All language subtitles for Foyles.War.S01E04.Eagle.Day.1080p.ITV.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-AEK_track3_[eng]

AIR RAID SIREN

We've got a gas leak!
Get it plugged!

Bill? All right?

Oh, God!

Sorry,
you can't come through.

You don't understand! I live here!

What's your name?

Joyce Davies. This is my house.

All right, love.
You'd better come with me.

This lady says she lives here.

My house! I don't believe it.

Sorry, love. It caught one.
You'll be all right.

Someone get her a cup of tea.

Here.

Sit down.
My chair! My kitchen chair!

Not much left of the kitchen.
Where were you last night?

Down the local shelter?
No. No, I wasn't.

Was the house empty?

No...

My husband...

Oh, Graham!
Any children?

No, Graham, is he in there?

We're looking now.

Have you got somewhere to go?
Someone to look after you?

Bloody Germans!

They dropped a bomb on my house!

Bloody cowards!
Don't you worry.

Our boys'll be doing
the same to them, and worse.

Hey!

You stay there.

Oh!

Come on, let's get him out of there.

Take care.
I've got his wife over there.

Bloody hell!

Bruce, you must let me pay
my share of the petrol.

Oh, forget it.
I was coming down anyway.

Thanks, Bruce.

Give me a call.
Let's have lunch, yes?

Righty-o.
Good luck.

DOOR BANGS

Andrew?
Hello, Dad!

What the hell are you doing?
I was trying not to wake you.

You're trying... You were making
such a bloody racket.

Sorry. I don't suppose
you've got any food?

I left too early for breakfast.

Food? Yes, there's food.
There's...

There's some eggs.

Great.
That's about it, though.

Have you got some leave?

No, I've been posted.
Right.

You put something together.
I'll have mine scrambled.

I'll get changed.
All right.

Uniform suits you.
Thanks.

Wish I could say the same
for your dressing gown.

Hm!

Knew him up at Oxford,
and bumped into him again in London.

He put me up last night
and drove me down today.

You sure you don't remember him?
What was the name again?

Bruce. Bruce Leighton-Morris.
No.

He's from the Crown Film Unit.
Right.

So, you've finished your training?
Mm-hm.

And are you attached
to a squadron now?

No. And I don't know why not.

Most of the chaps I was with
have already gone operational -

bombers, Coastal Command.

McCalder - he was our CO -
sent me here.

Some sort of cloak-and-dagger show.

"Don't breathe a word to a soul,"
that sort of thing.

Does that include me?
Absolutely.

I understand.

Well...
Good to have you home, anyway.

You never talk about the last war.

Oh. Well, not if I can help it.

Well, you were in it.
Yeah, worst three years of my life.

So, you were conscripted?

No, conscription didn't start
until 1916.

I volunteered.

And?

Well, um... Went in as a private,
got sent to France,

came out as what they called
a "temporary" officer and gentleman,

because there was nobody else left.
Did you kill anyone?

What, are you worried about maybe...
having to?

I suppose I have
begun to think about it.

Well... did you?

KNOCK ON DOOR

Yes. Yeah, I did.

And...

..all I can say is,
you get through it.

Hell or high water.

KNOCKING ON DOOR
Get that, would you?

It's my driver.
Of course.

Oh. Hello.

Hello. Are you...

You must be Andrew.

I'm Samantha Stewart,
I'm your father's driver.

Come in. Erm...

He never told me he had a...
What?

Well, erm, a girl.

Especially such a pretty one.

I see you don't hold back.

Obviously been well trained
by the RAF.

Have you met many pilots?

No.
I tend to mix more with policemen.

Just as well, really.

Look, I didn't mean to offend you.

We've got plenty of WAAF drivers.

I just didn't expect to meet one
driving my dad.

Well, I was hoping to cook or knit
Balaclavas for His Majesty's forces,

but here I am.
Hm.

You two met, then?
Yes.

Are you here this evening?

Er, they haven't told me
where I'm billeted, but I expect so.

Right. Will you tidy up?
Right.

Good. Sam?

What's on your mind, Sam?

My father called me last night.

He's coming down to Hastings.

Well, that's a nice surprise,
isn't it?

It's a surprise, certainly.

He wants me to have dinner with him
tomorrow night.

So what's the problem?

HE is.

He never wanted me to join the MTC,

and I suppose he'll think
the police are any better.

He's probably come to
check up on me.

Or I'm sure you'll persuade him
you're doing a worthwhile job.

You don't know my father.

Oh.

Morning, sir.

A man's body has been found
in a house in Henley Terrace

bombed last night.
Oh, yeah?

So he was killed by Jerry?

No. Not unless they're dropping
kitchen knives. He was stabbed.

WARDEN: It was a lone raider, sir.
Came in just before dawn.

Dropped six high explosives
and incendiaries.

We've casualties in Bexley Avenue,
Maize Hill and Ecclesbourne Glen.

This was the worst hit.

As you can see,
he wouldn't have stood a chance.

Except he was dead already.

Worn by the killer?
Torn off as the knife went in?

Perhaps.

A young girl?

A young girl...
with a kitchen knife?

What do you know about him?
Graham Davies.

Er, 42. A driver. Not in the forces.

Local deliveries,
removals, that sort of thing.

Married. No children.

Where's his wife?

We put her in the pub
round the corner.

Thought she could do
with a drink after all this.

Yeah... me, too.

I should have been there.

That's what I can't get over.
I should have been there.

I... I don't think there's anything
you could have done.

Who'd want to kill my Graham?

Well,
we were hoping you'd tell us that.

SOBS
It doesn't make any sense.

DOOR OPENS

She's er... still a bit, erm...

Sure. OK. Thank you.

Good morning.

Who are you?

I'm a police officer
investigating your husband's death.

SHE SNIFFS
There's nothing I can tell you.

I don't know anything about it.

Your husband drove a lorry
for a living, is that right?

He came back from Wales last night.

What was he carrying?

It was art stuff, erm...
Paintings. That sort of thing.

He'd been in London. That's where
he had to collect it from.

And do you know which gallery?

He did tell me. I can't remember.
Erm...

The Wilson?

The Winstone. Something like that.

And you were in Brighton last night,
is that right?

Well, yes.

And who were you with?

I-I was with a friend.

Do you mind telling us, erm...

..your friend's name?

I did love Graham.

He wasn't a bad man.

We never had enough money,
we never did anything.

His name's Trevor Thompson.

He's the cinema manager.

The Astoria.

And your husband
didn't know about this?

He'd have died if he'd found out.

He never knew.

I didn't wanna hurt him.

Is this yours?

No.

Do you recognise it?

No. I've never seen it before.

OK.

You realise, erm, you're gonna have
to search what's left of this place?

I was afraid you were
going to say that.

Well, the reason he was killed
might still be in there.

Excuse me, sir. There's a witness
wants to talk to you.

His name is Frank Watson,

and he was on patrol in this area
last night.

Mr Watson.

There's not much to tell you, sir.

I was on my way home
at about half past ten,

and this man came up to me.

What did he look like?

What?

What did he look like?

I couldn't see, I told you.
It was a blackout.

About as tall as you, he was.

About 50, I don't know.

And what did he want?

He asked me the way to
Henley Terrace, and I told him.

Past the corner,
second on the right.

And then I thought,
"What's he doing,

"creeping round the streets
this time of night?

"He's not from round here.

"Could be a German spy.

"Could be anyone!"

And then, when I heard about
the murder...

Right.

Well, thank you.
Pardon?

KELLER: Good morning, Foyle.
My name is Wing Commander Keller.

Welcome to the manor.

Sir.
I have your instructor's report.

He says a lot of good things
about you. Thank you, sir.

I just hope it's true.

You flew under the Forth Bridge.

We had a bit of a bet.

Risking your own neck, and more
to the point, a valuable aircraft.

Still, it seems you have
an aptitude for low-level flying

and that's why you're here.

I imagine you were disappointed
not to be posted to a squadron?

Yes, sir.

If you want the truth, I was.

Well, this is much,
much more important.

What I'm about to show you

is probably the biggest, the most
important secret of the war.

This goes no further.

You don't even whisper a word
to your mother.

Actually, sir, my mother's dead.

Security is my responsibility,
and if you step out of line,

I'll come down one you like a tonne
of bricks. Is that understood?

Absolutely, sir.

Good.

Right.

Well, let me introduce you
to the three most important letters

you'll hear in your life. R-D-F.

Radio Direction Finding.

Also known as radar.

How do you think Hitler
made suck easy work of Poland,

Belgium and The Netherlands?

It was because he was able
to take out their entire air forces

before they got off the ground.

Thanks to radar,
that's not gonna happen here.

Now, how are you on science?

It was never my strong suit,
I'm afraid, sir.

Well, put simply, radar allows us
to determine the position

of a distant point by means of
reflected radio waves.

It means that we can spot enemy
aircraft at night, in cloud,

long before they even
reach the coast.

Spot them, intercept them, and,
of course, destroy them.

We have CH stations - Chain Home,
that's what they're called -

all along the coast.

You've probably noticed the masts.

Yes, sir, I have.
And so will Jerry, won't they?

Well, they haven't appreciated
their significance, thank God.

Maybe they're not quite
the master race that they think.

The radar stations are the eyes.

They're directly connected
to Fighter Command HQ,

which is in North London.

That, in turn,
is connected to sector control rooms

in different parts of the country
that control our defences.

Can I see your pass?

Sir.

Open up!
Thank you, Corporal.

What's my part in all this, sir?

I'm about to introduce you
to Group Captain Graeme.

He's a brilliant man.
Science background.

Runs this station,
and more or less built it.

He trained the people
that work here,

and he's put together
a formidable team.

He'll introduce you.

You'll be based at the manor,

but this is where
the vital work will be done here.

That's why you're here.

'Very good to meet you, Foyle.'
Very good indeed.

I don't go in for too formality
here, unlike Keller.

Killer Keller,
that's what we call him. Ha!

Would you like some tea?
No, thank you, sir.

It's very good of you
to help us out.

The wing commander's put you
in the picture, I hope?

To a certain extent, sir, yes.

At the moment, we're fine-tuning...

calibrating the system.

It's a bit late, some might say,
but that's where you come in.

Low flying.
Low flying, night flying, yes.

You're going to track me?
Find you, track you, everything.

Except shoot you down. Ha!

Make sure you turn on
your IFF, by the way.

It's only one little switch,

and you'd be amazed
how many pilots forget it.

Nobody knows about these exercises.

And if don't identify yourself
with an IFF signal,

you'll have every gun
on the south coast firing at you.

I won't forget, sir.

I can't tell you how important
all this is to us, Foyle.

We recently lost one
of our plotters.

Most unfortunate.

And we have to get the new team
up to scratch.

Plotters?
I'll show you round.

At ease, everyone.

This is Pilot Officer Foyle,
our very own hedgehopper.

We'll be tracking him
as of tomorrow.

Corporal Howes, Sergeant Roberts,
Corporal Holdsworth.

Hello.
How do you do?

You'll get a chance to meet up
at the manor,

that's where they're billeted.

a home away from home,
isn't it, ladies?

Damp, draughts and dreadful food.
Not my idea of home.

Don't put him off. Ha!

Now, this is what
I want to show you, Foyle.

This is what is going to
win us the war.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Trevor Thompson, sir.
Yes?

He was with Joyce Davies last night.
He backs up her story.

Would a murderer really have to ask
the way to his victim's house?

The man Frank Watson saw?
Mm-hm.

Hm. It's a bit unlikely.
Though it was pitch black.

And they've taken down
half the signposts,

so it's easy to get confused.

This has been repaired
quite recently. See?

That might help us.

There can't be that many jewellers
in Hastings.

Exactly. You get onto that
while I'm in London.

Sir?

At the, er, Wittington Gallery.

Who have a collection

of priceless French Impressionist
paintings and drawings.

Davies used to work for them.

That might have got him killed.
It might well have.

Enid!
What is it?

Listen. Harold?
The paper.

"Police are investigating the
murder of 42-year-old Graham Davies,

"a lorry driver, who was found
stabbed in the wreckage of his house

"shortly after
last night's air raid."

Oh, my God, Harold!

Oh, my God!

What are we going to do?

Morning.
Good morning, sir.

Everything in order?
Everything's fine, ready to go.

The Target Spitfire's taken off,
sir.

All right. He'll head inland
30 miles and then turn.

We have nine minutes
until the exercise starts.

Standing by, sir.

I've completed my circle
and I'm coming in.

Over and out.

Haven't you got him yet?
Nothing, sir. Just a blank screen.

Wait a minute. There's something.

No, that's ground reflection.

Come on, Roberts.
This is not good enough.

He'll be here in seven minutes,

and if he was the enemy,
we'd need to see him by now.

Still nothing, sir.
All right.

Try a different modulation.

Yes!
Three minutes and counting.

He's right on top of us.

He's not there, sir.
He's not anywhere.

I've picked up an echo
from his IFF, sir.

He's out there. Where is he?

'This is Target Spitfire to base.

'I've just dropped a bomb.
You're all goners.'

LAUGHS

Well, thank you very much
for bringing this to my attention.

I imagined you'd want to know, sir.

And this friend of his...

His name's Bruce Leighton-Morris,
sir. A wealthy family.

They drove down together?
Yes, sir. From London.

And are you planning to arrest him?

Not yet, sir. But if we do...

You'll let me know.
Oh, yes, sir.

We'll keep you informed.

CHATTER

Hello, there. May I join you?

Please do.
Thanks.

How was it you described this place?

"Damp, dismal, dreadful food."

Well, you were right about the food,
anyway.

I'm Anne. Roberts.

I have to say,
what you did this morning,

we all thought it was tremendous.

I've still got no idea
how you managed to sneak up on us.

Well, I suppose I was lucky.

Now, there's something you don't
meet every day, a modest pilot.

No, actually, you're right.

It was a damn good piece of flying!

We'll just have to try harder
next time!

This radar work...

Every day, there are more raids,
and soon...

It's so important.

How long have you been a WAAF?
I started with the VADs.

Then I heard they were
looking for people

who could work nights
and weren't scared of being bombed.

And you aren't?
Well, of course I am.

But I suppose they meant people who
could keep their heads in a raid.

I'm not the sort who goes off in a
flap, so I thought it might be me.

Anyway,
I applied and I was accepted.

And I went to Bawdsey, where
I was trained. That was in April.

And then I was sent here.

So you live here?
I've got an aunt living in Hastings.

She runs a flower shop.

I see her some weekends,
but most of the time, I'm here.

We've got rooms
in the old stable block.

The three of you?
The plotters, yes.

You must be quite a team.

Hm.

Listen, when are you back on duty?
Not until three.

Then let's go out for lunch.
What?

I know the perfect place. Come on.

Here.
Thank you.

This is lovely.
Yes, isn't it?

You could almost forget
there's a war on.

Oh, no.

I mean... Well, the war's
all we ever think about here,

day and night.

The people who run this show,
they seem pretty tough.

They're all right, really.

Group Captain Graeme
can be a bit short-tempered.

He was a pilot, you know,
in the last war,

and then he flew in Persia.
He won lots of medals.

And Wing Commander Keller...

He's not very friendly, but
that's not why any of us are here.

Are all the operators girls?
Most of them are, I think.

They say men are too ham-fisted.

Men peel potatoes,
but women scrape them.

That's the difference.
Or at least, that's what they say.

We've got the right hand
for the job.

I think you've got perfect hands.

You should stop flirting like that.

How do you know I haven't got
a boyfriend? I don't.

Have you?
That's none of your business!

Oh, I see. It's like everything else
in this place - top secret.

Here.

That's not beer, is it?
You'll get me shot!

It's ginger beer.
Don't drink it too fast.

Cheers.
Cheers.

How long are you going to be, sir?
I've no idea, Sam.

It's just that Bond Street is
just round the corner,

and I was thinking
about getting my hair done.

For... For tonight, my father.
Oh...

Um... I'll be an hour.

Ah! Here he is.
Good morning!

Mr Foyle, isn't it?
Yes.

I'm Austin Carmichael, curator here.
How can I help?

Er, didn't the sergeant explain
on the phone?

Yes.
You said a driver has been stabbed.

That's right.
Extremely unpleasant business.

Why don't we walk to my office
and you can tell me what you want?

Do you know the collection,
Mr Foyle?

Er, no, I've never been here.

The collection was acquired
by Dorothy Wittington,

an American living in Paris
at the turn of the century.

She moved to London
just before the last war.

And she bought paintings
and drawings,

mainly, er, French Impressionists
like Beraud and Matisse.

That's right, yes.

But she was also
surprisingly avant-garde.

She met Picasso several times.

She also bought Braque,
de Chirico and Marcel Duchamp.

She must be quite old now.

Oh, she's well into her 90s
and in poor health.

You might like to know...

that she's bequeathed this gallery
and all its contents

to the British people.
A remarkable gift.

Where are the contents?
In Wales.

Ah.
After you.

Thank you.

Do, er, please sit down.

As you know, all the main London
galleries, including the National,

moved their treasures
out of the city last year,

and we've decided to follow suit.

The building itself will remain open

for lunchtime concerts and
evening lectures,

but the works are being housed
in a disused mine in Wales,

and that's where they'll stay
until the end of the war.

And Graham Davies transported them
for you?

Yes. Poor man.

But if you're thinking

he light-fingered some sketches
on the way,

you can put that right
out of your mind.

I'm not suggesting
anything of the sort.

I chose Davies myself.
He was thoroughly checked.

And besides, there was a security
procedure, which was flawless.

Would you explain that to me?
With pleasure.

'The removal was supervised
by an independent witness

'from our board of governors.

'In fact, Mrs Wittington's niece.

'Every picture in the collection
was numbered

'and briefly described in a ledger.

'This was signed by me and
countersigned by Miss Wittington

'before it left the gallery
in a sealed crate.

'There are a number of sketches
and drawings

'which are not on permanent display
in the gallery,

'but these, too, were numbered
and described.

'There were about 80 in all.

'Everything was loaded
into the gallery's own lorry,

'which was parked in our own grounds
next to the entrance.

'Before it left London,
the lorry was locked with a key,

'which remained in my possession
throughout.'

This is the key here.

The second key was
at our facility in Wales,

so the lorry couldn't be opened
until it got there,

at which point, of course,
the entire procedure was reversed,

with each picture being checked off
against the ledger,

its number and
description verified.

This the ledger, there?
Mm-hm.

Would you mind?
No. Not at all.

Georges Rouault. Clowns and Horses.
1910. W.

What does the W mean?

It's a little shorthand
I introduced.

W is woodcut. L is lithograph.
S, sketch. D, drawing, and so on.

1910 is the date it was executed.

It's all very thorough.

I am the custodian
of Mrs Wittington's bequest,

Detective Chief Superintendent.

I'm very sensible
of my responsibilities.

Good.

Arundel was the best.

I was sent there while
I was waiting to start training.

And it was enormous fun.

Arundel Castle. We were actually
waited on by a butler,

and the food was marvellous!

Like here?

There were 12 of us billeted
in a sort of circular tower.

The Duke and Duchess of Norfolk used
to invite us to Red Cross dances.

Really?
But then I was sent to Bawdsey.

And that was where I met Lucy, and
the two of us were transferred here.

Lucy?

She isn't here any more.

So, what happened to her?

I... shouldn't have mentioned it.

She died.

Oh. I'm sorry.

Was it a raid?

No, it was nothing like that at all.

Foyle... Are you settling in?

Yes, thank you, sir.

Been given a billet?
Not yet, sir.

I was rather holding out
for the stable block, actually.

No, that's just for the girls.
Oh. Too bad.

I suppose I can stay at home.
My father lives in Hastings.

Oh.

Home Guard?

No, actually. He's a police officer.

A detective chief superintendent.

Well, you'd better stay with him,
then.

Right.

Sergeant Roberts, you should be
getting back to your position.

It does seem pretty foolproof.

Yes. I agree.

So... What other reason
could there be for killing Davies?

His wife was having an affair?

Yes, but she could have left.
She didn't have to kill him.

I mean, these paintings are
worth a fortune.

The owner's an old lady who could
well be dead by the end of the war,

and Davies was the driver.

Any luck at the jeweller's?

I visited five today.
Nothing so far.

Oh, well. Keep at it.

Where's Sam, by the way?

She left to see her father.
Oh, of course she did.

Er, she's driving me to Wales
tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Good luck.
Thank you.

Samantha, my dear!

Hello, Dad.

Quite a shock,
seeing you in uniform.

Don't you think it suits me?

I would have changed,
but I came straight from work.

You look very smart.
Please, sit down.

You are going to join me for supper?
Rather!

There's no menu, I'm afraid.

They say it's fishcakes.
Oh, I love fishcakes.

Just as well.

How's Mother?

Much the same.
WAITRESS: Ready, sir?

She sends you her love.
She worries about you.

We both do.

Well, I'm all right.
It's only Hastings.

It's not as if it's
the other side of the world.

Yeah, well, even so, you know,

we hear so much about
young women these days,

in uniform...

in the forces.

Of course,
I know we're out of touch.

Lyminster's such a quiet place,

but even if half of what we hear
is true,

young women in the WAAF
and the ATS...

the Navy!

Up with the lark,
to bed with the wren.

That's what they say.

I'm sorry, Dad. It's... just a joke.

Well, that's my point.

I, er...
Sir?

I don't think it is a joke.

I meet a great many parents

whose daughters have got into
difficulties.

It's my job
to offer them pastoral care.

And I have to say, it's my opinion
that any sort of morality

has been shot to pieces
by this dreadful war.

I read some of the bulletins put out

by the Association For
Moral Hygiene, for example,

and quite frankly, I'm appalled.

Yes, but you needn't worry about me.

There's no chance of me getting PWP.

I'm sorry?

Pregnant without permission.

Anyway, I'm not in the forces.

You should be grateful
they moved me to the police.

It's not the same thing at all.
Yes, I know they moved you.

In fact, that's what made it easier
for your mother and me

to come to our decision.

What decision?

I'm here, Samantha,
because I want you to come home.

What?
Immediately.

Your mother still isn't well.
We both need you.

And we'd feel more comfortable
knowing where you are.

But I can't.

It would be different if
you were doing something important

for the war effort.

That's how you talked us into
letting you go in the first place,

but what is this job of yours?

Driving a policeman
round the country.

Getting involved in murders
and Lord knows what else.

Mr Foyle needs me.

And I do more than drive him.

You don't understand.
I am sorry, Samantha.

My mind is made up.
I want you to come home.

Andrew Foyle.
What about him?

Did you know that his father's
a police officer,

Detective Chief Superintendent
Christopher Foyle?

You may know the name.
No.

He's in Hastings.
He has something of a reputation.

Really, Martin, I don't see...

Andrew Foyle had lunch with
Sergeant Roberts today.

These fly boys,
they don't waste any time.

I overheard them.
They were talking about Smith.

Are you sure?

He was asking questions.

It was very unfortunate.

Poor Miss Smith.

But everyone around here was aware
of the strain she'd been under,

and I thought we'd decided to
draw a line under the whole thing?

Well, maybe you
should tell Foyle that.

I'm sure I don't need to.

I just thought you ought to know,
sir, that's all.

Thank you, Martin. Now I do.

DOOR OPENS

DOOR CLOSES

So you can't tell me
anything at all?

No, Dad, I can't.
Everything's classified, is it?

Well...

They gave me a new Spit.

Oh.

I've never flown anything like it.

When you get in,
it's a bit of a squeeze.

The canopy's only about
an inch-way from your head.

And when you breathe...

I wasn't sure at first.

It was a beautiful thing,
but it doesn't taxi well.

If you ask me,
the brake's too sensitive,

and if you push too hard,
you go belly-over.

But the moment I was in the air...

Well, it's... it's hard to describe.

It was as if I had become
part of the plane.

I didn't think about the controls,

I just thought where I wanted to go,
and I went.

Wizard!

20,000 feet in no time at all.

350mph.

That's at least 50 more
than the Hurricane.

Turning, landing...
there's nothing like it!

So you can tell me what you flew,
but not where you flew it.

I didn't leave England.
It was a test flight.

I'm not actually
going into combat, Dad,

so you don't have to worry about me.
Not yet, anyway.

Good crowd?
Yeah, they seem all right.

Wing Commander's a bit of
a cold fish.

There's this girl.

There always is.
Anne. Damn pretty.

Blue eyes. Nice smile.

The sort of girl you want to
run out and buy flowers for,

except her aunt runs a flower shop
here in Hastings,

so she probably can't stand
the sight of them.

I don't think there's any such thing

as a girl who can't stand
the sight of flowers, is there?

Are there times when you think of...

Think of what?

Well, you know... marrying again?

Here we go.
Is there someone else?

What, you think I'd tell you?

Come on, Dad, it's been eight years!

Andrew, I don't really think this
is quite the right time for this.

I don't see that the war
makes any difference.

Life still goes on.

Well, I sincerely hope so.

What time are you leaving tomorrow?

Late. And I won't be in for dinner.

Hm. Anne?

Ooh, I should be so lucky.

No, I've got a night op.

Right.

Sleep well, Dad.

And you.

Take care.

All right.

APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS

Sir. Good news.

Jeweller. Does a lot of repairs.
Tiny place in Mount Pleasant.

He remembered it straightaway.

He keeps a note of all his business.

And you were right.
Mended it six months ago.

Give you a name?

Yes, he did.

I never thought I'd see it again.

It was taken from the house.

It must be a couple of weeks ago
now, wasn't it, Enid?

A couple of weeks, yes.

We never lock the doors.

Someone came in and took it
off the sideboard in the front room.

They took other things, too.
A few things of Enid's.

Did you report it?

Didn't seem any point.

Nothing was worth much.
Except sentimental value.

Is it yours?

No, it was my daughter's.

She died.
Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that.

How?

It was an accident.
She fell under a train.

I bought her that locket
for her birthday,

just before she died.

I'm just so glad to have it back.
I can't thank you enough.

Does the name Graham Davies
mean anything to you?

Graham Davies? Who's he?

He worked as a driver for the
Wittington Art Gallery in London.

Never heard of him.
Did he have it?

Was he the one who stole it?

Graham Davies was killed
in an air raid a few days ago.

When his body was found,
he had the locket in his hand.

Maybe he bought it from someone.

We don't care who had it.

Like Enid said,
we're just glad to have it back.

What do you do for a living,
Mr Smith?

I sell ice cream.
Stop me and buy one.

Well, at least I did.

Had to pack it in when they
took away my refrigeration machine.

They needed it to transport blood.

Not that it would be any use now.
There's no ice cream any more.

Harold's joined the Home Guard.

What, here in Eastbourne?
Where else?

Well, not Hastings?

No.

Enid and I have lived here
for over 30 years.

We're on our own now.

We don't get out much.

Keep ourselves to ourselves.

So, how are you getting on, then?
Pretty well.

I'd have thought you'd
have gone back to London by now.

Huh, can't wait!

I don't know how can you stick it
down here.

I was born here.

Must be in-bred, then.

No, I'm still stuck here
for a couple more days.

You should come to supper,
meet my father.

Why did he never come up to Oxford?

I don't know.
I suppose he was too busy.

So, are you still scouting locations
for this epic of yours, then?

Don't knock it, Andrew.

We may not be glory boys like you,

but the CFU will come out of the war
with its head held high.

The Crown Film Unit? I can't see you
making propaganda.

It's not propaganda. It's art.

Well, actually, it's neither.

It's a two-reeler
about the need to conserve fuel.

Why Hastings?

Why not?
This is where it's all happening.

What is happening, by the way?

You said you had no idea what
you were gonna be doing down here.

I presume you've found out.

I can't really talk about it.

What?
Seriously.

I'm on active service now...

Are you doing something hush-hush?

No.
Come on. I'm interested.

Look, Bruce, I...
I ought to be going.

Frightened you off, have I?
Let's go halves on the lunch.

Oh, forget it. This one's on me.

I'm sorry, Bruce.

I didn't mean to sound pompous.
No, I understand.

Careless talk and all that.
Now, let's see.

FOYLE: You're disturbingly quiet,
Sam.

Yes, sir.

There's something
I've been meaning to say.

I'm afraid
I can't drive you any more.

I'm going to have to offer
my resignation.

This is a bit sudden.
Effective immediately.

What, you're going to leave me here?

No.

I mean, effective
as soon as I've taken you back.

Something to do with your father?

Everything to do with my father.

He wants me to come home.

He's taking me with him,
two days from now.

Oh. Right.

I did try to reason with him.

But he's decided that I'm...

not doing anything useful anyway,
and...

and to pack it in.

Well, I'm sorry to hear it.

There is just one chance, sir.

I wonder if you could talk to him.

Would he want to talk to me?

Well, I...

I did ask him. And he agreed.

I hope you don't mind.

It's just I... I really don't want
to shove off just at the moment,

and I... I know you could easily
get another driver.

But I really would appreciate it.

Well, I'll do what I can.

Where are these paintings?

They're in some sort of mine.

Looks like we're here.

Rubens, Rembrandt,

Michelangelo, da Vinci,

we've got them all.

There's more art in Wales right now
than there's been in 1,000 years.

Nobody can see it.
It's a crying shame.

Francois Beraud,
that's one of his later works.

He only started drawing young women
just before he lost his sight.

So, er, you were here
when Graham Davies arrived?

I was. And the van was locked
when it arrived?

That lock hadn't been tampered with.
I had the only other key.

And you were here all the time
the van was being unloaded?

I supervised the whole thing,
Mr Foyle.

342 items came out, and 342 went in.

I checked every one of them
against the entries

in Mr Carmichael's ledger.

What makes you so sure
that something was taken?

Oh, no. I'm not.

I just wanted to be sure
it was all here.

It's a funny way to spend the war.

Wet-nursing a bunch of old masters.
Can't even look at most of them.

But... they're all here.

ALL accounted for.

Good.

Was your Mr Davies a magician?

I don't think so.

Then he couldn't have spirited
anything away.

I think I've got him, sir!

Range?
30 miles. Bearing, 2-4-0.

Height, 600.
Right. Lock onto him.

There.

Well done, Roberts.

Hello again!
Oh, it's you! You startled me.

Is it my imagination, or
is everyone a bit jumpy around here?

We're all on edge, it's true.

But then, there's so much at stake.

Some people say
the Luftwaffe's finished,

that they're no match for our boys.

And I want to believe it.

But I don't think it's true.

I can feel them out there,

like a great, big shadow
getting nearer every day.

And I just wonder how we're ever
going to stand up to them.

You sighted me today.

We're getting there.

I'll make it more difficult tonight.

It's wonderful,
the way you're helping us.

I bet you can't wait
to join your squadron, though.

I want to get out there, yes.
But I'll get my chance.

I think you're very brave.

Is it true, what you said,

your father being a policeman?

Yes. Why do you ask?

I just wondered, that's all.

Just wondered?

Yes.

There wasn't something you
wanted to tell me, was there?

We were interrupted at lunch...
No.

Oh, for heaven's sake, Anne,
what is it?

Why are you so afraid?
I'm not.

I can feel it here.

Everyone seems to be so... nervous.

And it isn't just Jerry.

You were telling me
about your friend.

Lucy, wasn't it?

Yes.

You didn't tell me how she died.

Well...

Well, it was horrible.

She committed suicide.

Here?

In Brighton.

She was my best friend.

I felt terrible when it happened.

It was all so wrong.

Wrong?

The way she was bullied
and pushed and...

I shouldn't talk about it.
It doesn't matter.

Of course it matters!

What do you mean
about her being pushed?

It was just a manner of speaking.

You were asking me about my father.

Is there something
you want me to say to him,

something... he ought to know?

No.

I was just interested, that's all.

Lucy hated it here.

The work was too much for her.

And the waiting.

In the end, she cracked.

We're not meant to talk about it.

I shouldn't have mentioned it
at all.

I'm sorry. I have to go.

KELLER: 'You were talking about her,
weren't you? Sergeant Roberts.'

I saw the two of you together
for a second time.

I'll be talking to Foyle later,

so you might as well
tell me the truth.

We did mention her, sir.

Why?

He asked me about her.

And what did you say?

I didn't say anything.

That's the truth, sir.

WHISPERS: At ease, Sergeant.

Look...

We all felt as bad about Lucy
as you did.

But you have to see it in context.

I told you at the time,

we cannot allow anything
to get in the way of our work,

or more importantly,
our working as a team.

Ever since Lucy... did what she did,

morale has been shot to pieces.

And to be frank,
it's reflected in our results.

That's the main reason
why Pilot Officer Foyle is here.

If we keep going over old ground,
it'll just make things worse.

I do know that, sir.

I know it's been tough on you.

You were the closest to her.

And that's why I've come
to a decision which I hope

will help you get over it.

What decision?

I've had a request from Ventnor.

They're one man short, and
they need an experienced plotter.

I've recommended you.

You're to be transferred
with immediate effect from tomorrow.

Ventnor?

The Isle of Wight.
Very much the front line.

But... Sir, I'm happy here.

No, I don't think you are.

I think a change of scene
will do you good.

Are you moving me
because you're afraid I'll talk?

That's all, Sergeant.

I'm moving you
for the reasons I've just told you.

Dismissed.

Yes, sir.

What's this, then?

Holding a sale of bric-a-brac?

No. It's out of Davies's house,
or what's left of it.

You think you're going to find
the reason he was murdered here?

I'm beginning to think not.

It seems the gallery has nothing
whatsoever to do with it.

You sound tired.

That's cos I am.

Just back from Wales,
and I'm, er... gonna lose Sam.

What, your driver? Yeah,
her father wants her back home.

Oh, lock up your daughters, eh?

I suppose you can't blame him.

I look at my own girls,

and I'm only glad they're not
old enough to serve.

You worried about it?

There are all sorts of
horror stories doing the rounds.

Take the ATS.

You know what they call the women?
Officers' groundsheets.

Well, illegitimate births are up,

and arrests of teenage girls
this year have shot up.

Yeah, well, I'm sure Sam's going to
be as safe as houses in Lyminster.

Yes, I'm sorry.

D'you know, I've had enough of this.
I'm going home.

I'm not getting anywhere with it.

Is Andrew at home tonight?

No, he's on some sort of operation
or other.

Then why not come out for a drink?

I'm buying.

Oh.

Make a nice change, Hugh.

LAUGHS
Liquid inspiration.

All right. Good idea.

Bearing, 3-0-0.

Range, 28 miles.

Sir, I'm not getting
any IFF response. What?

There's no trace, sir.

If his IFF is switched off,
he'll be shot out of the sky.

See if you can get him on the radio.

Base to Target Spitfire.
Base to Target Spitfire.

Do you read me?

This is Target Spitfire to base.

Jesus!

'Base, what the hell's going on?
I'm coming under fire!'

Foyle. You're not transmitting
an IFF signal.

Put your bloody parrot on. Over.

Sir, he's losing height.

Spitfire to base. IFF IS on!

'Confirm.'

Base?
Height, 600 feet.

We still have no signal, Foyle.
Over.

I've lost him, sir.

Base to Target Spitfire.
Base to Target Spitfire.

Come in, please. Do you read me?
Over.

Base to Target Spitfire.
Base to Target Spitfire.

Come in, please. Do you read me?
Over.

CRACKLING

Sorry, sir. He's gone.

He's not there any more.

GRAEME: 'All in all, I'd say
you were very fortunate, Foyle.

'At least you're
still in one piece.'

I don't quite see it that way, sir.

What happened to my IFF?

It malfunctioned.

These things happen. I'm very sorry.

Engine vibration probably broke up

some of the carbon elements
in the unit,

with the result that we didn't
receive an identifying pulse.

Nor did anyone else,
so naturally,

it was assumed you were an enemy
aircraft, and you came under fire.

They bloody nearly shot me down.

The fact they didn't
does you credit.

Yes, sir.

As soon as the ack-ack fire started,

I realised I had to get down
as fast as I could.

I was lucky there was
a bit of a moon.

I put down in a farm about
six miles away.

How come you lost radio contact?

I knocked myself out.

Someone put a haystack in the field.

But you're unhurt?

I bruised my head, but otherwise,
I'm OK.

You did very, very well.

No-one could have done better.

If you ask me,
you deserve a spot of leave.

48 hours.
I'm still puzzled, sir.

The parrot was working
when I took off.

It had been fine throughout the day.
Well, I've explained.

You don't think it might
have been... tampered with?

What are you suggesting, Foyle?

Who would do a thing like that?

I don't know.

It was just a thought.
A crazy one!

Maybe that bump on the head has
affected you more than you think.

All right, Foyle. That's enough.
You're dismissed.

Sir.

You get some rest.

Excuse me. You're Jane, aren't you?

Yes.
Have you seen Anne?

She's gone.
Gone where?

I don't know.
She's been transferred.

You mean she's gone permanently?
I suppose so.

When did this happen?
It was all very sudden.

She was packing her bags
yesterday evening,

just before you took off.

Thanks.

You wanted to see me
about your daughter, Mr Stewart?

Er, it was Samantha who wanted me
to talk to you, Mr Foyle.

I really have nothing to say.

Oh.

Well, I, er...

I've come over here because Samantha
hoped I could change your mind,

but if I'm wasting your time...
No, I'm sorry. I...

I spoke rather rudely just now.
Please.

Sit down?

Thank you.

Will you?
No, thank you.

So...
how has Samantha been getting on?

She's doing very well.
She's very popular.

I do appreciate that
she does seem to have taken

rather a liking
to her work with you.

Though I did say to her, it does
seem rather an odd field of activity

in which to find herself.

What, police work?
I don't mean to cause offence.

None taken.
No, I couldn't agree more.

People are being killed in bombing
raids every day of the week,

and we spend all our time trying
to solve small, domestic murders.

You're absolutely right.

In fact, that's why I keep asking
to be transferred,

but on the other hand, should we be
ignoring innocent victims

simply because we're
in the middle of a war?

No, of course not.

And, erm, as for your daughter
being involved,

er, it wasn't my choice.

Nor, in fact, was it hers.

She was transferred from the MTC
simply because I was short-staffed.

I understand completely.

But at the same time...

I do need her with me.

Her mother's not well.
I'm very much on my own.

I'm more in demand than I ever was.

People seem to turn to
the church more in a time of war.

And, if I'm to be honest...

..it's my personal feeling
that Samantha

would be better off at home.

Well, I'd rather my son were at home
too, Mr Stewart,

so I understand, as well.

But I'm not going to argue with you

when I can see very well
that you've made up your mind.

Mr Foyle?

Where is your son?

My son is with the RAF.
He's a pilot.

BELL RINGS

Hello?

Can I help you?
I'm looking for DCS Foyle.

You're Andrew.

Yes.
I thought you might be.

I'm Paul Milner.
I work with your father.

You've got your wings.
Congratulations. Thanks.

I wish I could be in your shoes.

Not at the moment.

Why, is something wrong?

Apart from someone trying to
kill me, no, I'm fine. I'm sorry?

Look, I shouldn't have said that.
I just need to talk to my father.

Do you have any idea
when he'll be in?

It could be any time.
You're welcome to wait for him here.

No, I'm going home. Tell him
he can find me there, will you?

Yes. Are you sure I can't help?
No, thanks.

I'll see you again.
I hope so.

Pilot Officer Foyle?
Yes?

My name's Henderson.
I'm with Special Branch.

Could you get in the car, please?
Why?

I'd prefer not to talk here, sir.
If you could just get in.

No, sorry. I'm meeting my father.

Well, we'll contact your father
in due course, Mr Foyle.

Will you please get in the car?

No, I won't.
Andrew Foyle...

You're suspected of
conspiring to assist the enemy

in contravention of
the defence regulations,

and I'm placing you under arrest.

Now get in.

Sir. Your son was here
just a few minutes ago.

Why was he here?

He wants to see you,
and I think it's urgent.

He's waiting for you at home.

Sir? Last drive?

Thank you, Sam.

Who are you?
What are you doing in my house?

I have a warrant
to search the house, Mr Foyle.

Henderson. Special Branch.

Where's my son?
Your son is being held under arrest.

What for?

Your son is suspected of being in
possession of certain documents

of such a nature
that their dissemination

would be a breach
of the defence regulations.

Total rubbish. I want to see him.

I'm afraid that won't be possible,
sir,

until we've had a chance
to question him.

Where is he?
That information is classified.

I don't need to tell you, sir,
how serious...

how extremely serious
this offence is.

I'll report back just as soon as
there's anything to say.

Richard, Richard, all he told me
was that he's involved

in some tests on the south coast.

Of course it's secret.

If is wasn't a secret,
I wouldn't be calling you, would I?

You're in Whitehall! You must know!

I just want to know where he is!

My son in possession of secret
documents is obviously ridiculous.

This is obviously a mistake.

Please do. Thank you.

I can't find anyone
who knows anything

about a Henderson at Special Branch,

although these days,
it's not surprising.

They've got
so many different divisions.

I've got a friend at Scotland Yard,
and, er, I'll get onto him,

see if he can dig anything up.
Thanks you.

You shouldn't get involved
in any of this.

Listen, I'm not gonna be around
for a couple of days,

so take over this Davies business.

This gallery has obviously
got something to do with it,

and for what it's worth,
I don't like the curator.

A killer?
Thief, maybe.

You finished at the Davies house?

Yes, sir. We've got
all the bits and pieces here.

If there was a painting
or a drawing was hidden somewhere,

it was probably
destroyed in the fire.

Yeah, this ice-cream seller...

Harold Smith?
Yeah. Didn't believe him, did you?

About the break-in
and the locket being stolen?

No. No, he seemed to be more worried
about the fact that we'd found it,

rather than being pleased to see it.

Perhaps there's a link between
them that we don't know about.

Yeah, quite possibly.
The daughter, did we get her name?

No. Just that
she fell under a train.

Yeah, well, did she fall
or was she pushed?

And, er, could she possibly have
been having an affair with Davies?

It could explain how
he got the locket.

But not why he had it in his hand
when he opened the door.

We need to find out more about her
and how she died.

Yes, sir.

And if I hear anything about
Henderson, I'll let you know.

Thank you.

Christopher. Any news?
Not a thing.

Same here.
I called the Commissioner.

I asked a couple of questions
and the world caved in on my head.

He said it was
none of my damn business

and more or less read me
the entire Official Secrets Act.

Well, thank you for trying.

Andrew definitely said somebody
was trying to kill him?

He's young,
he could be imagining it.

He's not that imaginative.
Well, he'll turn up in due course.

Whatever he's done, they can't keep
him locked up for good.

I don't think there's much more
we can do.

He mentioned a girl.
A girl?

Her name is Anne.
Has an aunt with a flower shop...

It's not much to go on.

..in Hastings.
Ah, well, there's something.

I'll get somebody onto it.
Thank you.

Just be careful.

I don't want you arrested as well.
Yes, yes.

This is ridiculous.

The whole thing is completely crazy.

Have you any idea of the seriousness
of the charges against you?

Yes. Mr Henderson has told me.

And we could be talking treason.
We're talking nonsense!

These documents were discovered
missing at 06:00 hours this morning.

Yes.

They contain a detailed analysis
of the most recent tests

made on the radar system
at this station.

They could give the enemy
vital information

about the strengths and weaknesses
of our entire coastal defence.

I didn't take them.
They were found in your locker.

Somebody must have put them there!

And who would do that?
You tell me!

Tell us about
Bruce Leighton-Morris, Mr Foyle.

What?
Bruce Leighton-Morris,

your friend from Oxford.

Why do you want to know?
When did you last see him?

A couple of days ago.
He drove me down here.

And we had lunch.

What's Bruce got to do with it?

He's down here to make a film
about fuel conservation.

Why did he give you money?

He didn't!
I was watching, Mr Foyle.

Mr Leighton-Morris has been under
surveillance for some time now.

You met him.

He produced his wallet.

He paid for lunch!

He took out his wallet
and paid for lunch!

Don't play the innocent with us,
Mr Foyle.

Communist Party of Great Britain.

That's where you met him.

You were in the Communist Party
at Oxford.

You joined in the summer of 1938.

For heaven's sake, it was nothing.

It was... It was like a club.

After Spain, a lot of us felt...

The Communists were fighting
the Nazis before we were!

Anyway, I only went
to half a dozen meetings.

I lost interest.

You kept your membership.

I'd forgotten all about it!

We hadn't.

Look. You can't keep me here.

I want to speak to my father.

Or at least to my Commanding
Officer. This is crazy.

You're not seeing anyone until
you start answering some questions.

This has got nothing to do with me!

He knows.

I'll tell you what I know, Foyle.

A number of extremely sensitive
documents have gone missing

and have been found
in your possession.

You turn out to be a self-confessed
member of the Communist Party

and are seen taking money
from a prominent Communist agitator

who has since disappeared.

Now...

Let's start from the beginning,
shall we?

Excuse me.

Yes?

I wanted to see...

Is Andrew here? Andrew Foyle?

No, I'm afraid he isn't.

Oh... Right.

I shouldn't really have come anyway.
I'm sorry.

You're Anne, aren't you?
I don't know your surname.

He works with you, mentioned you.

I really can't stay.
Please. Listen.

I think he's in trouble,
and I need some help to find him.

Would you please come in? Please.

I can't tell you anything.

You must understand,
I signed the Official Secrets Act.

If they found out
I was even here...

..I could be sent to prison.

Well, when did you last see him?

Two days ago.

Did you know what had happened
to him?

I only met him a couple of times.
I hardly know him.

If he's been arrested...
there must be a reason.

Why have you come here?

I wanted to see him.

I wanted to say goodbye.

Oh. You're leaving?

They have made me.
And why is that?

I can't tell you.

I can't tell you anything!

If they knew it was me...

I don't understand
why you're so frightened.

It's not the work.
It happened before Andrew came.

Look, it's clear you know something.

So I don't want you to just
leave here

without at least helping
me the next step of the way.

Andrew's Commanding Officer
is a man called Graeme.

Group Captain Alastair Graeme.

He lives here in Hastings.
He shouldn't be hard to find.

But, please,
I never gave you his name.

No, of course.
Erm, where are they sending him?

Can you tell me that?
No.

But, er, when you find Andrew,
tell him...

Well, just say good luck from me.

Why don't we just go in?

We can't. He hasn't done anything.

And if I was to ask about Andrew,
he wouldn't tell me anyway.

Why should he?

Well, we could follow him back
to where he's based.

We'd get arrested as spies.

I'm going to miss all this.

Are you?

I've enjoyed working with you, sir.

I'm sorry I've been...

Been what?

You know...
Yeah.

No, you've been fine, Sam.

Is that him there?

Could be.

Looks like it. Here we go.
ENGINE STARTS

Isn't this the pub where
we interviewed Joyce Davies?

Yes. Hanley Terrace
is just round the corner.

Will you wait here?
Sir?

Why don't you let me do it?

Isn't there more chance
he'd talk to a girl?

Do you think so?

Well, if I can catch him alone...

having a drink...

..he might give me a clue.

All right. Be careful.

There we are, sir.
Thanks.

What will it be, miss?
I'll have a glass of sherry, please.

OK.

Let me get you that.

I'm sorry?
Are you on your own?

Yes.

I hate to see a...
lady buying herself a drink.

Oh.

Thank you very much, sir. Very kind.

Cigarette?

Mm.

Are you ATS?

No. MTC.

Your sherry, miss.

How about you?

Oh, RAF, obviously.

But which bit?
My name's Alastair.

I'm Samantha.

But everyone calls me Sam.

Cheers.

I didn't know there were
any MTC sections round here.

Well, actually, I'm on leave.

I only got home today.

Meeting someone?
No. There is no-one.

Just me.

I find that very surprising.

Do you... fly?

I used to.

Well, you don't look like a pilot.

You look too important.

Ha! I'll take that as a compliment.

You're a... Group Captain.

Why do you want to know?

Well, it's just,
I'd love to get in the WAAF.

I mean, the MTC is fine,
but the work is a bit grubby.

Mostly, it's just form-filling.

Well, we're all making
our own contributions.

I'm sure yours is as valuable
as anyone else's.

Yes, but I'd love to be near planes
and all that.

Where are you based?

What was your name again?

Samantha Stewart.

MTC.

You know, my dear,

when a good-looking,
well-developed young girl like you

comes into a bar on her own,

that's one thing.

But when she starts asking questions
- name, rank, serial number -

that's when a chap has to start
asking himself, "What's her game?"

Especially when she seems to have
deliberately followed him in.

I did no such thing.
I'm sure you didn't.

And that's a loose tongue you have.

Very loose tongue.

And I think you should be careful
what you do with it.

It was very nice to meet you, and
I hope you enjoyed the drink, but...

I think it's time
you were on your way.

Argh!

What happened?

I didn't get anything out of him,
sir.

He rumbled me straightaway.

What is it? Are you all right?

Actually, he... pinched me.

He did what?
You know, quite hard.

It really hurt!

I'm going to have a word with him.
No, no, no.

It'd only confirm his suspicions.

Maybe Dad was right.

Perhaps I ought to write
to the Association Of Moral Hygiene.

DOG BARKS

ELIZABETH: You were a long time.

Not really.

It's a shame
you have to go out so much.

I see little enough of you as it is.

Really, Elizabeth,
I was only an hour.

Two.

What do you think?

Very nice.

It's going to be a raffle prize.

You know,
with all the other activities,

we'll soon have made enough
to buy our own Spitfire.

Oh, and did I tell you?

Kate has asked me to help her
set up a local housewives group.

No, you didn't say.

Kate is marvellous.
She's indefatigable.

DOORBELL
Who's that at this hour?

I'll go if you like.
No, you stay here.

WIRELESS PLAYS SCHUBERT

Oh, I know this.

What?

Alastair, who is it?

SIGH AND THUMP

Alastair?

SCREAMS

Excuse me.
Sir?

I've come to pick up my daughter.
Samantha Stewart?

Hello, sir. I'm Sergeant Milner.
I work with Sam.

How do you do?
She isn't in yet, I'm afraid.

Would you like to come through?

You're welcome to wait in my office.

She should be along soon.

SIGHS
We're going to miss her.

I'm sure.

What's all this?

Oh, it's from a house that
was just bombed.

It's all junk.
What?

Excuse me, Sergeant Milner...

this statuette...

It's by Francois Beraud.

I'm sorry, sir?
It's a tragedy.

It's been broken, I presume,
in the bombing, but...

This is wonderful!

It's a Beraud!

A French Impressionist.
He did sketches and drawings.

That's right, but he was
also a sculptor. Figures, horses.

This is a petite danseuse.

It's about 1880.
How do you know, sir?

Well, I studied art at university
before I found my vocation.

I've always maintained an interest.

And you're sure this is by Beraud?
Yes, yes.

I actually saw it once, or
something very like it, in London.

In the Wittington Collection.

Mr Stewart, how much
do you think a figure like this

would be worth?

Well, it is broken, but...

many thousands of pounds,
I should imagine.

DOOR OPENS

Dad?

What are you doing?
Well, I've come to collect you.

I'm afraid you can't have her yet,
sir. She's needed.

Sam, follow me.

'They were playing Schubert
on the wireless.'

We went to a concert in Venice...

on our honeymoon.

It was the same piece.

You were married a long time?

Er, 21 years.

Children?

Two sons. Both in the RAF.

I understand your husband
was a serving officer.

A lot of responsibility?

I can't talk about that!
But, erm...

was it the case?

I-I can't discuss his work.

Mrs Graeme, I'm sure you'd like to
help us find your husband's killer.

Well, of course I want to help,
of course I do, but...

but you must understand
that I can't tell you anything

about what he was doing.

I'm not allowed to.

No. His people will come here.

I'll talk to them.

Nothing.

Sir... couldn't it have been
a woman who did this?

I mean, after what happened
last night in the pub,

I wouldn't be surprised if
there were one or two

who wouldn't gladly stick a knife...

Are you Detective
Chief Superintendent Foyle?

Yes.
My name's Keller.

Wing Commander Martin Keller.

I was working
with Group Captain Graeme,

and his murder falls under
the jurisdiction of the RAF Police.

You've got my son.

Who told you that?
I want to see him.

That's not possible. Anyway,
I'm afraid this takes priority.

You don't feel they're connected?

Well, I'll be taking over
this investigation,

so it's my job to find out.
Well, you're a bit late.

I already know who killed him,
and why he was killed.

Tell me.

Not until I've seen my son.

PLANE FLIES OVERHEAD

FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING

Andrew?
Dad!

How are you?
I'm all right. I'm glad you're here.

This is a complete bloody mess,
isn't it?

You're telling me.

Well, you never mentioned your
Communist Party membership to me.

I'm not.

I mean, I was, but...

..I'm not ashamed of it.

When were YOU ever interested
in politics?

After Franco.

Oh, yeah?
Well, all right.

It wasn't quite as simple as that.

You see, there was this girl.

I see. Another one.

I didn't take those documents, Dad.

I know you didn't take
the documents,

but somebody has, and
they've put them in your locker.

A lot of strange things
have been going on around here.

Even before I got posted.

A girl killed herself. Lucy.

MILNER: You have a lorry.

It was driven
by a man called Graham Davies,

and I believe it's still here.

I'd like to see it, please.

'We haven't met before, sir.
My name is Miller. Sergeant Milner.

'You spoke to my senior officer,
DCS Foyle.

'I'd like you to come with me
to Westminster Police Station.'

What for?

Because I'm arresting you for theft.

Theft?

A priceless work of art
from this collection.

I'm sorry, Mr Miller,
I think you must be mistaken.

There's nothing's missing.
Yes, that's what it looks like.

But we've recovered a statuette
belonging to this gallery

from the wreckage
of Graham Davies's house.

Ah.

It was Davies who stole it,

but he couldn't have done it
without your help.

I assume you were paying him,

and that he would have returned it
to you, had he not been killed.

Everything you told DCS Foyle
was true,

except that
your security arrangements

weren't quite as foolproof
as you made out.

The shorthand, for example.
S for Sketch.

It could also mean S for Statuette,
couldn't it?

You tell me.

There was a sketch.

It showed three dancers
on a single sheet of paper.

There was also a statuette
of a dancer,

made by Beraud in his old age.

Graham Davies was the only one
who actually climbed into the van.

The first Beraud, the statuette,
went into a compartment

underneath the seat.

The next Beraud was the sketch.

Unlike the paintings,
the drawings and sketches

weren't crated up,
perhaps deliberately.

Once again,
Davies chose his moment well.

The single sketch
became two sketches.

I'd say that was an act
of wanton vandalism.

So...

Two dancers by Beraud
went into the lorry,

and two dancers by Beraud
came out of it at the other end.

It was as if the statuette
had never existed.

And then what?

You'd wait until the war was over.

Dorothy Wittington
would probably be dead.

Who'd notice that one of
her masterpieces was missing?

According to the records,
nothing would be missing.

And then you'd sell it.

Oh, no, Sergeant.

I wouldn't sell it.

You can't sell a masterpiece
by Francois Beraud

without people noticing.

What, then?
You wouldn't understand.

Just to have it.

That would be enough.

You can't imagine
what it would be like

to own something so beautiful.

Well,
it isn't beautiful any more, sir.

Thanks to you, it was destroyed.

Shall we go?

SEAGULLS CRY

Are you quite sure about this, Dad?
Oh, yes, I think so.

The station, please.

It's good to see you.

You take care of yourself, my dear.

I don't doubt you're in safe hands
with Mr Foyle,

but even so,
these are unhealthy times.

Absolutely.
But don't worry. I'll take care.

WHISPERS: All right. Goodbye.

Send my love to Mother.

Excellent, Milner.
Thank you, sir.

Confession?

Carmichael's at Westminster Police
Station doing just that.

Someone will have to tell
Mrs Wittington about her figurine.

Another casualty of the war.

Hm.
Harold Smith?

They were lying
about their daughter Lucy.

She didn't fall under a train.

She jumped.
Exactly.

KNOCK ON DOOR
Yes?

Hello!

You're still here?

I'm afraid It's not quite that easy
to get rid of me.

My father changed his mind.

So you persuaded him?
No, sir.

In fact,
it was you and Sergeant Milner.

He was so excited
to have helped solve a crime,

it revised his opinion
of the whole thing,

and he decided that perhaps,
after all,

I was doing an important job,
and that I... I should stay.

That's wonderful.

We don't have to walk!

I thought I'd be seeing you again,
Mr Foyle.

You know why I'm here?

To arrest me.

And you probably know why.

I'm not going to deny it.

Harold!
There, there. Come on.

I said it might end like this.

With the murder of an innocent man.

Graeme deserved to die!

My Lucy was 19
when she went to work for that man.

Just 19 years old.

And she was so proud,
you know, to be helping our boys.

And you know what he did?

She didn't know what she was doing!

She didn't know anything about
that sort of thing.

He forced himself on her.

She was young enough to be
his daughter, for God's sake!

He forced himself on her, and...

and he made her have relations
with him up against a wall.

You know why?

He told her she wouldn't
get pregnant that way.

The worst of it...

The worst of it was,
she couldn't tell us anything.

Not about her work,
not about what was happening.

Cos they'd made her sign
the Official Secrets Act!

It was all too important,
too secret.

And he knew that too, of course.

When he found out
she was pregnant...

ENID WEEPS

..and she was carrying his child...

he put the fear of God into her.

Enid managed to wheedle
some of it out of her,

enough for the two of us
to work it out.

By then, it was too late.

Lucy couldn't bear the shame.

She decided to put an end to it.

Her and the baby.

She threw herself
in front of that train.

There's nothing innocent
about a man like that.

Mr Smith, you know exactly
what I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the first person
you murdered.

Who may have been a petty crook,

but as far as
your daughter's concerned,

he was totally innocent.

That was a mistake. I never meant
that to happen, Mr Foyle.

That was a dreadful,
dreadful mistake.

I know.

I decided to have my revenge
on Group Captain Graeme.

'I didn't see it as murder.

'It was punishment.

'A man like that...

'What he'd done, he deserved to die.

'The road signs had been taken down.
I didn't know Hastings, anyway.

'A blackout made it difficult
to see anything,

'so I had to ask the way.'

'I was on my way home.

'It was half past ten
when this man came up to me.'

He asked the way to Henley Terrace,
and I told him.

'I knew I'd got the right number,
Number 10, I could see that.

KNOCKS ON DOOR

'A man came to the door.'

Yes?
Are you Graham?

Yes. What do you want?

I want you to have this.

I'd never met Alastair Graeme.
I don't know what he looked like.

He said he was Graham!
He WAS Graham, Mr Smith.

But Graham Davies,
not Group Captain Alastair Graeme.

And while you knew
that Alastair Graeme

lived at number 10 Henley Crescent,

Graham Davies lived
at number 10 Henley Terrace,

which is where you were directed to.

I said Henley Crescent.
I didn't know of a Henley Terrace.

Yes, we met the man you asked.
He's very hard of hearing.

Because he didn't hear
what you said,

he sent you to the wrong address.

How did you know Graeme's address
in the first place?

He wrote to us.

After our daughter's funeral...

a note of condolence.

It was on that.

But in spite of all of this,

you still went back and tried again.

I knew as soon as you found
the locket,

it was only a matter of time
before you... caught up with me,

so yes, I had to get to him
before you got to me.

I know I'll be hanged.

I deserve it.
ENID CRIES

And I'm ashamed of it.

It'll be Graham Davies I'll
be thinking of when they hang me.

Harold! Don't!

I'm not ashamed about
Alastair Graeme.

I had to do it.
I'm glad I did it!

I don't see it as murder.
It's punishment.

I just wish he'd suffered more.

Harold, please...

This was entirely my idea.
Enid had nothing to do with it.

Just leave her alone.

No, Harold.

I want to come with you.

It's over.

It was over the day Lucy died.

I'm here to collect my son.
Is he still here?

Yes, yes, he's still here.

Look, Mr Foyle,
whatever you may think,

I swear to you, I have done
absolutely nothing wrong.

Well, not entirely the case.

You know exactly why
Lucy Smith killed herself.

You helped cover it all up.

You have to put this into context,
Mr Foyle.

Whatever his personal failings,

Alastair Graeme
was a first-class CO.

He had a brilliant, scientific mind.

I don't know anyone in the country

who understood radar
better than him.

And remember, Mr Foyle,

my first job,
my first responsibility,

was to keep him
in his rightful position

in command of this station.

By planting stolen documents
in my son's locker.

That... wasn't me.

No, it was Graeme.
But you allowed it to happen.

He was terrified
it was all going to come out,

and he used the investigation to
keep my son out of the way.

I was against it,
I was against the whole idea.

And what he did to Lucy Smith

might not have been perhaps
strictly criminal,

but was immoral, improper
and downright disgusting,

and would have cost him his job,
not to mention his marriage.

I'm not telling you again, Mr Foyle.

I had no part in any of it.

I was simply doing what I thought
was best for the war.

I'm sure a great many Nazis are
going to be saying

exactly the same thing when
this war is over.

I want Andrew released,

and not a word of this is to go
on his record.

Dad!
Come on.

You are brilliant, Dad.
You know that? Yep.

So you think I was imagining it?

Well, maybe.

I felt like Graeme
was trying to kill me.

Oh, I'm sure.

If it was him
who planted the documents,

surely it was him who sabotaged
the IFF on my Spitfire!

I don't think
he would have sabotaged.

He didn't have access to the plane!

He didn't want to kill you.
He just wanted you out of the way.

So I sort of... overreacted?

Well... it wouldn't be
the first time.

So what do we do now?

I don't know about you,
but I'm going to have some lunch.

PLANES APPROACH

Bloody hell, Dad, they're German!

AIR-RAID SIRENS WAIL

In here!

GUNFIRE
Get in the shelter!

BOMBS WHISTLE

VIOLENT EXPLOSIONS

What's that smell?
BOMB WHISTLES

You all right?

GUNFIRE

Blow it out, would you?

BOMB WHISTLES

Why have you brought us to shelter
in a fuel dump, Andrew?

FIRE ENGINE BELLS

SHOUTING

Let's go.

Dad, wait.

Here comes the cavalry.

We were getting worried about you,
sir. Are you all right?

Well, no thanks to this one.

Sir?
We'll go in the back.

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