All language subtitles for Endeavour.S05E05.BluRay.1080p.DD5.1.H265-d3g (2)

Now entertain conjecture
of a time

When creeping murmur
and the poring dark

Fills the wide vessel
of the universe.

From camp to camp,
through the foul womb of night,

The hum of either army
stilly sounds.

That the fixèd sentinels
almost receive

The secret whispers
of each other's watch.

Fire answers fire,
and through their paly flames

Each battle sees
the other's umbered face.

Sechs, zwei, vier...

Acht, sechs, zwei.

Room service.

Come in.

Oh, just put it
over there, please.

♪ Zadok the priest ♪

Ladies and gentlemen,
please take your seats.

The recording
of Jeux Sans Frontières

will commence shortly.

VT roll to record.

Recording.

Right then,
good luck, everyone.

Julian set?

Eight, seven, six,

five, four, three,

two, one.

Cue Julian.

Bienvenue!
Wilkommen!

Benvenuto and welcome

to this British heat
of Jeux Sans Frontières!

This week we are coming to you
from Oxford, England,

the famous city
of dreaming spires,

and a renowned seat of learning
for nigh on a thousand years.

See you tomorrow.

Expecting rain,
Mr. Mullion?

You know me, sir.

Never without my brolly,
rain or shine.

How's Winston?

Slowing up a bit,
sir.

Getting old,
I expect.

Know how he feels.

♪ And all the people rejoiced ♪

♪ Rejoiced ♪

♪ Rejoiced and sang ♪

And here come the teams.

The French team
from Saint-Josse-du-Bois,

a little ville
in the Pas-de-Calais.

Great Britain, represented
by Oxford, of course.

Competitors from
all walks of life.

I'm told we even have a British
bobby amongst their number.

Oh, dear, the British team
is down.

Looks like he sprained
an ankle.

What a time to get an injury,

just before the fun's about
to start.

All the way from Maienfeld,
we have the Swiss.

CH there.

And last, but by no means
least,

Deutschland-- the Germans,

bringing up the rear.

Well, there we have it,

all the teams ready
and under starters' orders.

And they're off.

There they go, the giants
racing along the track.

Over the hurdles
and to the far end.

where they must collect
the bones of an Englishman

from one of their teammates.

And Great Britain already
surging ahead there.

He's already got his bones,

and he is off.

Oh, he has collided
with Belgium.

Belgium is down!

And Great Britain
isn't even pausing for breath.

He has got the finish line
surely in his sights.

Ow!

Help!

But it is our late substitution
from Great Britain

who has come in first.

Well done, Great Britain.

Well done, everyone.

How about that,
then, matey?

Well done.

I owe you one.

You owe me
more than one.

How's the ankle?

I'll live.

Well,

that was all rather marvelous,
I must say.

What's wrong
with the German?

Passed out,
probably.

It gets bloody hot
in those suits.

You're telling me!

Help, help, please help!

Why don't you see
what that is?

Doctor! Find a Doctor!

Please!

Steven!

Let me through! Let me through!
Thank you.

It's all right, it's all right,
it's all right, I'm a doctor.

Help me,
please!

Stand back, give him room.

Right.

What's happening
with him?

What's the matter
with him?

Please help me!

Ambulance-- now!

Police!

Thursday
household.

Fred?

Entry just below the sternum,
no exit.

And there is a considerable
loss of blood.

So there should be
two units

of O-neg on standby.

And Mr. Urquhart's

on his way
from the JR.

No debate.

He's the best PT man
in the country.

Be in theater,
four minutes, go!

Go!

Ladies and gentlemen,

I am afraid
one of the competitors

has unfortunately
been taken ill.

I am sorry to say
that today's tournament has...

Sir.

Do we know who he is?

One of the West German team.

I've got Fancy and Trewlove
talking to the coach

for furthers and betters.

Four shots.

Three to the back,
one to the side.

I'm no expert, but looks
to have been pretty close range.

Somebody
wasn't messing.

There was a fifth round.

Looks to have struck
a little boy in the crowd.

Dr. DeBryn's gone with him
to Cowley General.

Must have passed right
through the giant's costume.

We'd have heard it,
wouldn't we?

Not if the weapon
was silenced.

This is just a bit
of silly fun.

Why on Earth
would people have guns?

Did anyone collide with anyone
before he fell?

Everyone was running into
everyone else, it looked like.

The plucky Belgian is down,
and the Briton pulls in front.

And there goes the German,

There.
Goodness gracious me...

Take it back.

VT back to 5:21:30.

And play.

And the Briton pulls in front.

And there goes the German,
goodness gracious me...

Who's the Swiss?

Chap called Werfeli,
Matthias Werfeli,

cried off this morning--
feeling unwell, apparently.

Looks like they played
a sub for the giants race.

Who's the sub?

Nobody seems to know.

But that's
hardly surprising,

given the size
of the team.

Everyone took him
for a bona fide,

as he had
the right tracksuit.

Only nobody's seen him
since the race.

Dead man's
a Karl Pfuscher, sir,

according to
the team coach.

Some sort of postal clerk
in Werfen, Bavaria.

Only moved there about what,
three months ago?

From where?
Strasbourg.

He'd been working
as a translator

for the Council
of Europe.

Next of kin?

We're looking
into it, sir.

I'll dig out this Werfeli,
see what his story is.

Where are the Swiss
team staying?

The Amber Lodge.

You think
he's in on it?

Well, I think
it's a long way to come

and not take part
in the games.

I'll take it from here,
thank you.

So this is Werfeli?

Mm-hmm.

A Swiss national.

Whoever shot the West German
and the little boy

was masquerading
as this man.

Strangled.

Last six hours.

Taken from behind.

Some kind of
wire garrote

would be
my best opinion.

Know more once
I've got him unzipped.

Shall we say 3:00?

So someone killed him

to take his place
in the giant race?

Seems a lot of trouble
to go to.

Why not just do the German
at his hotel,

same as he's done
this fella?

Perhaps Pfuscher
knew his killer?

Maybe he was already in fear
of his life and on guard.

Somebody comes
all the way to Oxford

to bump him off?

In front of a couple
of thousand people?

And the telly?

It doesn't make sense.

Well, may be it was
the only way

that the killer
could get to Pfuscher.

You better go over

to Pfuscher's hotel now
to get some real leads.

Girlfriend?
My guess.

I've asked for a list of
everyone staying in the hotel.

Danulka's not
a German name.

From where, then?

I think the church
in the background

is Saint Vitus Cathedral,
Prague.

Czech, then?

Mm, I've been through Pfuscher's
hotel telephone records.

He made two calls
when he got here,

one at 11:45
the night he arrived.

Oxford code,
just rings and rings.

And the other?

20 past four
yesterday afternoon

to the porter's lodge
at Beaufort.

Division have been notified.

They are liaising
with Interpol.

One foreign national
shot dead by another.

The last thing we need
is an international incident.

I'd say we got one, sir,
whether we like it or not.

This is a family game show
in Oxford,

not the Mexico Olympics.

What's the news
on the child?

Open order.

The next 48 hours
should tell.

Mrs. McLean?

Detective Chief Inspector
Thursday,

Detective Sergeant
Morse.

Zoe.
How is he?

They said
he wouldn't've made it

if he hadn't been seen to
by the doctor in the ambulance.

Dr. DeBryn.

Have you got who did it?

No, not yet.

It wasn't intentional,
as far as we know.

But how could this happen
to my boy?

We don't know,
yet.

But we'll get
to the bottom of this.

You have my word.

Hello?

Whose number is this?

Yes?

May I help you?

About this little boy,
is it?

I don't know what
the world's coming to.

Rack and ruin,
like as not.

I mean, on a Sunday, too.

We had ballroom practice
booked for 3:00.

Crime waits for no man.

Well, that's something
I won't miss.

We'd best be off.

No sandwich today?

Sunday?

We'll have a roast
at the Lamb and Flag.

Come home safe.

Righto.

It's gone.

All of it.

Special Branch came
in the early hours.

Whatever it is,
it's out of our hands.

Perhaps it's
for the best.

Best for whom?
All right, Morse.

I don't care for it
any more than you,

but such are our orders, and
it behooves us to follow them.

All of us.

Two men are murdered
on our ground, and that's it?

That's it.

And what about
the little boy?

Go home.

It's Sunday.

See you tomorrow.

Morse.

A D-notice,
if you please.

I haven't had one of those
slapped on me since the war.

What's going on?

Your guess is
as good as mine.

We're out
of the picture, truly.

Special Branch.

National security,
then.

Oh, the Greater Good,
I don't doubt.

Did your photographer
take any photographs?

Some.

What're you looking for?
The teams.

I'll drop them
by the office first thing.

Could you mark it
just for me?

Also, if there's anything
in the archive

on a Karl Pfuscher,
German.

Should there be?
Oh, I don't know.

Isn't your girl
a photographer?

Hmm.

She asked me
to sign a book for her.

Seems nice.

Which book?

My Time and Career.

Which I can only say

shows excellent taste
and discernment.

You're not going
to let this go, are you?

Thank you
for coming in.

Any news on the boy,
McLean?

I just spoke
to the cutter.

We were
at Bart's together.

Best pediatric thoracic man
in the country.

He's hopeful, but the boy's
not out of the woods yet.

I spoke
to his mother.

She said
you saved his life.

Oh, I don't know
about that.

She does,
so does the surgeon.

Well, made a change to work
on a live patient, I suppose.

But I wouldn't want
to make a habit of it.

Each to their own.

So.
So Pfuscher.

I was here working on him
when they rolled in.

Credentials and paperwork
all in order.

They've taken
both bodies

and my notes.

But not my brain.

Same weapon?

The bullets I dug out
of Pfuscher

were a match for those
that the surgeon removed

from little
Steven McLean.

Right--
and the Swiss, Werfeli?

Whoever killed him knew
exactly what they were about.

Right.

Anything else?

Well, it looks as if Pfuscher
did a bit of shopping

when he got here.

Amongst
his personal effects,

there was a receipt
for a picture and a clock.

There was nothing like that
in his digs.

Any idea
where he bought them?

Afraid not.

Fiver for the picture,
tenner on the carriage clock.

No furthers
and betters on either.

But his teeth I do recall.

He wore an upper denture.

There's nothing unusual
in that, is there?

No, but you said
he was Bavarian,

didn't you?
Mm-hmm.

Well, the last time I looked,
Bavaria was in West Germany.

The workmanship
on the dentures

suggests they were made

on the other side of the wall.

In the Russian sector?

Yes.

East Germany to you and me.

I thought
you had to work.

Clearly.

Are you
going somewhere?

Just tidying.

It's a little late
for a spring clean.

Well, you don't have to be
a policeman all the time.

Sometimes things
are just what they look like.

I thought
we could get lunch.

A pub lunch, maybe.

Why, what would
you like to do?

Something
I've never done before.

It's pretty.

Prettier in summer.

Sun's gone already.

Year's turned.

Pretty soon it will
be bonfires and hoarfrost.

Mist'll rise.

Winter is on its way.

Hey.

I wasn't ready.

That's the point.

You ran into Dorothea.

She signed my book.
So she said.

Have you read it?
No.

You should--
it's a classic.

Is that what you want?

Something like that?

I'm not
that good a writer.

That's why
I've got this.

A picture is worth
a thousand words, right?

Well, depends
on the words.

No, all right.

All right,
I'd just need it

back in the account
this side of Christmas.

Anyway, Charlie,
I mustn't dawdle.

Morse has just turned up.

Morning, Morse.
Mrs. Thursday.

Yeah.

Yep, cheerio,
then.

Give my best
to Paulette and Carol.

What was
all that about?

Oh, he just rang for a chat,
that's all.

You remember my brother.

Carol sent her best,
apparently.

Oh.
Ta.

Come home safe.

Righto.

See you tomorrow.

There, there,
that's a good boy.

Usual?

Yeah, and a quarter of navy,
too.

You been in the wars,
Elsie?

Walked into a door,
silly moo.

Is that right?

I've told her
to go more careful.

This is everything we have
on file for Karl Pfuscher.

If you have any information
for the press,

please let me know first.

University of Oxford.

Good morning, this is Detective
Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

I'm trying to reach
a Dr. Schneider.

I'm shocked.

Shocked.

That's simply terrible.

I can't believe it.

Have you heard
from Herr Pfuscher recently?

Not in a few months.

He was in Strasbourg,
you know,

at the Council
of Europe,

working as
a senior translator.

He didn't call you
Friday afternoon?

Around 4:30?

No.

No, he didn't.

How had he seemed
in his letters?

Was there anything
troubling him?

No.

No, he was happy.

He had met a young woman
and was very much in love.

Was this Danulka?

That's right.

You wouldn't know her surname?

I'm afraid not.

But she was Czech,
though, right?

Yes.

They met when she came
to Strasbourg

as part of
a trade delegation.

Karl wrote to me

that they hoped
to marry in the summer.

Now, I know he'd recently
moved to Bavaria,

but where was he from
originally?

Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin.

It's on the other side
of the wall now, alas.

Was there anyone else in Oxford
he was close to at the time?

He had a girl
in Headington.

On Sebastopol Terrace.

What number?

I'm afraid
I never met her.

Samantha was her name.

Smith... or Samantha Jones

or Brown
or something.

And he was good friends
with Professor Richmond,

of course.
Alexander Richmond?

That's right.

Do you know him?

Excuse me, sir, I'm looking
for Professor Richmond's rooms.

Stair J, sir.
Thank you.

Someone called the gatehouse
Friday afternoon.

A Karl Pfuscher.

I would like to know who
he was calling to speak to.

What time, sir?

It was about 20 past four.

I will check
the duty log, sir.

Perfect, thank you.

Come.

Professor Richmond.

It's, um...

Morse.

Of course.

Good heavens.

Didn't you partner me

at the Traveler's once?

Once, yes.
Yes.

Not a bad dummy.

Lost the Grand Slam in the
final rubber, I remember.

The bid was four, no trump,

and you answered aces,
wasn't it?

I couldn't say.

Yes.

Your mistake, you see.

Four no trump is not
always Blackwood.

Well.

This is a pleasant surprise.

Sherry?

I won't, actually--
I'm here on official business.

I'm with
Thames Valley Police,

a detective sergeant.

Oh, I see.

I wanted to ask you
about Karl Pfuscher.

A German student.

He came up in '58.

Oh, you flatter me.

I'm lucky
if I can remember last term,

never mind the best part
of ten years ago.

Well, you remembered me.

I remembered the game.

Well, I can show you
a photograph.

Perhaps that would help.

No.

I'm afraid not.

Why?

Um, what is
all this about?

Well, if you don't remember,
it doesn't matter much.

Sorry to have troubled you.

I have checked the duty log
for Friday, sir.

No messages
that afternoon.

Hm.

Well, thank you.

Thank you
for checking.

Not at all, sir.

Anything we can do
to help the boys in blue.

Morse-- hello?

You've been asking
about Karl Pfuscher.

Who is this?

I might be able to help you

if you fancy a trip to London.

Help me how?

Museum tube, 6:00.

You got that?

Yes, I've got that.

Oh, and wear an evening suit.

What?

Hello?

Hello?

Tickets... thank you.

Thank you,
thank you.

Sorry.

Morse, isn't it?

Singleton.

Who are you?

I told you,
I'm Singleton.

Is that your real name?

If you were important enough
to lie to,

you'd probably
be dead already.

Where are you going?

You like music,
don't you?

What's with
all the pantomime?

Pantomime?

Bringing me down
to London, all this.

Two old friends going
to see a concert?

But we're
not old friends.

And we are not going
to see a concert.

Are we being followed?

Spot of supper,
don't you think?

With Special Branch

having taken the international
business off our hands,

we can turn
our attention back

on this Ames character.

What's the latest development?

Nothing much to add
since the last briefing, sir.

Jim?

We've braced
all potential associates

and regular informants,
sir,

particularly amongst
the colored community,

but so far
there hasn't been a peep.

Where's Morse in all this?

He generally has something
useful to contribute.

Pursuing inquiries,
sir.

Good God!

It's a machete-wielding
West Indian

with a distinctive facial scar
we're trying to find.

In Oxford!

Its not the Scarlet Pimpernel.

No, sir.

We must redouble our efforts.

All of us.

Division want him found,
and sooner rather than later.

Certainly not before another
piece of his bloody handiwork

ends up on Dr. DeBryn's
mortuary table.

Very well, carry on.

I bear grave news.

The chicken pie is off.

I call that
a very bad show.

Morse,

Louis.

Louis, Morse.

You've 30 seconds to tell me

who you are
and what you want,

or else I'm leaving.

We're wardens in ordinary

attached to
St. Peter ad vincula.

St. Peter in Chains.

That's the chapel
at the Tower.

Thomas More was buried there.

Oh, yes.

Thomas Cromwell,
Anne Boleyn,

Lady Jane Grey.

The lopped heads
of old England.

Traitors all.

If you know that much,
you know it's a Royal Peculiar.

Please.

So you answer
only to the crown.

That's right.

So what do you want?

To help-- what else?

With what?

Pfuscher.

And what's in it for you?

You should take a look
at Sebastian Fenix.

The parfumier?

Oh, the world-famous
multi-millionaire parfumier,

playboy, and philanthropist.

Why don't you
take a look at him?

You're the policeman.

Every game must be played
according to its rules.

Is what happened
to Pfuscher

in some way connected
to Fenix?

He acted as interpreter
to Fenix for a while.

Fenix has a factory
north of Oxford.

We'd be very interested
in anything you might pick up.

Particularly anything

being made
in laboratory four.

Why don't you take a look?

Do you love your country?

Do you still beat your wife?

We're on the side
of the angels.

Quite literally.

I'm not a spy.

Neither are we.
Then what are you?

Keepers
of the secret flame.

Guardians
of the realm.

Britain's last
line of defense.

So why me?

You're a policeman.

You can legitimately
look into matters

beyond our sphere
of influence.

And you can just as legitimately

wipe your hands of it

if anything goes wrong.

Something like that.

Enjoy your potted shrimp.

It's entirely your decision,
but this may prove instructive.

Our parfumier is quite
photogenic.

Burn it when you're done.

We have copies.

Early for you, Mr. Thursday.

Early bird, Else,
catches the worm.

Your eye's
on the mend.

Pound of best rump,
that cost me.

Money well spent.

You want to watch where
you're going in the future.

What I told her--
kettle.

Not the first time,
is it?

She's clumsy,
what can you do?

I'd hate for it
to be anything else, Joe.

Any man'd raise a hand
to a woman

is about as low as it gets,
in my book.

Goes on between a husband
and wife's their business.

Till it becomes mine.

Sir.

Anything in?

Pretty quiet
as it goes.

Couple
of car thefts.

Indecent exposure
on Catte Street.

Oh, and a Dr. Schneider
called.

It slipped my mind,

Karl did ask something

which I thought
a little strange.

In one of
his last letters,

he asked
if I had any information

about
our old language tutor.

Your language tutor?

Yes, when we came
to Oxford,

we both had lessons
to improve our English

with a Miss Bagshot.

It was recommended
by the college

for all foreign students.

Did he say why he wanted
to speak with her?

No, only that she had been
on his mind lately.

I found her address
and telephone number

and sent it to Karl.

Did he ever mention
Sebastian Fenix?

The parfumier?
Mm-hmm.

No, never.

Not to me, at least.

Miss Bagshot?
Yes?

So... what do you want,
Detective...?

Morse.

I believe you knew
Karl Pfuscher.

I'd be interested in anything
you could tell me about him.

Pfuscher, Pfuscher--
that's what, German?

Mm-hmm.

He came up in '58,
to Beaufort.

Ah, I have had a lot of pupils
over the years.

He's the one
on the right.

Oh, yes, I believe
he came to me for a while.

Why?

He was killed.

In Oxford,
Saturday.

Murdered.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

But I hadn't seen him
in seven, eight years.

Do you recognize anyone
in this photograph?

Am I likely to?
You tell me.

No, no one there
I know.

Really?

I don't know what you could
possibly expect me to tell you.

You could tell me
why he called you

the evening he came to England.

I wasn't aware he had.

I have his hotel bill.

He was on the line
for three minutes.

Long time to listen
to a ringing telephone.

You're either incredibly brave
or incredibly stupid.

You look like
a decent enough young man,

so perhaps it's the former,

but you really
are involving yourself

in matters
way above your pay grade.

What matters?

Leave it to Special Branch.

How do you know about that?

You can't be that naïve.

The world is divided in two.

Freedom on one side,
the Russians on the other,

and a bloody great wall
down the middle,

separating the two of them.

There's a war of shadows.

There's a little boy,
Steve McLean.

Six years old.

He's been caught in the
crossfire of whatever this is.

He's in Cowley General
recovering from gunshot wounds.

I will get
to the bottom of this.

For his sake.

You've wandered into
no-man's-land, Mr. Morse.

Take my advice.

Retrace your steps,
go back,

while you still can.

What if I'm already too far in?

Then I'll light a candle
for you.

I don't want to have to raise
my voice in front of the men,

but this station is currently
under review.

They wouldn't simply

shut Cowley down, though,
would they, sir?

Results, Thursday,
results.

We shall live or die
by our achievements.

Or the lack of them.

To be honest, sir,

I'm not sure I've got
the miles left in me

to start over at a new nick.

Particularly if it meant
a new governor.

Sorry to interrupt,
sir,

but there's a report
just through

that the Hope and Anchor
on Shadforth Street

has been turned over.

Mob-handed,

according
to initial reports.

That's Eddie Nero's boozer.

Trewlove.

A number of cars arrived
at about 1:00, sir.

We've got a partial index
from a passer-by.

Good work, Constable.

Well, this is
a right mess.

Looks like
a proper carve-up.

Nobody saw anything,
I suppose.

Not according
to the landlord, sir.

I can put
the squeeze on.

Forget it, Sergeant,
it's Summertown.

Welcome to
Fenix Industries.

Thank you, sir.

Thank you.

Remarkable creatures.

Erpetoichthys horrida.

Commonly known as
the estuarine snakefish.

They secrete
a lethal toxin

from glands
on the base

of the spines
on their dorsal fin

which stick up
when disturbed.

Or threatened.

Goes by the name
of Tiddles, presumably.

That's an
unusual pet.

I'm attracted
to unusual things.

Can I have Miss Borgia
to fix you a drink?

She mixes a martini
to die for.

I'm sure,
but no, thank you.

What is it you do here?

I'm curious.

A fatal flaw in cats,
Mr. Morse.

We make perfume.

And an awful lot
of money.

Dollars and scents.

It's easy to mock,

but to make great perfume
takes genius

and a nose
that would shame

the greatest sommelier
in the world.

Thankfully,
I possess both.

And no end of modesty.

A much
over-prized virtue.

Come, let me show you.

Fenix Industries
has many interests.

The company began
as a Venetian perfume house

in the 13th century.

Our world-famous
fragrances

remain a source
of great pride

and no little income,

but since the war, Fenix has
diversified into many fields.

Such as?

One half
of this facility

is a pharmaceutical
research laboratory,

specializing
in bacteriological

and virological
research.

Tuberculosis bovina.

Foot and mouth.

But that's nothing
you couldn't have ascertained

with a single phone call
to the right ministry.

So what do you
really want to know?

What you were doing
with Karl Pfuscher in Geneva?

Business.

Our usual translator
was indisposed.

We had a narrow window
of opportunity

to conduct
our dealings.

Karl was free,
came highly recommended,

and was well rewarded
for his time.

And when was this?

A couple of days
last autumn.

Have you
seen him since?

No-- why?

What's your interest?

Someone pumped four rounds
of ammunition into him

this Saturday
at close range

with a silenced
automatic pistol.

Ah-- not now,
thank you.

I see.

And you imagine, somehow,

that Fenix Industries
had something to do with that?

Oh, alas, I fear I must
disappoint your expectations.

I'm a scientist, yes,
but not a mad one.

We shall have
to take your word for that.

Hm.

For the moment, at least.

I would be delighted

to give you a complete tour
of the facility,

just to show you
we have no secrets to hide,

no dark agenda
for world domination.

But I am pressed for time,
and it will have to wait.

Make an appointment
with Miss Borgia.

I'd be more than happy
to oblige.

Until then,

a bottle of
my latest creation.

Vespertine.

By way of a souvenir
of your visit.

Give it to your girlfriend,
or someone you love.

I'm sure I could find room
for it in the evidence store.

Evidence of what?

Your genius.

What else?

Life is not a paperback,
Mr. Morse.

For a policeman
with an overdeveloped sense

of right and wrong,

it's a bad film
with an unhappy ending.

One in which
the villain gets the girl,

and the money,
and the world entire.

And the hero?

There's your mistake.

Conscience is
a negotiable commodity.

There are no heroes.

No white hats,
no black hats.

Just shades of green.

Money.

That's the true
universal panacea.

Good for anything
that ails you.

Wiedersehen.

This way Mr. Morse.

Thought you might be
in the mood to talk.

Now you have
had a clear-up.

To you?

Think on.

The bookie's last week,
now your boozer?

All I hear, since
that lorry load of Kilorran

was knocked off this summer,

arse has fallen out
of the hijack business, too.

Someone's beating you
to the punch week-in, week-out.

Know a lot, don't you?

Who's putting
the squeeze on, Eddie?

You think I knew that
I would be here?

I'd hope you'd come
and have a quiet word with us

before you did anything rash.

You don't want
to be going

taking the law
into your own hands, Eddie.

That's Mr. Nero to you, boy.

Do I have to teach you
some manners?

You want some n'all?

Any time, any place.
All right.

All right.

We're here after
doing you a favor, Eddie.

But things
can always change.

What favor?

This turns into a proper
Watney Street knees-up,

it's only
a matter of time

before some innocent bystander
cops it.

I can't have that
on the street.

You want whoever's at it
out of your hair,

we want them banged up.

I'm no grass.
I know.

Honor amongst.

But this ain't grassing.

Whatever you got,
the smallest thing.

Some bastard's got the nerve
to call me chicken.

Here!

Whoever it is had better pray
it's you finds that 'em first.

Black cockerel?

We've seen that before.

The Lloyd Collins killing,
sir.

Part of this hijack gang,
wasn't he?

That made off
with a lorry load of whisky

from Waddington Junction,
that's right, sir.

Suspicion was he'd been murdered
by one of his accomplices.

Some voodoo connection.

Ames?

You think he's behind
this turf war with Eddie Nero?

Certainly looks
that way, sir.

Does Nero know?

There'd be a lot more blood
on the streets if he did.

Anything for me?

Some mob smashed up
the Hope and Anchor.

Eddie Nero's place?

Jim and the old man's in
with Mr. Bright now.

Oh, a Dr. Schneider

dropped off a sketchbook
of Karl Pfuscher's

that he held on to
from their undergrad days.

Said some Samantha girl
could be in there.

Thanks.

Where'd you get to?

I was at the break-ins
in the Oxpens.

What break-ins?

It's in the log book.

Shirl.

Sir, do you have
a moment?

Of course, Constable.

Uh, come through.

Don't go
disappearing off.

I could do
with the benefit

of your wisdom
on Eddie Nero.

He had a girl in Headington,
on Sebastopol Terrace.

I've just come
from Dozier's Newsagents, sir.

Mrs. Dozier has been taken
by ambulance to Cowley General.

She's pretty badly hurt.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Dozier say
she had a fall down the stairs.

You believe them?

It's possible.

The carpet's worn through
to the floorboards at the top.

But to fall onto both sides
of her face at once?

I just thought
you should know.

All right, Constable,
good work-- carry on.

Where's Morse?

Just gone out.

Out where?

Overnight break-ins,
he said.

He was on that Swiss team
photograph I showed you.

Who is he?

Not a Swiss.

Pavel Mikhailovich Zorkin,
KGB.

What is this place?

Who lives here?

Nobody--
it's a safe house.

Could have fooled me.

Well, I did warn you
not to get involved.

Listen, if I fill you in
on some of it,

will you leave it
all alone?

Well, I think I've got
some of it already.

Karl Pfuscher was
a British asset,

recruited by Alexander Richmond,
is that right?

Mm, Alex has always had
a good nose.

A good eye, too.

Fancied you for a while.

I was Pfuscher's handler
for several years.

Ran him in and out
of East Germany.

Four years ago,
he was betrayed.

By who?

Well, your guess
is as good as mine.

The other side rolled up
half our network.

I barely got out alive.

We lost a lot
of good people.

Locals, in the main.

Liquidated.

We took Karl Pfuscher
to have been amongst them.

Only he wasn't dead.

No-- perhaps it would have
been better if he had been.

Because the Russians got him?

Mm, turned him.

Double agent.

I dread to think
what secrets he gave up.

He disappeared
for a while.

During which time, he fell
in love with a Czech girl.

Danulka.

Mm, she died
two months ago,

when the Red tanks
rolled into Prague.

Pfuscher got
in contact again.

Said he wanted
to come in,

and moreover,
he said he had treasure.

What treasure?

Well, since '51, all eyes
have been on Cambridge,

but Pfuscher came into
information

that the Soviets
were running an active cell

out of Oxford
since the early '30s.

Codename "News."

And Pfuscher knew
who was in this cell?

Mm, he was going to tell me
the list of names

on Saturday night,
after the games.

That's why he got himself
onto the team.

God knows how many
they've recruited,

but there have been rumors
for some time

that HMG has been penetrated
to cabinet level,

maybe even beyond.

No, I don't believe that.
Well, you may not,

but our friends on the continent
seriously think so.

Why do you think de Gaulle
is so determined

to keep us out of
the European Community?

"Buy British, Get Boris."

So where does Fenix
fit into this?

Fenix?
Mm, Fenix Industries.

Pfuscher was working
as a translator for him

on some deal out of Geneva.
No.

He's got nothing to do with it,
as far as I know.

Right.

Well, would he have known
who was in this Oxford cell?

If I'd thought that,

it wouldn't have been him
I shot.

No, he's just a killer.

No, Karl was
the only one who knew.

So what now?

Perhaps you'll realize
why you really ought

to stay out of it.

Well, you know I have a duty
to report what's happened here.

Yes.

We all have a duty.

Your duty was to mind
your Ps and Qs

and report back
to Special Branch.

That was your duty.

Yes, but a little boy
has been shot.

Recompense will be made.

He'll recover,
he'll get over it.

Just as I'm sure
you will.

You don't want to go back
to jail, do you?

Or worse.

Look, by the time
your colleagues get here,

they won't find anything.

Not him, not me.

Do you honestly think that
they're going to believe

that a retired civil servant
who takes in language students

goes around shooting
Russian thugs?

We're closed.

You've been asking
after me.

Who's that?

You had some bad luck,
mister.

Your boy--
Flynn, was it?

You got some neck,
I'll give you that.

What's your name?

Ames-- Cromwell Ames.

What do you want, Mr. Ames?

Everything.

Protection, girls,
numbers, the gym.

All of it.

You can keep
the car ringing.

That's very generous.

Every dog has his day.

Is that right?

You think too small.

This is my town now.

I am serving you
notice of eviction.

You walk into my place,
alone...

No.

Never alone.

The devil walks
with me.

My name
is Crowmell Ames.

And I am come
to set a fire upon the cane.

What are you
doing here?

I tripped.

The lino rucked up
at the top of the stairs.

Sure.

And the next time?

He has to kill you
before I do something,

is that right?

Is there anyone
you can go to?

Family?
You can't go home.

I can't leave him.

Been together
nearly 40 years.

He wouldn't know
how to boil an egg.

Morse?

What happened to you?

Karl Pfuscher was, well,
not friends exactly,

but he was certainly
very well acquainted

with Alexander Richmond,
a professor at Beaufort.

Who is he?

He's just
an English don.

I attended one or two
of his lectures.

He asked me to partner him
at bridge.

And afterwards,
we had a very odd supper.

Odd in what way?

Well, it was just the two of us.

He asked me about my feelings
about the country.

Whether I'd consider working
for the Foreign Office.

Gossip was, he was
some sort of talent-spotter.

For who?

It's not our case.

Look.

Say it's on the level.

The Russian killed the Swiss
to get to Pfuscher.

Your guardian angel
kills the Russian.

The circle's closed.

And what about the little boy?

Does he not matter?

Of course he matters.

You want to do right by him,
make sure he's safe,

you keep him as far away
from all this as you can.

There are still two murders
on our ground.

Pfuscher was killed
for what he knew.

Chasing down communist spies?

We're meat-and-two-veg coppers,
not Dangerman.

Leave the Do or Die

to Special Branch.

We're not paid
to risk our necks

the way you've been.

Got a girl now, haven't you?

Win was saying--
Joan mentioned it.

You're no use to her
a dead hero.

Join you?

Yes, of course.

Can I get you a drink?

Uh, I'm fine.

Sure?

Thought I might
find you here.

Claudine rang.

Did she?

She told me to tell you,
"Vietnam."

Right.

You didn't know.

I'm sorry.
Was she?

You liked her?

You know me.

Easy come, easy go.

Have you eaten?

Of course.

Today?

When did you last eat?

I had planned to get something
with Claudine, but...

Doesn't matter.

You shouldn't drink
on an empty stomach.

That's exactly
when you should drink.

Drown your sorrows?

Just marinate them
a little.

It's what they're for,
isn't it?

Sorrows?

All right.

Good night.

I thought you were
keeping me company.

Not like this.

Do you want me
to call Jim Strange?

Make sure you get home?

No.

No.

Right.

How's it going
with you and Jim?

Well, it's hardly
The Yellow House.

But it means we can both
put something aside.

I should have enough
for a deposit

this time next year.

A man of property.

Yeah, I suppose.

Didn't Jane Austen
have something to say

about a single man
in possession of a good fortune?

Oh, I doubt it will be
Netherfield Park.

You didn't need
to walk me back, you know.

Old habits.

Do you want to come in?

For coffee?

Yeah.

I don't go much
for coffee.

Besides...

Besides?

I have got things to do.

Okay.

Well, good night, then.

What?
Is that Vespertine?

Mum got me a bottle
for my birthday.

What about it?

Hop in.

Well?

You wanted to know
what was in lab four?

Ambergris.

Secreted in the guts
of sperm whales.

It's used in perfume?

As a fixative,
that's right.

Traps aroma on the skin
for long periods.

Rare as hens' teeth.

And worth its weight in gold,
quite literally.

However,

fresh stuff is virtually
useless to parfumiers.

It takes 20 years
of immersion in the sea

to produce the white,
high-end stuff.

So he's curing his own,
so what?

We had thought as much,
but we couldn't prove it.

Until now.

Right.

So how's he coming by
so much raw ambergris?

Well, that's
where Pfuscher came in.

He was the translator for
the deal that Fenix struck

with Russian Baltic whalers
in Geneva.

As you know, that sort of trade
with the Soviets

is strictly verboten.

He couldn't keep a financial
contract like that under wraps.

Indeed not.

The factory was also doing work
for the chemical warfare boys

at Porton Down.

Always something new
out of Porton, the scamps.

So what you are saying is,

he's buying
raw ambergris

with confidential
scientific information?

How do you know that?

Because Pfuscher
told us so.

We were as doubtful
as you.

He visited Fenix's factory

on the Friday night
before the games

to prove his story.

Well, he wasn't as lucky
as you, though.

No.

Came up empty-handed

and had to make a run for it.

But now you've proved
he was telling the truth,

we can do something
about it.

Well, yes,
arrest him, presumably.

Nothing so heavy-handed.

Well, I suppose

you deserve your
quid pro quo.

For services rendered.

What is it?

Sechs, zwei, vier.

Eins, sieben,

zwei, fünf, acht.

Neun, sechs, zwei.

Vier, zwei, sechs.

Acht, fünf, zwei, neun.

Creepy.

It's a numbers station.

A which?

A numbers station.

It's a device used
to send coded information

to intelligence officers
working in foreign countries.

The sort of thing
we used to broadcast

to the Resistance
during the war.

"The geese
fly south tonight,"

"Uncle Pierre
has a blue hat."

Rubbish mostly,
but in amongst the dross

would be key phrases that meant
something to specific groups.

An instruction
to blow a railway,

or bring down
telegraph poles.

Mm, it's the same idea.

We used to listen in on them
in Signals.

Suppose none of it
means anything, does it,

unless you've got
the key?

That's about
the size of it.

So what's it
doing here?

It's a hotline,
presumably.

For the spy cell,
codename News.

Vier...

Did you speak
to the council?

Yeah,
they weren't best pleased

to be got out of their bed,
I can tell you.

Right, but who
is it down to?

Most of it's given over
to Beaufort College dons.

This particular strip's
held in the name of...

Ranunculus.

Is it Alexander Richmond?

Alexander Richmond,
that's right.

Want me to notify
Special Branch?

Yeah,
I think you'd better.

Wait, wait, wait,
Special Branch?

Yeah, we can hand him over
to them, by all means,

but he still
has two murders

and a wounded boy
to answer for.

It's us that should arrest him,
not Special branch.

Is Professor Richmond
in his rooms?

I couldn't say,
sir.

Professor Richmond.
Morse.

This is my colleague, Detective
Chief Inspector Thursday.

Oh, yes.

Uh, this about
that German, still?

Karl Pfuscher, that's right.

The man you recruited
to the intelligence services

while he was
an undergraduate.

I heard the stories.

We've had it confirmed.

By whom?

Millie Bagshot.

Not like Millie
to be, uh, so indiscreet.

Well, I may have done
my little bit

before and just after the war,

but it was only
spotting useful prospects.

No harm in that.

There wouldn't've been,
if that's all it was.

But some years earlier,

you'd been recruited yourself,
by the Soviets.

Every undergrad
that you recruited,

you sold out
to the Russians.

There's no point
denying it to us.

Special Branch are
on their way.

Now, we know
you didn't do it alone.

Who else was in on it
with you?

If you'll excuse me.

Hello?

Hello?

What're you doing here?

There's a body over
at Dozier's Newsagents, sir.

Strange has already
gone over there.

Has anyone come past you?
No.

Only the old bloke
with a bowler and a brolly.

Guard Richmond's
stairwell.

No one out or in.

Okay.

Mr. Mullion!

Mr. Mullion!

We need to you to call
an ambulance

for Professor Richmond.

He's been shot
in the shoulder.

The shoulder?

I'll take that,
if you don't mind.

Morse.

Canny.

Single shot.

All you need,
if you know what you're doing.

And, of course, you knew
exactly what you were doing.

Yes, I did.

I don't doubt it.

The gentlemen
are all well and good,

but if you want
something doing...

It's the little people
every time.

Hmm, "The meek
shall inherit the Earth,"

that it?
That's right, sir.

And you won't
even notice.

That's the thing
about us.

Nobody pays us any attention
because we don't matter.

Alex was
a good comrade,

but he couldn't
be allowed to talk.

He knew that.

He knew when he picked up
that telephone.

Who are you trying
to protect?

They'll get it
out of you.

Expect they will,
sir.

In time.

But by then,
it won't matter.

Do svedaniya, tovarishch.

You finish up here.

I'll get over to Strange
at the newsagent.

I saw that one coming.

I tried to warn her.

I'll make sure the bastard
gets what he deserves.

Broken neck.

What's with
the trousers?

Belt's about halfway
up the stairs.

He'd taken it off
for some reason.

Where is she?

Parlor.

No, no.

You're all right,
don't get up.

You sit there.

She said anything?

No, sir.

I...
Wait a minute.

You've had a shock.

You don't need
to say anything.

"Not obliged"
is the formal words.

But then, I haven't asked you
anything yet.

Do you mind?

I like the smell.

Me, too.

My father used to enjoy
a quiet pipe.

After tea.

Outside, is it?

Your necessary?

Up the yard.

Yeah, thought as much.

Same as when I was a boy.

Only then it was one

for every eight houses.

20 families.

Lodgers, callers.

A soul was lucky
to get a look in.

See...

This is how it is, Elsie.

The way I read it.

Joe gets taken short.

"Martyr to his innards,"
as he used to tell me.

So he's got taken short,

and in his rush
to get downstairs,

he's unfastens his belt,
goes arse over tit.

You said yourself,

that lino at the top
was worn through.

That sound about right
to you?

Not how he'd like
to have gone, I'm sure,

but nobody gets to choose.

Same with husbands
and wives.

Some get lucky.

Some don't.

But what happened
was an accident.

You understand me?

I thought this
was Special Branch now.

It is, I'm just tying up
loose ends.

Karl Pfuscher
booked a second room,

under the name
Samantha Smith.

I found it in
the hotel guest list.

So?

So Dr. Schneider
thought

Samantha Smith was a girlfriend
from Sebastopol Terrace,

but the only connection
he had to that place

was as a safe house.

Why would he book
two rooms?

Because he knew somebody
was trying to kill him,

and he didn't want whatever
he knew to die with him.

What he knew about what?

It will be in here.

Not in his own room.

But what?

Something that couldn't
be moved by the cleaners.

"Earth has not anything
to show more fair."

"Composed upon Westminster
Bridge, September 3, 1802."

Pfuscher had it bookmarked
in his room

with a picture
of his girlfriend.

"9302."

He had a receipt for a picture
in his personal effects.

What time do you make it?

What?

Just gone ten-- why?

The clock's stopped.

Hmm.

Well done.

What?

It's not stopped.

It's exactly the right time
it is supposed to be.

The same time as Big Ben
in the picture.

Right, Operation News.

That means there's
four of them.

Four of what?

Four agents
in the cell.

Richmond was obsessed
with bridge.

It's a game for four players,

each consisting of two pairs
playing at partners,

sat at north, south,
east, and west.

N-S-E-W.

Or in this case,
N-E-W-S.

News.

Ah.

Right, so, if Richmond and
Mullion are north and south,

who's east and west?

Why would you do that?
You're not God.

God was out--
he left me in charge.

And what about justice?

Well, maybe that's
what Joe Dozier got.

What, rough justice?

Natural justice.
And the law?

He'd've killed her.

No, you don't know that.

Yes, I do,
and so do you.

Maybe, but it's not
your decision to make.

This isn't the way.
Well, it's my way.

And I am too set in my ways
to change now.

I'm calling time.

Putting my papers in.

I wanted you
to be the first.

All this with
the cloak-and-dagger mob?

It's not my idea
of coppering.

This is
my bread and butter.

Least I did this right.

Come, I'll buy you a drink.

No, it's, just, um...

I'll just make sure she's
all right first.

All right.

That's the last of us.

How long
were you married for?

36 years.

So that would have been,
what, '32?

'31.

Where did you meet?

Soup kitchen.

The Depression.

Hard times.

And when did you get
the shop?

A few years later.

And would you
and Mr. Dozier

consider yourselves
tobacconists or newsagents?

Oh, tobacconists.

Really?

Not NEWS agents?

They must have laughed
about that one.

No more dead drops
and lonely park benches.

Mullion would come in here
every day

and buy a paper,

pass across the latest,
from Richmond to Moscow.

See you tomorrow.

Richmond's dead.

Special Branch have Mullion.

Pfuscher came over
with a microfilm.

Classified
personnel files.

Communist Party cards.

Richmond's name
was on it.

Mullion's, yours,
your late husband.

How long have you been
a member of the party?

Joe was already a member
when I met him.

Local CP was the only place
you could get a hot meal.

You came in with empty stomachs,
and they fed you revolution.

You've no idea.

You've never gone without.

People were dying.

Families thrown out
on the street,

'cause they couldn't
pay their rent.

Men and women doing for
themselves and their kiddies,

on account of they couldn't
afford to feed 'em.

It wasn't about revolution.

Well, not at the start.

Well, then, what was it about?

Fairness.

An equal share.

CP did more
for the likes of us

than any rich bastard.

Ruling class?

Rule is right,

and with an iron fist.

I remember Churchill turning
the troops on the miners.

We believed, me and Joe,
in a better world.

But it didn't come fast enough?

Yeah.

When did
the violence start?

With the drink.

A liability for a spy,
I suppose.

He lost his way.

But you didn't.

No.

I still believe.

Mullion said if you want
something doing,

you have to leave it
to the little people.

Well, each according
to their gifts.

Hmm, yeah,
I don't doubt it.

You may have just have been
a small cog in a big wheel,

but because of your actions,
people died.

Innocent people, just like you.

Germans, Czechs,
Russians.

Who didn't agree
with your principles.

It's war.

I'd do it again,
without a second thought.

Well, that's why you'll lose.

Nurse.

Nurse!

I got you a pint.

I can see-- cheers.

What you
were saying earlier.

You're not
really thinking of...

What, turning in the tin star?

Hanging the Winchester

over the fireplace?

Win'd like me to.

While I can still turn a turn
or two around the floor.

We've got a bit put by--
not a lot, but enough.

Sam's in the army,
Joan's making her way.

I'd sooner she was settled,

but I won't hold my breath.

I've had my go--
it's your time now.

I'm not ready.

You've always been ready.

You just needed someone
to tell you, is all.

When will you leave?

End of the year
seems about right.

See what's what
with the station.

Get the new man in,
whoever he might be.

New year, new leaf.

Chin up.

These are the good days,
the ones to look back on.

You got some good mates.

Strange, Mr. Bright,

Fancy.

Trewlove's promising.

A woman in C.I.D.,
imagine that.

Mm, imagine.

Trust me,
people come and go.

Go, mostly.

Slip away
and go their own separate.

You need to make the most
of them while they're here.

That reminds me,
Win's expecting me.

We're tripping the light
this evening.

Semis.

One for the road?

Oh, I can't.

No, of course.

Next time.

Take my advice,

you'll get back

to that girl of yours.