All language subtitles for Foyles_War.S01E04.Eagle_Day-eng

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

Help!

All right.

Oh, my God.

Oh!

Sorry. You can't
come through.

But 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, though.

Someone get her a cup of tea!

Here.

Sit down.

My chair.
My kitchen chair!

Not much left of
your kitchen,
I'm afraid.

So where were you
last night, then...
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.

You've got somewhere to go,

someone to look after you?

Bloody Germans...

Dropped a bomb on my house.

Bloody cowards!

Don't you worry.

Our boys will be doing
the same to them and worse.

Hey!

You stay there.

Oh, poor sod.

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

But take care.

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.

Righty-oh.

Good luck.

Andrew?

Hello, dad.

What the hell are you doing?

I was trying not to wake you.

Why are you making
such a bloody racket?

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

I left too early for breakfast.

Food? Yes, there's food.

There's...
There's some eggs.

Great.

That's about it, though.

Got some leave?

No. I've been posted.

Right. Well, you put
something together.

I'll have mine scrambled.

I'll get changed.
All right.

The uniform suits you.

Thanks. Wish I could
say the same for
your dressing gown.

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 his name again?

Bruce.
Bruce Leighton-Morris.

No.

He's recceing for
the crown film unit.

Right.

So you've finished
your training then,
have you?

Mm-hmm.

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.

But Calder...
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.

Worst 3 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"

only because there was
nobody else left.

Did you ever kill anyone?

What, are you worried
about maybe having to?

I suppose I have begun
to think about it.

Well, did you?

Yes. Yeah, I did.

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

Hell or high water.

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.

Um, he never told me
he had a...

What?

Well, um, 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.

You two met, then?

Yes.

You here this evening?

They haven't told me
where I'm being billeted,

but I expect so.

Right. We'll
eat out, yeah?

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 don't suppose
he'll think the police
are any better.

He's probably come
to check up on me.

Well, I'm sure
you'll be able
to persuade him

you're doing a worthwhile job.

You don't know my father.

Oh.

Morning, Sir.

Milner.

A man's body has been found...

a house on
Henley Terrace
bombed last night.

So he was killed by Jerry?

No, not unless
they're dropping
kitchen knives.

He was stabbed.

It was a lone raider, Sir.

Came in just before dawn.

Dropped 6 high explosives
and some incendiaries.

We've got casualties
in Bexleigh Avenue,

Maze 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.

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 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.

It doesn't make any sense.

She's, uh, still a bit...

I'm sure.
Ok, thank you.

Good morning.

Who are you?

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

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...

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?

Oh, he did tell me.
I can't remember.

The... the Wilson,

the Winstone,
something like that.

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

Well... Yes.

Who were you with?

I was with a friend.

Do you mind telling us
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 want to hurt him.

Is this yours?

No.

You recognize it?

No. I've never
seen it before.

Ok.

You realize
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.

It was 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.

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?

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 on you
like a ton of bricks.

Is that understood?

Absolutely, Sir.

Good. Right.

Well, let me introduce you to
the 3 most important letters
you'll hear in your life...

RDF, Radio direction finding.

Also known as radar.

How do you think
Hitler made such
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 defenses.

Sir, 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.

That's why you're here.

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

I don't go in
for too much
formality here,

unlike Keller.

Killer Keller,
that's what we call him.

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.

Well, 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.

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

It's only one little switch,
but you'd be amazed
how many pilots forget it.

Nobody knows about
these exercises,

and if you 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, drafts,
and dreadful food?
Not my idea of home.

Don't put him off.

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

This is
what is going to
win us the war.

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,
do you think?

The man Frank Watson saw?
Hmm. It's a bit unlikely.

But 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. You see?

That might help us.

There can't be that many
jewelers in Hastings.

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

Sir?

At the Whittington Gallery,

who have a collection
of priceless

French impressionist
paintings and drawings.

Davies used to work for them.

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 gonna do?

Good 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 9 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 just
ground reflection.

Come on, Roberts.
This is not good enough.

He'll be here in 7 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!

3 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.

Well, thank you very much
for bringing this

to my attention,
Mr. Henderson.

I imagined you'd want
to know, Sir.

And this friend of his...

His name is 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.

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 that'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,

but then I heard
they were looking
for people

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

And you aren't?

Of course I am,

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

And 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 they sent me
to Bawdsey, where
I was trained.

That was in April.

And then I was sent here.

So you live here?

Actually,
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 3 of you?

The plotters, yes.

You must be quite a team.

Hmm.

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.

At least, that's what they say.

We've got the right
hands 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 you going to be, Sir?

I have no idea, Sam.

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

and I was thinking about
getting my hair done
for tonight... my father.

Oh.

Um, I'll be an hour.

Ah, here he is.

Good morning.

Mr. Foyle, isn't it?

I'm Austin Carmichael,
curator here.

How can I help you?

Didn't the sergeant
explain on the phone?

Yes. You say a driver's
been stabbed.

That's right.

Extremely unpleasant business.

Why don't we walk to my office,

and you can tell me
what it is you want?

Do you know
the collection,
Mr. Foyle?

- Uh, no.
- I've never been here.

The collection
was acquired by
Dorothy Whittington,

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

She moved to London just
before the last war.

She bought paintings
and drawings...

mainly French impressionists
like Berault and Matisse.

That's right. Yes.

But she was also
surprisingly
avant-garde.

She met Picasso several times,

and she also bought
Braque, de Chirico,
and Marcel Duchamp.

She must be quite old now.

Oh, she's well
into her nineties
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 please sit down.

As you know,
all the main London galleries,

including the National,

moved their treasures
out of the city
last year.

We 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.

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. Whittington's
niece.

Every picture
in the collection
was numbered

and briefly described
in a ledger.

This was signed by me
and countersigned by
Miss Whittington

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 every picture
being checked off
against the ledger,

its number and
description verified.

This is the ledger?
Mm-hmm.

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. Whittington'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 marvelous.

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 anymore.

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.

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.

Does seem pretty foolproof.

Yes, I agree.

So what other reason
could there be
for killing Davies?

His wife was having an affair.

But she could have
left him. She didn't
have to kill him.

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 jewelers?

I visited 5 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.

She's driving me to Wales
tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Good luck.

Thank you.

Samantha, my dear.

Hello, dad.

It's 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 fish cakes.

I love fish cakes.

Just as well.

How's mother?

Much the same.

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,

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, you know...

young women in the WAAF,

in the ATS, the Navy.

"Up with the lark,
to bed with a wren."
That's what they say.

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

Well, that's my point,
Samantha.

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'm sorry, Samantha.
My mind is made up.

I want you to come home.

Andrew Foyle...

What about him?

Did you know
that his father is
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 flyboys,
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 here was
aware of the strain
she had 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.

So you can't
tell me anything at all?

No, dad, I can't.

Everything's classified,
is that it?

Well...

They gave me a new spit.

Oh, well...

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 away
from your head,

and when you breathe...

I wasn't sure at first.

It's a beautiful thing,

but it doesn't taxi well.

If you ask me,
the brakes are
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'd become
part of the plane.

I didn't have to think
about the controls.

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

Wizard.

20,000 feet in no time at all.

350 miles per hour.

That's at least 50 more
than the Hurricane.

Turning, landing...
There's just 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.

The 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?

Aren't there times
when you think of...

Think of what?

Well, you know, marrying again?

Here we go.

Is there someone else?

You think I'd tell you?

Come on, dad.
It's been 8 years.

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

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.

Mmm. Anne?

I should be so lucky.
No, I've got a night op.

Right.

Sleep well, dad.

And you.

Take care.

All right.

Sir, good news...

jeweler 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 6 months ago.

He 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 door.

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 they took
was worth very much.

Except sentimental value.

Was it yours?

No, it was my daughter's.

She died.

Oh, I'm very sorry
to hear that. How?

There 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 is he?

He worked as a driver
for the Whittington
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 to me now.

Well, there's
no ice cream anymore.

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.

Can't wait.

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

I was born here.

Well, it must be
inbred, then. Ha ha!

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.
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 this war
with its head held high.

The crown film unit?
I can't see you
making propaganda.

It's not propaganda.
It's art.

Actually, it's neither.

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

Why Hastings?

Well, why not?
This is where
it's all happening.

What is happening, by the way?

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

I presume you found out.

I can't really talk about it.

What?
Seriously.

I'm on active service
now and...

are you doing
something hush-hush?

No.

Come on, I'm interested.

Look, Bruce,
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...

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.

Does this have
anything 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.

Ah, right.

I did try to reason with him,

but he's decided
that I'm not doing
anything useful anyway

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 did ask him,
and he agreed.

I hope you don't mind.

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

And 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 a thousand years,

and nobody can see it.
It's a crying shame.

Francois Berault.

That's one of his later works.

He only started
drawing young women

just before he lost his sight.

So 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
for you tonight.

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

I bet you can't wait to
join a 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.

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.

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.

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 been reflected
in our results.

That's the main reason
why pilot officer Foyle
is here.

If we keep going
over old ground,

it will just make things worse.

I do know that, Sir.

Look, 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' 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.

It's because I am.

Just back from Wales,
and I'm 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?

Officer's groundsheets.

Well, illegitimate
births are up,

and arrests of
teenaged girls
this year have shot up.

Yeah, well, I'm sure Sam
is gonna be as safe
as houses in Lyminster.

Yes. I'm sorry.

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.

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 Isn't switched on,

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? Over.

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.

Jesus.

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.

I'm sorry, Sir.
He's gone.

He's not there anymore.

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.

Well, as soon as
the ack-ack fire
started,

I realized
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 6 miles away.

How come you lost
radio contact?

I knocked myself out.

Someone had 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 want to 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?

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

I really have nothing to say.

Oh.

Well, I've come over here

because Samantha hoped
I might be able to
change your mind.

But if I'm wasting your time...

no. I'm sorry.
I spoke rather
rudely just now.

Please sit down.

Thank you.

Will you...

No.

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.

Police work?

I don't mean to cause offense.

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, it'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?

Oh, no, of course not.

And as for your daughter
being involved,

it wasn't my choice,
nor in fact was it hers.

In fact, 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.

Hello?

Can I help you?

I'm looking for
D.C.S. Foyle.

You're Andrew?

Yes.

I thought
you might be.
I'm Paul Milner.

I work with your father.

You 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?

Well, 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?

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 defense
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 currently being
held under arrest, Sir.

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 defense 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 offense is.

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

Richard, all he told me

was that he's involved in
some test on the South Coast.

Well, of course it's secret.

If it wasn't 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
that's not surprising...

they've got so many
different divisions.

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

see if he can dig anything up.

Thank you, but you shouldn't
get involved in any of this.

Listen, I'm obviously
not gonna be around

for a couple of days,

so you should 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.

Have 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 hidden somewhere,

it was probably
destroyed in the fire.

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 we'd found it

rather than being
pleased to see it.

Perhaps there's a link
between him and Davies

that we don't know about.

Yeah, quite possibly.

And the daughter...
did we get her name?

No, just that she
fell under a train.

Well, did she fall,
or was she pushed?

Could she possibly have been

having an affair with
Davies, do you think?

It would explain how he
got hold of 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
tried 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 supposed
to have 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?

Name is Anne, has an aunt
with a flower shop.

That's not much to go on.

In Hastings.

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.

We could be talking treason!

We're talking nonsense!

These documents
were discovered missing

at 0600 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 defense.

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 this?

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, Mr. Foyle,

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'm sorry.
I don't know
your surname.

He works with you?
He's 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
good-bye.

Oh, you're leaving?

They've made me.

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's something

that 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.

Where are they sending you?
Can you tell me that?

No.

But when you find
Andrew, tell him...

Well, just say
good luck from me.

Why don't we just go in?

We can't.

Maybe he hasn't done anything.

And if I was to ask him
about Andrew,

he wouldn't tell me anyway.

Why should he?

We could follow him back
to where he's based.

We'd get arrested as spies.

I'm gonna 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.

Shall we go?

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

Yes. Henley Terrace is
just around the corner.

You waiting here?

Sir, why don't you
let me do it?

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

Think so?

Well, if we can catch him
alone having a drink,

he might give me a clue.

All right. Be careful.

There we are, Sir.

Thanks.

What'll it be, Miss?

I'll have a glass
of Sherry, please.

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.
That's very kind.

Cigarette?

Mmm.

Are you ATS?

No, MTC

Your Sherry, Miss.

How about you?

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.

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.

Hmm.

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
that girl

seems to have
deliberately
followed him in.

I did no such thing.

I'm sure you didn't,

but that's a loose
tongue you have...

a very loose tongue,

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

So 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.

Aah!

What happened?

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

He rumbled me straightaway.

What is it?
You all right?

Actually, he pinched me.

He did what?

You know.

Quite hard.
It really hurt.

I'll have a word with him.

No, no, no. It would only
confirm his suspicions.

Maybe dad was right.

Perhaps I ought to write
to the association
for moral hygiene.

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.

Hmm.

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 marvelous.
She's indefatigable.

Who's that at this hour?

I'll go, if you like.

No, you stay here.

Oh, I know this.

Alastair, who is it?

Alastair?

Excuse me. 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.

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...

Is by Francois Berault.

I'm sorry, Sir?

It's a tragedy.

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

but this is wonderful.

It's a Berault.

French impressionist.

He did sketches and drawings.

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

figures, horses.

This is a petite danseuse,

about 1880.

How do you know, Sir?

I studied art at university

before I found my vocation.

I've always
maintained
an interest.

And you're sure that
this is by Berault?

Yes. I actually
saw it once...

or something
very like it...
in London,

in the Whittington 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.

Dad, what are you doing?

Why, 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?

Uh, 21 years.

Children?

Two sons, both in the RAF

I understand
your husband was
a serving officer.

Lot of responsibility?

I can't talk about that.

But, um, was it the case?

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...

You must understand that
I can't tell you anything
about what he was doing.

I'm not allowed to.

No. His... 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 would gladly
stick a knife in him.

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.

Well, that's not possible.

Anyway, I'm afraid
this takes priority.

You don't feel
they're connected?

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.

Andrew?

Dad?

How are you?

I'm all right.
I'm glad you're here.

Well, this is a complete
bloody mess, isn't it?

You're telling me.

You never mentioned
your Communist party
membership with 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's taken
the documents,

and they've put them
in your locker,
haven't they?

Yes, but a lot
of strange things

have been going on
around here even
before I got posted.

A girl killed
herself... Lucy.

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 Milner...
sergeant Milner.

You spoke to my senior officer,
D.C.S. 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. Milner.

I think you must be mistaken.

There's nothing missing.

Yes, that's what it looks like,

but we've recovered
a statuette belonging
to this gallery

from the wreckage of
Graham Davies' 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
D.C.S. Foyle was true,

except that your
security arrangements

weren't quite
as foolproof
as you made out.

The shorthand, "S" for sketch.

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

You tell me.

There was a sketch

that showed 3 dancers on
a single sheet of paper.

There was also
a statuette of a dancer

made by Berault in his old age.

Graham Davies was the only one

who actually climbed
into the van.

The first Berault,
the statuette,

went into a compartment
underneath the seat.

The next Berault
was the sketch.

Unlike the paintings,

the drawings
and the 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 Berault
went into the lorry,

and two dancers
by Berault 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 Whittington
would probably be dead.

Who would 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 Berault

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
anymore, Sir.

Thanks to you,
it was destroyed.

Shall we go?

You're quite sure
about this, dad?

Oh, yes, I think so.

The station, please.

It was 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.

All right.
Good-bye.

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. Whittington

about her figurine.

Another casualty of the war.

Hmm.

Harold Smith?

They were lying about
their daughter Lucy.

She didn't fall under a train.

She jumped.
Exactly.

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.

Well, 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 gonna 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 he made her have
relations with him
up against the 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,

because they 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,

that 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.

The 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,

and this man came up to me.

He asked the way
to Henley Terrace,

and I told him.

I knew I got the right number...
number 10.

I could see that.

A man came to the door.

Yes?

Are you Graeme?

Yes. What do you want?

I want you
to have this,
you bastard.

I've never met Alastair Graeme.

I don't know what
he looked like.

He said he was Graeme.

He was Graham,
Mr. Smith,

but he was 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 there was
a Henley Terrace.

Yes. We met
the man you asked.

He's very hard of hearing.

And 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,
and I'm ashamed of it,

and it will 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've done absolutely
nothing wrong.

Well, not entirely the case.

You know exactly
why Lucy Smith
killed herself.

You helped cover
the whole thing 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 it 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?

Yeah.

So you think
I was imagining it?

Well, maybe.

I felt like Graeme
was trying to kill me.

I'm sure.

If it was him who
planted the documents,

surely it was him who
sabotaged the IFF
In my Spitfire.

I don't think it was sabotage.

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, 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.

Bloody hell, dad.
They're German!

In here!

What's that smell?

You all right?

Blow it out, would you?

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

Let's go.

Dad, wait.

Here comes the cavalry.

We were getting
worried about you, Sir.
You all right?

Well, no thanks to this one.

Sir?

We'll go in the back.

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