
Sam: Adam!
Adam: You'd better hurry up before a wall falls on top of us.
Fireman: Come on, you two, out!
Sam: Oh. All right, yes, I will. Please get up!
Adam: Do you mean it? Yes, of course I mean it. Of course I'll marry you. I'll marry you in a sh*t.
Adam: Sam, that's wonderful.
They kiss, then break apart as rubble crashes around them. Adam lifts Sam off the ground to carry her out.
White Friars. Foyle drives up to the house.
Lounge. Sir Charles, standing by the window, turns as the door opens. Jane and Foyle enter.
Foyle: Oh, it's very good news, Sir Charles, with regards to James.
Sir Charles: What?
Foyle: Er, well, the verdict, that is to say, the death penalty, is certain to be overturned.
Jane: Darling, that's wonderful!
Sir Charles: That's... more than I could have hoped for.
Jane: Oh. But how? How did this happen?
Foyle: Well, he decided to speak. And though there are various procedures to go through, in the light of what he said, he'll be released very soon.
Jane: Oh, my goodness. Oh, we're...
They both sit down.
Jane: We're very grateful to you, Mr Foyle.
Foyle: The only problem is, er, you'll now have to account for your part in all this.
Sir Charles: I don't understand.
Flashback to Foyle and James at the table in the visiting room.
Foyle: How long had you known Agnes?
James: I knew her when we were children. Her father worked on the estate. We used to play together.
Foyle: And later? You wrote to her, from Germany. And she helped pass on coded information in the letters to the intelligence services, which you signed "Jack".
James: How do you know all this?
Foyle: So you don't deny it?
James: No.
Foyle: Why "Jack"?
James: My mother used to call me Jack. It was the name of a character in a story that I loved as a boy.
Foyle: Jack...
James: Harkaway.
Foyle (voiceover): He joined the British Free Corps...
Cut back to the present.
Foyle: ...to undermine and to disrupt it and used the freedom of movement it gave him to send reports back to intelligence here. He's a brave young man.
Sir Charles: I knew it. I knew he couldn't have been a traitor.
Jane: Why didn't he say this? Why did it never come out in the trial?
Foyle: Because he wanted to hang, as a traitor.
Flashback to the visiting room.
James: The codes I used existed in various forms. The letter you've mentioned was written in 56-0, for example. Which effectively means you pick out the fifth and sixth word of each line.
Foyle: And the backward date?
James: Indicates a concealed code.
Foyle: Anyone else in the British Free Corps know you were doing this?
James: Yes, there was.
Flashback to wartime Germany. As James walks through the yard, Jack Stanford comes up behind him.
Stanford: James? James. This is yours, I believe.
He holds up an open envelope.
James: Where did you get that?
He snatches for it, but Stanford pulls it away.
Stanford: Agnes Lyttleton? You never mentioned a girl back home.
James: Give it to me.
Stanford: You take a devil of a time writing these letters, you know. All those notes you make. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were working on some sort of code. Are you, James? Actually, that would explain a lot of things. I wondered what you were doing here, you of all people. Always asking questions. The first of the bunch to undermine morale. But don't worry. I'm not gonna tell anyone. I'm your friend. You can trust me.
James takes the envelope back.
Stanford: But you're a sly old bugger, aren't you?
Prison visiting room.
James: He'd worked it all out for himself. I didn't need to say anything.
Milner (voiceover): Jack Stanford?
MI9 offices. Brenner stands watching as Milner makes the arrest of Stanford.
Milner: I'm arresting you for the m*rder of Agnes Lyttleton. You don't have to say anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and used in evidence against you.
Stanford: Oh. Well, that's a bit annoying, I must say. Really thought I might get away with it. End of the w*r, all the confusion, lost records, all the rest of it.
Brenner: I don't understand.
Milner: The letters that you were receiving from Germany weren't from Stanford. They were from James Devereaux, using a childhood nickname. When Stanford found out that James had gone missing, presumed dead, in Dresden, he took over his identity to save his own neck.
Brenner: Is this true?
Stanford: I thought he was dead. It was just a coincidence that he was using my name, so I thought, why not? Give it a sh*t.
Brenner: But what about this girl? Why, why would she have to die?
Milner: She was the only one who knew the letters had been written by James. As soon as the trial began, she would have come forward.
Brenner: So he k*lled her.
Flashback to Stanford creeping up on Agnes.
Milner (voiceover): The moment that James was arrested and brought home, it was a death sentence for her. Stanford couldn't let her talk. There was only one thing to do.
Stanford strangles Agnes, then picks up the photograph of James.
Milner (voiceover): You took the photograph of James Devereaux with you, the one thing that would have still identified him as her boyfriend and the real author of the letters.
MI9 offices.
Brenner (offscreen): You're a m*rder*r and a traitor.
Stanford: Actually, I only joined the British Free Corps because I was bored and hungry. I'd had three years as a POW. Always knew the whole thing would be a complete lash-up.
He laughs a little.
Brenner (offscreen): Why do you find this so funny?
Stanford: Well, I was just thinking about what you said. m*rder*r and a traitor. I suppose it's a shame they can't hang me twice.
Sir Charles (voiceover): So.
Milner turns to an uniformed officer behind him.
Milner: Take him away.
Sir Charles (voiceover): This man Stanford was the real traitor.
Cut back to the present.
Sir Charles: But why did my son let him get away with it? Why didn't he speak out?
Foyle: Well, at the time, he was unaware of Stanford's involvement.
Jane: None of this tells us why he put himself in that position in the first place. I don't understand. Why would he want to die?
Foyle: Well, there are those far more qualified than myself to explain this sort of thing, but as far as I understand it, he went missing as a result of the severe nervous collapse he experienced during the Dresden bombing, itself compounded by the suppressed traumas suffered in his childhood.
Jane: Would we be talking about the death of his mother?
Foyle: Would we?
Foyle (voiceover): Why was it so very important for your father to be at the trial...
Cut back to the prison visiting room.
Foyle: ...when you refused to even see or speak to him before it? And why would he believe that you want to punish him?
James: Because it's true. He needs to be.
Foyle: Punished? Because of your mother? I knew her. I was injured in the first w*r. Not very badly, but I was young, alone, frightened. She was a volunteer nurse. Your mother was beautiful.
A tear rolls down James's face.
Foyle: I knew her.
James: She was married to my father at the time.
Foyle: Yes. I can tell you that she was desperately unhappy with the life she was leading, at her happiest when he was away. But she chose to pursue that life for the sake of the child she was carrying.
James: Me.
Foyle nods. They're both silent for a few moments, then James gets up to look out of the window.
Foyle: The accident that k*lled her was just dreadful. I was very unhappy to hear that she'd d*ed.
James: It wasn't an accident.
He looks back at Foyle.
James: They'd had a terrible argument. Something about Simon, my old piano teacher.
Sir Charles (voiceover): You will not leave me. You will not humiliate me and my family in this manner.
James: And I was in the hide.
Caroline (voiceover): I've had enough. This is the end of it.
Flashback. Caroline and Charles argue outside the hide.
Caroline: He didn't steal anything. You had him sent to prison because he was my friend, because he knew how you treated me.
Sir Charles: He's a Jew. He's nothing.
Young James is in the hide with his binoculars.
Caroline: You make me sick, Charles! I'm leaving you.
Sir Charles: You will not leave me.
Caroline: How will you stop me? I'll tell the whole world what sort of man you are!
She starts to storm away, and he grabs her arm, shoving her back. He has a walking stick in his other hand.
Sir Charles: No!
Caroline: Get out of my way!
Sir Charles: You will not do this. You will not leave me. I will stop you. I will!
He strikes her over the head with the walking stick, and she cries out as she falls to the ground. Inside the hide, James lowers the binoculars but continues to watch as the thuds and Caroline's cries continue.
Cut back to the prison visiting room. James and Foyle are both silent.
Flashback. Young James, face expressionless, gazes down at his mother's body.
Present day. Jane swallows at looks at Charles.
Jane: Dear God, Charles. You always said you loved her. Charles?
Sir Charles: I couldn't let her walk out on me. My family doesn't divorce. It's never happened.
Jane: So, so you k*lled her.
She starts to cry as she looks up at Foyle.
Jane: And James saw it all. That poor little boy.
She stands up to leave the room. Charles says nothing, just sits rigidly. Foyle watches him for a moment, then turns to leave as well.
Outside. Uniformed police escort Charles out of the building. Perkins, Milner and Foyle watch as they get into a police car.
Policeman: This way, sir.
Milner: Thank you once again, sir.
Foyle: Well, not at all, thank you.
Milner: No, I can't take the credit for the arrest.
Foyle: I don't see why not.
The car containing Charles drives away.
Milner: So, this is goodbye.
Foyle: Yeah, it looks like it. You're on your own now.
They shake hands.
Perkins: He's got me, sir.
Foyle: Precisely.
He walks away.
Foyle: Good luck.
Milner follows him to the car and closes the door for him, then he and Perkins head for their own car.
Prison visiting room.
James: What will happen to me now?
Foyle: Well, I'd say you'll be released.
The guard unlocks the door behind.
Foyle: May take a day or two. And I'll be away for a while. But, erm as soon as I'm back, if there's anything I can do to help...
James steps forward to shake his hand.
James: Thank you, sir.
Foyle smiles and turns to go.
Flashback to young James chasing his mother through the grounds at White Friars.
Caroline: You got me, you got me, you got me!
Caroline (voiceover): Christopher, I'm so sorry. I can't see you again and I want you to promise that you'll never, ever try to contact me again, whatever happens.
Flashback to the younger Foyle on the beach with Caroline.
Caroline: Now I have to think about the child, so I'm going back to Charles.
Present day. Foyle stands on the same beach.
Caroline (voiceover): There's no other way. You don't know him.
Flashback. Caroline turns to look back as she walks away.
Caroline (voiceover): Please, for the sake of everything we've been to one another. Please... forget me.
Present day. Foyle turns to walk away across the beach.
Docks. The Queen Mary is waiting at the dock for passengers to board. Foyle's car pulls up alongside a m*llitary truck full of returning GIs. Sam is driving, with Adam in the back. The three of them get out.
Foyle: Thank you.
He gets his luggage from the back.
Sam: Happy to drive you, sir, one last time.
Foyle: And do let me know when it's going to happen.
She looks up at Adam with a smile.
Sam: As soon as possible.
Foyle: And I'll do my best to get back in time.
Sam: All the relatives are fighting over which church to have the ceremony in. Of course, it doesn't help having four vicars and a bishop in the family.
Foyle: And then what?
Adam: Oh, I'm thinking of getting into politics. That business over the green has given me a taste for it.
Sam: We're going to have lots of children and spoil them all rotten.
Foyle: I'm very pleased to hear it. Bye.
He joins the group waiting to get onboard the ship.
GI: I'm gonna go and see my kids, you know.
Adam puts his arm around Sam.
Announcement: All remaining passengers, the Queen Mary is leaving for New York.
Sam: Send us a postcard, sir!
He turns to look back.
Foyle: I will.
Announcement: Please make your way...
Sam: And good luck!
Announcement: ...to the forward gangway, please.
Foyle shows his papers at the gate, gets a nod and passes through.
GI: Let's go, man, let's go.
Foyle walks towards the ship.
07x03 - The Hide
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.