An alarm clock rings. Grace Phillips reaches over from the bed to shut it off. She sits up and turns the lamp on. Her boyfriend Harry Osborne stirs as she starts getting dressed.

Harry: What time is it? 

Grace: Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up. 

Harry: I'm cold. Come back to bed. 

Grace: I can't. It's half six. 

Harry: Give us a kiss. 

She gives him a quick kiss that turns into a longer one, then pulls away from him.

Grace: I can't. I told you. 

Harry: So this is what it's going to be like, is it, when me and you is married? 

Grace: I won't work. Not after the w*r. 

Harry: This bleedin' w*r. Can't end bloody soon enough.

He sits up to give her another kiss.

Harry: You're a wonderful girl, you know that, Grace. Couldn't live without you. You're my best girl. 

She continues getting dressed.

Grace: Harry... 

Harry: What? 

Grace: We need to talk. 

Harry: What about? 

Grace: You know what about. 

Harry: Oh, we've already talked about that. 

Grace: I know, but I just-

Harry: Not now, Gracie. You've got to get to work. Go on. Hop it. 

She goes to get her coat.

Harry: Oi! 

Grace: What? 

Harry: You forgetting something? 

Grace: Oh. I'd forget me own head if it wasn't screwed onto me shoulders. 

Harry: You heard what the quack said. You gotta look after yourself.

Grace tips some powder from an envelope into a glass and pours water onto it.

Harry: I tell you what, how about you and me meet for tea at the Corner House after work? 

Grace drinks the mixture.

Grace: Can you afford it? 

Harry: You can pay. 

Grace: Harry! Don't let Mr Johnson see you on your way out. 

Outside. Grace rides her bicycle amid a group of other workers. She looks a little queasy as she rides.

CAPTION: DECEMBER 1942

Munitions factory. Workers are arriving for the day. A coach pulls up outside, and an older woman, Hilda Greenwood, is among those getting off.

Hilda: Thanks, Stan. Have a nice day. Ooh, it's cold. Ooh. Bye-bye. 

Factory changing rooms. Women swap their outdoor clothes for their work overalls.

Hilda: Ooh, here they are. I thought you'd taken them again. I know you. 

Grace is getting changed next to Hilda.

Hilda: Down in the dumps? 

Grace: Yeah. 

Hilda: Cheer up, love. It's not as bad as all that down in this dump, eh? Don't tell me old Adolf's had another go at you. 

Grace: Oh, I haven't seen him, not yet. 

Hilda: Someone ought to tell him he's on the wrong side. I reckon he'd go down a treat in Berlin. 

Another young woman, Phyllis Law, is on Grace's other side.

Phyllis: The trouble with Eddie is he was wearing the wrong jersey when the whistle went. 

Grace sits down on the bench.

Hilda: You all right, dear? You're looking a bit peaky. 

Grace: Just tired, I think. 

Phyllis: Come on, Grace. You're gonna make us late. 

Grace stands up and pulls her overalls on.

Factory floor. Hilda operates machinery. A woman wheels a batch of shells along on a trolley. Women file in, raising their arms and turning for a man to inspect them. Phyllis makes her turn and goes to walk on, but is stopped by the man doing the inspections.

Inspector: Sir. 

Works manager Eddie Baker comes over. He pulls a pin from Phyllis's hair.

Baker: So what's this, then? 

Phyllis: It looks like a hairpin. 

Baker: It doesn't look like a hairpin. It is a hairpin. What's it doing here? 

Phyllis: I'm sorry, Mr Baker, I missed it, all right? 

Baker: No. It's not all right, Miss Law. You want this to fall into a machine and make a spark? You want to blow yourself and the rest of us to smithereens? 

Phyllis: It's one hairpin. I didn't see it. I'm sorry. 

Baker: Next time I find one of these, I'm gonna dock you five shillings. Now, get in there. 

Phyllis moves on. Behind her, Grace stands with her head sagging.

Baker: Come on, Grace. Wakey, wakey. All right? 

Grace passes the inspection and moves on.

Shell-filling room. Grace and Phyllis are working at adjacent stations. Grace unscrews a shell casing and inserts an expl*sive pellet. She's sweating and a little clumsy. Beside her, Phyllis gets up.

Phyllis: Grace, I might as well get that other one now. 

She leaves. Grace is still sweating and beginning to look faint.  She drops the shell casing in her hand and it falls onto an expl*sive pellet. Her workstation explodes.

Factory floor. There are screams, and Hilda looks round at the sound.

Woman (offscreen): Oh, not again! Not again!

The workers all go running.

OPENING CREDITS

Milner and Edith Ashford are walking along a street hand-in-hand.

Edith: I was wondering. We all go to my parents' in Haslemere. My sisters'll be there, and Martin of course. I was wondering if you'd like to come. 

Milner: Edie.

Edith: Well, you haven't got any family, have you? 

Milner: No. 

Edith: Well, you don't want to be on your own at Christmas. I've spoken to Mother and she'd love to see you again. And you'd just be there as a friend of the family. 

Milner: I'd love to. 

Edith: Would you? 

Milner: Yes. 

Edith: Then that's settled, then. You can leave me here. 

Milner: No. I'll wait. 

Edith: You don't want to be late. Did you say you're meeting Mr Foyle for lunch? 

Milner: Not exactly. 

Edith: You go on. I'll see you tonight. 

They kiss and Milner walks away.

Outside the Captain's Table restaurant. Foyle walks towards the restaurant.

Inside. The owner, Brian Tremayne, and his staff set out tables. Tremayne looks up as the door opens.

Foyle: Good morning. 

Tremayne: I'm afraid we're not open yet, sir. 

Foyle: No, I do understand. I was, erm, hoping to be able to make a reservation for Christmas. 

Tremayne: We're fully booked, I'm afraid. 

Foyle: Oh, dear. Are you, um, Mr Tremayne? 

Tremayne: Yes, that's right. 

Foyle: Jack said I should mention his name. 

Tremayne: Jack? 

Foyle: Jack Bentley. 

Tremayne: Ah, Jack. 

Foyle: He recommended you. 

Tremayne: Ah. So you know Jack? 

Foyle: I do know Jack. Er, mainly socially, but we do a bit of business now and again. 

Tremayne: Is that so, Mr...? 

Foyle: Black. 

Tremayne: And what is your business, Mr Black? 

Foyle: Well, bit of this, bit of that. Got to stay on your feet. You know how it is? 

Tremayne: That's true enough. Where did you see him exactly? 

Foyle: Smithfield. 

Tremayne: Smithfield's a big place. 

Foyle: The Hind. 

Tremayne: Ah. Yes, he's always in there, isn't he? 

Foyle: He's always in there, isn't he? Suggested I, er, should ask you about your special menu. 

Tremayne: Did he give you a price? 

Foyle: Well, five bob's, er, meant to be the limit, isn't it? 

Tremayne: Not for what we're offering. There's a seven and six cover charge, plus an extra three bob for the cloakroom. 

Foyle: Well, you'd be offering something very special for that, then, wouldn't you?

Tremayne: We've got something you won't find anywhere else. 

Foyle: Is that right? 

Tremayne: Would you like to take a look? 

Foyle: I'd love to take a look. 

Tremayne: Frank.

One of the waiters comes over.

Frank: Yes?

Tremayne: Bring that package off the counter. 

He turns back to Foyle.

Tremayne: Have I seen you in here before? 

Foyle: No, I used to come in, but not since you've been here. Er, how long has that been? 

Tremayne: Oh, I came down this year. London, you don't wanna know! Now, you take a look at this.

Frank brings over a trussed, unplucked turkey.

Foyle: Well, that's very special, isn't it? 

Tremayne: See what I mean? 

Foyle: I do. Good old Jack. 

Tremayne: So I take it you're interested, then? 

Foyle: I certainly am. 

Tremayne: So, do we have a deal? 

Foyle: We do, yup. 

He heads towards the doors, where Milner and some uniformed officers are visible through the glass.

Tremayne: How many of you will there be? 

Foyle: Oh, there's, erm, half a dozen of us. I'll introduce you. 

He opens the door and the police walk in.

Outside. Milner watches as Tremayne is escorted to a police car. Foyle walks up behind him.

Foyle: Happy to clear up here? 

Milner: Yes, sir. And what about the, er, evidence? 

Foyle: Bring it all back. 

Milner heads back into the building.

Restaurant kitchen. A group of uniformed officers are going through the food in the kitchens. Constable Peters pushes a trolley in, humming God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman, and starts singing:

♪ God rest ye merry gentlemen ♪

♪ Let nothing ye dismay ♪

♪ I think I'll have this chicken here and carry it away! ♪

He takes a bite of a chicken drumstick as the others chuckle.

♪ Tidings of comfort and joy... ♪ 

Milner walks in.

Milner: What are you doing? 

Peters: It looks like Christmas has come early this year. 

Milner: What do you mean? 

Peter: Well, Mr Tremayne won't be needing it now. 

The others laugh.

Milner: Put that back! 

Peters: What? 

Milner: You heard me. Put that back now! 

Peters: Come on. We're closing this place down. No one's gonna want this. 

He holds up two more drumsticks.

Milner: That's not the point. What you are doing is theft. It's exactly the same reason we arrested Tremayne. 

The other policemen start putting the food back down.

Peters: We arrested him for racketeering. We're just cleaning up. 

Milner: Oh, is that what you call it? 

Peter: What's the matter with you, Mr Milner? You was never like this before they made you sergeant. 

Milner: How dare you speak to me like that, constable! You can consider yourself cautioned. And if one more item of food goes missing from this kitchen, you'll be spending Christmas behind bars. Do you understand? 

He walks out. Peters drops the chicken drumsticks back on the pile.

Police station. Hilda Greenwood is waiting in the reception area. As Foyle walks in, Sergeant Brooke calls out to him from the front desk.

Brooke: Sir. There's a lady here to see you. 

Hilda: You in charge? 

Foyle: I'm never sure. 

Hilda: Oh, it's just that I've been here an hour and I've only got the afternoon off. I want a word, if you don't mind. 

Foyle: All right. 

Hilda: Erm, Hilda Greenwood. You're Mr Foyle? 

Foyle: I am. 

Hilda: You're the one I want to see. Somewhere private. It's important. 

Foyle: This way. 

As he leads her through into the back, two uniformed officers return from the restaurant, the man in the lead carrying the turkey. The second holds the door for Sam to follow them in.

Sam: Brookie, am I dreaming or is that a...? 

Brooke: It's a turkey, Miss Stewart. 

Sam: It's an absolute whopper. 

Brooke: About 15lb, I should say. 

Sam: I haven't seen a turkey like that since before the w*r.

Brooke: Mmm.

Sam: Where did they get it? 

Brooke: I've got a feeling it came from Smithfield Market. 

Sam: Your old stomping ground? 

Brooke: Mmm. Well, you can't move up there now for spivs. They've even got tic-tac men out, warn 'em if anyone's coming. 

He taps his nose.

Sam: What will happen to it? 

Brooke: I'm locking it up until there's a trial. 

Sam: Why? It hasn't done anything. 

Brooke: Evidence, Miss Stewart. I, I thought it safest to put it behind bars. We wouldn't want it flying away, now, would we? 

Constable Peters walks in.

Brooke: Peters! I want a word with you.

Police interview room. Milner is questioning Tremayne.

Tremayne: I bought it fair and square. I've read the Poultry Order. There's nothing to stop anybody buying or selling turkeys. 

Milner: For breeding. 

Tremayne: I was going to breed, but it died. What else was I meant to do? 

Milner: Who did you buy it from? 

Tremayne: I've told you. At the market. He's a registered breeder. 

Milner: Really? This is the bill, with a fake signature. 

He slides a piece of paper across the table.

Tremayne: How was I meant to know that? 

Milner: It's signed "W Churchill". 

Tremayne: I didn't look at it. 

Milner: Mr Tremayne, men are dying to bring food into this country. You know what's happening. Do you think they're doing it so people like you can make a quick profit? 

Tremayne: I was only thinking about my customers. 

Milner: Well, maybe you should be thinking of fourteen years. 

Tremayne: What? 

Foyle's office. Hilda sits in front of his desk.

Hilda: But this is just between you and me and these four walls. Right? 

Foyle: Yep. 

Hilda: I hadn't know Grace Phillips long. But she was a nice girl. Used to work in a hairdresser's before she came over to us. She'd only been with us a couple of months and she seemed so happy at the start. But then she changed. I could tell she'd got something on her mind. And then about a week ago, I caught her on her own in the ladies' room crying her eyes out. I asked her, "What on earth's the matter?" But she wasn't very coherent. It was all just tears, you know. But she did say something to me. "It's wrong to steal." That's what she said. Her exact words. Now, what d'you think she meant by that? 

Foyle: Well, you tell me.

Hilda: I've got no idea. But a week later there's this "accident", and that's the end of it. Now, I'm not saying anything, Mr Foyle, but you tell me. A girl who's been perfectly happy suddenly changes overnight. She's scared. She won't talk to anyone. And then she makes a mistake, and suddenly she's d*ad. Now, they're all saying it's an accident, but I just think someone ought to take a look. That's all. 

Factory canteen. Eddie Baker is going round collecting money.

Baker: For Grace. 

There's the clink coins.

Baker: Thank you. Ladies. 

Phyllis: We've got ten more minutes, Mr Baker. 

Baker: All right, all right, keep your hair on. I'm just passing the hat round. For Grace. 

Phyllis: Grace? Poor Grace. Not going to be needing it now, is she? 

Baker: No need to be like that. She's got a mother. Thank you. 70 years old. Thank you. All on her own. I just thought some of us might like to do something for her. If you're not interested, I'm not gonna force you. 

Phyllis: I didn't mean it like that. Here. 

She adds some coins to the collection box.

Baker: That's very generous of you. I take it you're not going to the funeral. 

Phyllis: You'll dock me half a day's wages if I do. 

Baker: I don't make the rules. 

Phyllis: You're all heart, Mr Baker.

Baker: You've got five minutes, not ten. Enjoy your tea.

He offers the collection box to another table.

Baker: It's for Grace. 

Johnson Garage. A man with a horse walks past in front of the building, greeting a passer-by.

Man: Morning. 

Passer-by: How do? 

A young man, Eric Clayton, approaches the building, stopping to take a quick look at a motorbike propped up outside. As he arrives, Harry Osborne is just coming out, wearing mechanic's overalls.

Eric: Harry? 

Harry: What is it? 

He goes over to the motorbike.

Eric: I, I didn't expect to see you here. Not after what happened. I, I mean, you know. Grace. 

Harry: What else am I meant to do? Stay at home? I just think of her. Does no good sitting on me own, does it? Might as well be here. 

Eric: Of course, Harry. That's, that's right. I'm glad to see you. So how's it going, then? 

Harry: Oh, it's no bloody good. These are all cracked. And the ignition harness is useless. 

Eric: Waste of bloody time, if you ask me. 

Harry: Yeah. Well, not for much longer. 

Eric: You're still going ahead, then? 

Harry: Not me. We, Eric. We're still going ahead, right? 

Eric: I, I just thought what with Grace and everything. 

Harry: Grace doesn't make any difference. Three days. That's when we're going to do it. 

Eric: Right. 

Harry: Er, you are still with me? 

Eric: Of course I am. 

Harry: 'Cause I wouldn't like to think you've turned against me. 

Eric: I'm with you, Harry, all the way. 

Harry: All the way. I like that! 

The garage owner, Neville Johnson, comes out of the building behind them.

Johnson: You still working on that bike? 

Harry: What do you mean, Mr Johnson? 

Johnson: You know what I mean. That bike's been here since Monday, and you've hardly started on it. 

Eric: We've got a problem with the ignition cables. 

Johnson: I know there's a problem with the cables, Eric. That's what it's here for. 

Harry: Er, I'm not in tomorrow, Mr Johnson. I've got the funeral. 

Johnson: Oh, yeah. Course. I'm, er, sorry about Grace, Harry. Er, what, what happened to her, it was awful. Well, we've still got work to do. Since you're here, you'd, you'd best get on with it. 

He heads back into the building.

Harry: He never cared about Grace. He doesn't care about anyone except himself. Old bastard. "You might as well get on with it." Get on with what? This pile of junk's going nowhere. 

He s*ab a tool into the bike's tyre and air starts hissing out.

Eric: Now, now, now look what you've done, Harry. That's really done it. 

Harry: Johnson: Just shut up, Eric. Just shut up, all right? 

Police evidence room. The turkey sits on a shelf amid other seized evidence. Sam stands gazing at it through the mesh-covered window in the door, and sighs. Sergeant Brooke comes up behind her.

Brooke: Miss Stewart? 

Sam: Brookie. I was just looking at-

Brooke: Mmm. It's a real shame, isn't it? 

Sam: It'll go off, won't it, just sitting there?

Brooke: In a couple of weeks, I suppose so. 

Sam: When will the trial be? 

Brooke: Well, the way things are at the moment, not before the end of January. 

Sam: Seems a terrible waste. 

Brooke: Yeah. Er, sorry, Mr Foyle's ready to go home. 

Sam: Oh. Gosh. Right. 

She hurries off. Brooke takes a look through the window himself.

Milner's office. He's sitting writing at his desk. Foyle clears his throat as he passes by outside.

Foyle: How'd you get on? 

Milner: Well, once he started, he just wouldn't stop. 

Foyle: Good. 

Sam hurries up, out of breath.

Sam: Sir. 

Foyle: Ready? 

Sam: Yes, sir. 

Foyle: Good night. 

Milner: Good night, sir.

Sam: Bye!

Milner: Night, Sam. 

Foyle and Sam leave and Milner goes back to writing.

Later. Milner leaves his office, turning the light out. He heads out into the reception area.

Jane (offscreen): Paul. 

Milner: Jane! 

His estranged wife Jane approaches him.

Jane: They told me you were still working here. You've got a new desk sergeant. 

Milner: What are you doing here? 

Jane: In Hastings? 

Milner: No. Here. 

Jane: I've come to see you. 

Milner: Why? 

Jane: I want to come home, Paul. I want to come back to you. 

Milner: Jane. Stop. It's been two and a half years. 

Jane: I know. But we're still married. I'm still your wife. I know I was stupid. I know I made mistakes. But I want you to take me back. 

Munitions factory. Sam and Foyle drive towards the building.

Sam: Would you mind if I got myself a cup of tea while I waited, sir? 

Foyle: Oh, go ahead. Just, er, try to avoid getting recruited. 

She laughs.

Sam: Don't worry, sir. Workers' Playtime is definitely not for me. 

She parks and they get out of the car.

Factory floor. Managing Director Godfrey Watson makes his way through the workers and machinery.

Watson: Mr Foyle. Very good to meet you. 

Foyle: How do you do? 

They shake hands.

Watson: Come this way. I'm Godfrey Watson, Managing Director here. 

He leads Foyle up a flight of stairs.

Foyle: Used to be an engineering firm, didn't it? 

Watson: In happier times, yes. It was converted in 1940. Now it's high-expl*sive shells, 20,000 of them a week. Do come in. 

He leads the way into the office at the top of the steps, where Baker is looking at some paperwork.

Watson: This is Edward Baker, my works manager. Please take a seat. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

Watson: Would you like some tea? 

Foyle: I won't, thank you very much. Lot of women employed here. 

Watson: Yes. We've about 40% of our workers here are women. Couldn't do without them. Now we've trained up a whole second army of women on centre lathes, hand-millers, routers, tapping machines. And they're very good at it. Some would say better than the men. 

Foyle: Cause problems? 

Watson: Well, there's a certain amount of rivalry, yes. 

Baker: What is it you're investigating, Mr Foyle? 

Foyle: Well, I'm not investigating anything as such. Er, just wondered how much you can tell me about a woman who worked here, Grace Phillips?

Watson: Ah, yes. Her funeral's this afternoon. It's, er, it's very sad. 

Foyle: Mmm. Many accidents? 

Baker: One last year. Two the year before. It's dangerous work. Everybody knows that. 

Watson: The slightest vibration can cause an expl*si*n. Friction. A spark, anything. Even so, we've had only four fatalities in three years. Well below the national average. 

Baker: We certainly don't expect to find ourselves at the receiving end of a police enquiry. 

Foyle: Could I see where she worked? 

Watson: Yes, of course. 

The three of them head down the stairs.

Foyle: Was she, erm, a reliable sort of girl? 

Watson: I didn't really get to know her. Mr Baker? 

Baker: She was a good worker, although she hadn't been here that long. Two or three months, maybe. She was a bit highly strung. Poor health record. Saw the MO a couple of times. 

Foyle: Oh, why was that? 

Baker: I couldn't tell you. 

Watson: We can easily find out, though. A lot of the girls come down with minor complaints. Nervous debility is the main cause of sickness here, as you'd imagine. Erm, we get respiratory, digestive disorders and skin ailments too, of course. 

Foyle: Is that right? 

Baker: Girls like Grace Phillips are handling a lot of poisonous materials. Tetryl. Cordite. Trinitrotoluene. 

Watson: TNT. 

Baker: They can get a yellow discolouration of the skin. Particularly the ones in the pellet and powder sections of the factory. 

Foyle: I see. 

Watson: We could let you have her personal file, if that would help. 

Foyle: It would, thank you. 

They go through a door into another section of the factory. Baker goes to remove the chain roping off the shell-filling room.

Baker: We've had to close off the entire area. There was a lot of chemicals around when the blast occurred. It'll take us a few more days to clean it up. We may lose a whole week of production. 

They reach the site of the expl*si*n.

Watson: Poor girl. I have to say, Mr Foyle, if there's anything you know about Miss Phillips that you're not telling us, then perhaps you should. 

Foyle: Well, no, I know absolutely nothing. That's why I'm here. 

Baker: She was a very ordinary girl. One of hundreds. 

Factory canteen. Phyllis takes a cup of tea and slice of Swiss roll over to the table where Sam is sitting.

Phyllis: Mind if I join you? 

Sam: No. Go ahead. 

Phyllis: Look at that. Penny ha'penny for a little bit of Swiss roll. Profiteering, I call it. That your car outside? 

Sam: My boss's, yes. 

Phyllis: Who's he, then? 

Sam: Well, he's a police officer. 

Phyllis: You're with the police? 

Sam: Mmm. In a way. I'm a police driver. 

Phyllis: You're here about Grace? I was there when it happened. 

Sam: You work in the shell-filling room? 

Phyllis: The su1c1de squad. I'm a fully paid-up member. 

Sam: So, what happened? 

Phyllis: I don't know, I didn't see anything. I expect she dropped a fuse. Mind you, I wasn't surprised. Grace wasn't at all well that morning. Half asleep on her feet. You ask me, they should never have let her in. 

Sam: But, but you weren't hurt? 

Phyllis: No. I was lucky. Just stepped out to fetch some more fuses. 

Sam: I wouldn't like to do your job. 

Phyllis: Wouldn't mind doing yours. Nice way to lady it through the w*r. 

Sam: So what's it like here? 

Phyllis: It's a man's job, isn't it? But we do it just as well as them and they resent us because of it. They pay us half as much as the men too. Three pounds, three shillings a week. 

Sam: You'd think they'd be glad to have you.

Phyllis: They're always picking holes in what we do. I can't tell you how often I've thought about packing it in. 

Sam: Oh, so why don't you? 

Phyllis: Because I'm an idiot. No, it's not that. I've got my Billy out in Libya. He's a g*n. I like to think that what I'm making here, he'll get to use out there. Know what I mean? Makes me feel part of it. 

Sam: Is it long hours? 

Phyllis: They've given us two hours off this afternoon. That's down to Grace.

Sam: The funeral. 

Phyllis: Yeah. The foreman doesn't like to give us time off, normally. He's organised a whip-round for her mum and a few of us thought we ought to be there. That tells you a bit about our work, doesn't it? Going to a funeral is the high point of my week. 

Factory floor. Foyle is just leaving. Watson and Baker head back up the stairs.

Watson: Is anything wrong, Mr Baker? 

Baker: No, sir. 

Watson: You seemed a little off-hand with Mr Foyle. 

Baker: Was I? I didn't mean to be. 

Watson: Oh, I'm giving two of the girls who knew her best some time off to go to the funeral. 

Baker: Are you sure that's a good idea, sir? 

Watson: Everyone's upset by what's happen. It'll be good for morale. Production's been affected anyway. 

Baker: Well, even so. 

Watson: I'm going myself and I think you should be there too. 

Sam and Foyle are driving along.

Sam: Sir, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. 

Foyle: What's that? 

Sam: Well, actually, it's this turkey. I know it's none of my business. 

Foyle: That's right. 

Sam: But I was wondering if you were just going to let it sit in the evidence room until it rots. 

Foyle: Where would you like me to put it? 

Sam: No, what I mean is, do you really need it for the court? 

Foyle: Yep, 'fraid so. 

Sam: It's Christmas soon, sir. Sardine pancakes are all very well and good, but they're not exactly festive, are they? 

Foyle: Well...

Sam: You don't think the judge would mind if it were missing the drumsticks? 

Foyle: You mean, eat the evidence? 

Sam: Not all of it. Just a leg or two. 

Foyle: No, what do you think the judge is gonna have to say about that? No. It- nothing we can do. End of subject. 

Sam: You know, sir, quite soon, it will begin to smell. 

Police station. Foyle and Sam walk through into the back corridor. Milner spots them from his office.

Milner: Sir! Sorry to ask, but could I have some time off this afternoon? It's a personal matter, but it's important. 

Foyle: Of course. 

Milner: Thank you. 

Foyle: Everything all right? 

Milner: Yes, sir. 

Foyle: Good. 

He walks to towards his office.

Foyle: Sam?

Sam (offscreen): Sir. 

She follows him into the office.

Foyle: You could do something for me. 

Sam: Yes, sir? 

Foyle: This funeral this afternoon, Grace Phillips's. I wonder if you'd mind, erm...?

Sam: Not at all. I'd be glad to. 

Foyle: Well, find out what you can, see who's there. Have a word with the mother if possible. 

She takes a piece of paper from him.

Sam: St Paul's Church and cemetery. 

Foyle: Yeah. Don't mind going? 

Sam: Not at all. I'll see what I can dig up. 

Foyle: Jolly good. 

Then he registers what she said and gives her a look. Sam turns and leaves.

Munitions factory. Hilda and Phyllis are just leaving the building.

Phyllis: Only way to get a couple of hours off in this place, a funeral. 

Hilda: We should have more of 'em. 

She looks around and sees Watson and Baker behind them.

Hilda: (Wouldn't mind going to his, for a start.) 

Johnson garage. Harry and Eric are outside in their funeral suits.

Harry: (Just go in and get him. You go and get Mr Johnson. Just go in and get him.)

Eric holds up his hands reluctantly and gestures towards the building.

Harry: (Just watch this.)

Harry heads into the back of the garage.

Harry: Mr Johnson. Mr Johnson! 

Johnson steps out.

Harry: Not going, Mr Johnson? 

Johnson: Er, no. I didn't think it was right for me to be there. 

Harry: Why's that? 

Johnson: Well, I didn't really know her. 

Harry: You rented the room to her. She used to say that you were like a father to her. 

Johnson: When'd she say that, then? 

Harry: She said it often. But you please yourself. 

Johnson: I rented out a room. That's all. 

Eric: Come on, Harry. 

Johnson: Get on with you. And I'll see you back here first thing tomorrow!

Harry and Eric leave.

Spread Eagle Hotel tearoom. Jane and Milner sit at a table together. A waitress brings over their tea.

Waitress: Pastries? 

Jane: Yes, please-

Milner: No, thank you. 

Jane: When you came back from Norway, I know I was beastly to you. It wasn't just your injury. Please believe that. We'd had so many plans together, and everything had suddenly changed.

Milner: You'd changed. 

Jane: And I was wrong. I see that now. But I've learnt so much being away from you. The one thing I know is that I still love you and I want to be with you. 

Milner: I've met somebody else. 

Jane: What? Who? 

Milner: Does it matter? 

Jane: Well, yes. I'd like to know. 

Milner: It's Edith. 

Jane: Edith Ashford? She always did give you the glad eye, even when we were at school. She living with you? She in our house? 

Milner: It's not our house, Jane. It's mine. No, she isn't. Not yet. 

Jane: But you've asked her to? 

Milner: It's none of your business. 

Jane: Aren't you forgetting something? We're not actually divorced. 

Milner: It's been over two years. 

Jane: But it's three years, isn't it? The Matrimonial Causes Act, 1937. I can come back if I want to, and I do. My sister doesn't want me in Wales. I've got nowhere else to go, so you can tell Edith-

People start to look round at the raised voices.

Milner: You stay away from me, Jane. 

He stands up.

Milner: And you stay away from Edith. I'm warning you. 

Jane: What? 

Milner: It's over between us. You're not part of my life. So just keep away. Or else! 

He walks out.

Grace's funeral.

Vicar: As we contemplate this young life, brought to so sudden and premature an end, we have to remember that Grace Phillips gave her life for her country in exactly the same way as so many of our young men are doing overseas. We must salute her courage and the courage of all the men and women who worked with her, supporting our troops. 

Harry: (Grace.) 

Vicar: You wanted to say a few words? 

Harry: Yes, sir. Grace was my best girl. We was gonna be married. We was gonna spend the rest of our lives with each other. 

Vicar: I'm, I'm sorry. 

Harry: But this is my fault. Erm... the thing about Grace was... she was happy where she was. Then I had to go and put my foot in it and tell her she could be doing her bit. Doing something more. And she believed me, 'cause that's the sort of girl she was. I thought you'd look after her. She was ill that last day. You know that, and you still made her do it. 

Baker: Wait a minute. 

Harry: Why didn't you just send her home? My lovely girl blown to bits and me left on my own. What am I gonna do? 

Watson: We didn't know she was ill. We did everything we could to keep her safe. 

Vicar: Gentlemen, this is neither the time nor the place. 

Eric comes up behind Harry.

Eric: Harry. Come on. Let's drown our sorrows, eh? 

Harry: Yeah. I don't want to be here. Not with them. 

The two of them leave.

Vicar: Shall we say the Lord's Prayer together? 

All: Our father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day... 

Sam watches from a short distance away.

High Street. Jane buys a newspaper from a man selling them on the corner. She unfolds it and then stops, staring at the headline LOCAL GIRL k*lled IN MUNITIONS BLAST. There's a photo of Grace included. She hurries past the Southern Bank on the corner and into the ladies' hairdresser's next door. The shop bell rings as she enters, and the owner, Mollie Summersgill, looks up from where she's taking care of a customer.

Mollie: Oh, Jane, dear, if you're going up, pop the kettle on. I'm only going to be about ten... 

Jane draws her away to show her the newspaper.

Jane: Mollie. Did you know about Grace? 

Mollie: Yes, it's terrible. 

Jane: You didn't tell me. 

Mollie: Well, I didn't know whether to or not. I mean, you've got so much on your mind, I didn't want to worry you. Are you all right? 

Jane: Yes... Not really, no. 

Mollie: Did you see him? 

Jane: Mollie, I have to go back out. 

Mollie: But you've only just come in. 

Jane: I'm sorry. I have to see Paul. 

Mollie: What, again? 

Jane leaves and Mollie goes back to my customer.

Mollie: Oh. She used to be one of my best cutters. Jane Milner. 

Police station. Jane is talking to Brooke at the front desk.

Brooke: I'm sorry, ma'am. He's not here. 

Jane: Do you know where he is? 

Brooke: I imagine he's gone home. 

Jane: Could you tell him I was here and I want to see him? 

Brooke: Certainly, ma'am. 

Jane leaves. Brooke turns to approach Foyle as he's on his way out from the back.

Brooke: Lovely, isn't it, sir?

Foyle: Is it? 

Brooke: The smell. Fresh turkey, sir. 

Foyle: Ah. 

Brooke: I haven't seen a bird like that for two years. 

Foyle: Been talking to Sam? 

He leaves.

Brooke: Miss Stewart, sir? Not recently. 

Foyle: Good night. 

Brooke: Night, sir. 

Street, night. Edith and Milner are walking arm-in-arm.

Milner: It's only been three months. 

Edith: Three months, three weeks and two days. 

Milner: It's just sometimes you talk as if...

Edith: As if we're going to be together for ever? Of course we are. We're going to muddle on until h*tler throws in the towel, and then we're going to get married. We'll have as much milk as we want and oranges and bananas and sweets and all the other things we can't get, and we'll have a proper life. 

Milner: You really think that? 

Edith: Paul. I've told you. I'm not gonna let you go. 

Hairdresser's. The sign has been flipped to closed. Mollie goes to the window and looks out, then pulls the blackout blind down. She turns off all the lights and heads into the back.

Alleyway, night. An older, Sam Bradshawe, with a f*re Guard armband, is walking along. Up ahead, Jane Milner is coming the other way, arguing with a man walking behind her. 

Jane: I certainly do not. What do you mean? What are you trying to...? 

Bradshawe passes Jane and her pursuer.

Jane: Why are you following me? What do you want? What are you doing? This is ridiculous. 

Bradshawe pauses and looks back, but can't see anything.

Jane: Get off me! What are you doing? 

Further back along the alley, Jane is struggling with her assailant.

Jane: No! 

She wrenches free and hurries on. The man behind her grabs a brick from the ground and cracks her over the back of the head.

At the far end of the alley, Bradshawe still stands looking back, but there's nothing more to hear. After a moment, he turns and walks on.

Foyle house. Foyle steps out through the front door, joining Sam on the doorstep.

Foyle: How'd you get on yesterday? 

Sam: The funeral, sir? 

Foyle: Yep. 

Sam: Well, strange, really. 

Foyle: Was it? 

Sam: Well, there weren't many people there. Only people she worked with. Some of her family, but not her mother, though. 

They head down the front steps and towards the car.

Foyle: Why was that, d'you think? 

Sam: I don't know. Perhaps she couldn't face it. Anyway, they had a collection for her at the factory. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. Boyfriend? 

Sam: There was a young man. Good-looking. He made a speech at the grave. He said Grace should never have been at work when they knew she was ill. I'm afraid it wasn't much fun. 

They get into the car.

Foyle: Well, it's a funeral. 

Sam: No, I mean... there was something about him. It was as if... This is a horrible thing to say, but it was as if he was putting the whole thing on. Like a performance. 

Foyle: Well, thanks for going. 

Sam: You know me, sir. Always glad to be of service. Funeral service included. 

Police station. Brooke hurries over to the front desk as Foyle and Sam arrive.

Brooke: Sir. Bad news, I'm afraid. They found a young woman d*ad in an alleyway just off the parade. Was k*lled some time last night, beaten around the head. 

Foyle: We know who it is? 

Brooke: Yes, sir. Er, I've tried to keep it quiet, but word gets around. It's Mrs Milner, sir. 

Sam: What? Jane Milner? 

Brooke: Yeah, his wife. Er, his ex-wife, I mean. I understand they were divorced. 

Sam: But that's not possible. She's in Wales. 

Brooke: There's no doubt about it, I'm afraid, Miss Stewart. But she was here yesterday evening, as a matter of fact, asking for Mr Milner. I saw her myself. 

Foyle: What time was that? 

Brooke: 6:30 exactly, sir. I made an entry in the book. 

Foyle walks through, and sees that Milner's office is empty.

Foyle: Where's he? 

Brooke: He's not in yet, sir. It's the first time I've ever known him to be late for work. 

Foyle turns around to head back out.

Alleyway. Constable Peter's lowers the blanket covering Jane's body.

Peters: k*lled at around ten o'clock last night, they think. It appears that's the m*rder w*apon. 

He indicates a brick with a smear of blood and hair on the corner. Foyle nods.

Peters: You just missed the MO, sir. He's been called to Hove. He, er, asked me to give you this. 

He gives Foyle a file.

Foyle: Thank you. Who found her? 

Peters: A couple of young ladies, sir. Er, they work in, er, Hardcastle's, the drapery shop. On their way to work. 

Foyle: Right.

He bends down to pick up an envelope addressed to Jane that's lying on the ground.

Peters: That's empty, sir. 

Foyle: Not a word about this to anybody for the time being. 

Peters: Don't you worry, sir. You can count on me. 

Foyle turns to walk away.

Police station. Milner heads through into the back and sees the offices are all empty. A moment later Brooke comes out from behind the front desk.

Brooke: Sergeant Milner. 

Milner: Where is everyone? 

Brooke: Er, there's been an incident in town. 

Milner: What sort of incident? 

Brooke: I, I couldn't tell you, sir. 

He looks towards the double doors onto the reception area, where Foyle is just arriving. He steps through and approaches Milner.

Factory canteen. Phyllis looks in through the window, then walks in. Baker sits at a table in the otherwise empty room having a cup of tea.

Baker: What are you doing here, Miss Law? I don't believe it's time for your morning break. 

Phyllis: They told me you were here, Mr Baker. 

Baker: If you want to see me, you should come to my office. 

Phyllis: I thought you might like to see me more informally. You see, the thing is, what with Christmas coming up, I was thinking of taking some time off. 

Baker: The factory doesn't close for Christmas. You know that. You'll get a day and a half off like everybody else. 

Phyllis: I'd like three days. 

Baker: I'm sorry? 

Phyllis: I think you heard me, Mr Baker.

She sits down opposite him.

Phyllis: Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. Is that too much to ask?

Baker: Why are you asking me this now? It's out of the question. 

Phyllis: And you might like to think about a Christmas bonus too. 

Baker: Miss Law. 

Phyllis: Or... I might start talking about Grace Phillips. 

Baker: What are you talking about? 

Phyllis: I was at the funeral yesterday. Remember? I got chatting to someone. Turns out he was her cousin. He had a lot to say. 

Baker: What are you talking about? 

Phyllis: Well, he told me about Grace. And about her poor old mum. Is it true the police were here, Mr Baker? Asking questions, were they? 

Baker: They were making routine enquiries. 

Phyllis: Well, they might not be so routine when I talk to 'em. 

Baker: I can't do what you ask. 

Phyllis: You're in charge of the roster, and when it comes to pay, they'll do what you recommend. 

Baker: You're blackmailing me. 

Phyllis: I'm not doing nothing of the sort. I do a good job here. I just want to get a bit more like what I deserve. 

Baker: I'll think about it. 

Phyllis: You do that. 

She stands up and goes to leave.

Baker: I'd be careful if I was you, Miss Law. Place like this. And you with your husband away, all on your own. 

Phyllis: What are you saying? 

Baker: I know all about you. I know where you live. You try and put the finger on me. You don't know me, Miss Law. You don't know anything about me. You don't know what I might do. 

She leaves.

Foyle's office. Milner is sitting in front of the desk.

Milner: You're sure it's her? 

Foyle nods silently.

Milner: Can I see her? 

Then he shakes his head.

Foyle: You knew she was here? 

Milner: Yes, sir. I saw her yesterday. How was she...?

Foyle: She was, erm, att*cked with a brick. 

Milner: When? 

Foyle: Last night, about ten o'clock. What can you tell me? 

Milner: I had tea with her yesterday afternoon at the Spread Eagle. That was the last time I saw her. 

Foyle: What did she want? 

Milner: Er, it's difficult to explain. 

Foyle: Well, I hate to ask, but in the circumstances... 

Milner: Sir, I told you that we were divorced. That wasn't true. It would have been, er, in a few months. She was the one who left me. But it turns out that wasn't what she wanted. She asked me to take her back. 

Foyle: Did she know about your, erm, current circumstances? 

Milner: Edith. 

He shakes his head.

Milner: I told her. She was upset, angry. She asked me if she could move back into the house, and I said that that wasn't possible now. 

Foyle: Where was she staying? 

Milner: There's a hairdresser's on the High Street. She used to work there before we were married. 

Foyle: And, um, Last night? 

Milner: I was on my own. I left Edith around nine. Sir, I know how this must look. You have every right to treat me as a suspect. 

Foyle: Well, look, I mean, I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever that you had nothing to do with this, but if we're not seen to be doing it by the book...

Milner: I understand. 

He stands up.

Milner: Are you suspending me? 

Foyle: No, no, no, no, no. Er, but, erm, obviously, you can't be involved with the, er, investigation. And, er, we're going to have to take a look at your home and your office, I'm afraid. 

Milner nods.

Foyle: (Good.)

Milner moves to leave and Foyle stands up.

Foyle: I do wonder why you, er, felt it necessary to lie about the divorce. 

Milner: I suppose it was just easier. After she left, I did write to her suggesting we divorce, but she, um, never replied, so... I just pretended that we were. And the more I said it, the more I believed it. 

Foyle: Tell Edith? 

Milner: No, I lied to her. I just... I just wanted Jane out of my life. 

Foyle: She is now. 

Spread Eagle Hotel. Sam and Foyle pull up outside in the car.

Sam: Sir, you can't think for a single minute that Mr Milner had anything to do with the death of his wife. 

Foyle: What makes you think I'll be answering this question? Haven't I made it clear that cases are not for discussion? 

Sam: Yes, sir. 

Foyle: Do we discuss cases? 

Sam: No, sir. 

Foyle: Will we be discussing this one? 

Sam: No, sir. 

Foyle: Right.

He gets out.

Milner's office. Uniformed officers are going through the drawers. Brooke arrives in the doorway.

Brooke: I want everything put back exactly where it was. If you find anything that so much as raises an eyebrow, come straight to me. 

Policeman 1: Yes, Sarge.

Policeman 2: Sarge. 

High Street. Foyle walks over to the hairdresser's and lets himself in.

Milner house. Peters is looking around. Two other policemen pass behind him, laughing. They're trying on some of Milner's hats.

Peters: Oi. I don't want anyone larking around with Sergeant Milner's things. You two back downstairs. 

They take the hats off and head downstairs, leaving Peters alone on the upper floor.

Policeman (offscreen): Let's go.

Peters walks towards a shirt that's hanging up and studies it.

Hairdresser's. Foyle brings Mollie a glass of water.

Mollie: Thank you.

Foyle: I know this is difficult, but if you felt able to answer a few questions I'd appreciate it. 

Mollie: Yes. Just give me a minute. I'll be all right in a minute. 

Foyle: Of course. 

Mollie: Jane... Er, Jane was staying with me. I couldn't understand why she didn't come back last night. I was very worried about her. 

Foyle: You know where she went? 

Mollie: Yes. I do. She went to see her husband. But of course you knew that. He works for you. He did this, didn't he? Have you arrested him? Jane didn't have an enemy in the world, apart from him. He didn't treat her well. 

Foyle: Did she tell you that? 

Mollie: Why are you asking all these questions? She came back yesterday. She'd seen him. She was very upset. She said she was going to go out and see him again. And that was the last time I saw her. I know he's your friend and you're trying to protect him. But he k*lled her. He k*lled her! 

Johnson Garage. Harry is at work inside. Eric comes in.

Eric: Have you heard? 

Harry: What's that, then, Eric? 

Eric: The bogies are all over Hastings. They found some bird been m*rder down near the parade. 

Harry: Well, that's terrible. I tell you, nobody's safe these days. 

Eric: What, so, so you don't know nothing about it? 

Harry: Why should I know anything? 

Eric: I just thought you might have heard. That's all. 

Harry: No. It's all news to me. 

Eric: You, you want a cup of tea? 

Harry: Yeah, if you're making a brew. 

Eric: So who was that woman who came here last night? 

Harry: That was my wife. 

Eric: What? 

Harry: It's a joke, Eric. "Who was that lady I saw you with last night?" "That was no lady. That was my wife!"

Eric: Oh. 

Harry: What's the matter with you today? What's made you so jumpy? 

Eric: I don't know. You know, I was just thinking, Harry. What with all this business, the police and everything, maybe it's not the best time, you know? 

Harry: You getting cold feet? 

Eric: No, no, no. Um...

Harry: The right time, Eric. Everything's set. 

Eric: Look, I know. 

Harry: And what with the rozzers chasing after whoever bashed in this poor woman, they won't have any time for us, will they? 

Eric: Right. How did you know she was bashed in? 

Harry: You told me. 

Eric: Did I? 

Harry: Well, I don't know. I must have heard. Come on. You really think I had something to do with it? I don't know her. I don't even know who she is. She's got nothing to do with me. 

Police station. Sam runs into Milner in the corridor.

Sam: I'm so sorry about Jane. 

Milner: Thank you, Sam. 

Sam: I can't believe it's happened. There always seems to be someone dying somewhere, but you never expect it to be someone you know. If there's anything I can do to help, you will tell me, won't you? 

Milner: Of course. Thank you, Sam. 

He walks on and Sam watches him go.

Foyle's office. Milner knocks and enters. Foyle looks at him for a moment.

Foyle: Sit down. 

Milner: Have you found anything, sir? 

Foyle: Well, I spoke to the woman at the hairdresser's. 

Milner: Mrs Summersgill. 

Foyle: Mmm. 

Milner: Was she helpful? 

Foyle: I wouldn't say so. Er, we did find this. This was with your wife when we found her. Wondered if you recognised the handwriting.

He gives Milner the empty envelope.

Milner: No, sir. It's postmarked Hastings. 

Foyle: Sent about a week ago. 

Milner: Was there no letter with it? 

Foyle: There wasn't. 

Milner: Could this be the reason that she was k*lled? 

He gives the envelope back.

Foyle: Unfortunately, we, erm, we also found this. 

He gives Milner an evidence envelope. Milner opens it to find the shirt Peters was looking at back at his house.

Milner: This is my shirt. 

Foyle: Taken from your house. 

Milner: Why? 

Milner sees blood on the cuff.

Foyle: Well, why do you think? 

Milner: Is this where I'm supposed to say, I cut myself shaving? 

Foyle: Well, I'm very glad you didn't, 'cause it's not your blood, it's your wife's. 

Milner: That's ridiculous. It must be a mistake. There's no explanation. Of course. That's not true. There can be only one explanation, can't there? 

Foyle: Also, er, went to the hotel where you and your wife were last seen. A few people there who, um...

Milner: Heard us arguing. 

Foyle: Well, "arguing violently" is how it was described. 

Milner: No, it was- it was heated. It wasn't violent. 

Foyle: Well, whatever it was, erm, you thr*at her? 

Milner: No. Not in so many words. 

Foyle: How many words do you need? 

Milner: Sir, I don't deny the argument, and I can't explain the shirt. What are you going to do? 

Outside Foyle's house. Edith make to the front door and rings the bell. Foyle answers it.

Edith: Mr Foyle. 

Foyle: Yeah. 

Edith: I, I know I shouldn't be here, but I wonder if I might come in. 

Foyle considers for a moment.

Foyle: Yes. 

Edith walks through into the front room.

Edith: I... I understand you've suspended Paul. 

Foyle: Um... have you seen him? 

Edith: I spoke to him yesterday, but only briefly. You can't really suspect him of k*lling his wife, can you? You know that would be absurd. I know. You're going to tell me you can't discuss it with me. But how can you be so cruel? He's been with you for more than two years. He's totally loyal to you. He'd do anything for you!

Foyle: Listen, I'm very sorry, but I, erm, I do think you should leave. 

Edith: No. Wait. I'm sorry. I had no cause to speak to you like that. And that wasn't why I came here. The truth is... I'm desperately worried about him. You see, he, he told me about the shirt. You found blood on it. Her blood. That's what he said. 

Foyle: Yes. 

Edith: They met, you know. He never denied that. Maybe it got there... somehow... 

She falls silent and sits down.

Foyle: Did you know that they had, er, never divorced? 

Edith: I didn't know. Not until last night. He told me then. 

Foyle: Come as a shock? 

Edith: Paul lied to himself. I don't think he lied to me. 

Foyle: He still lied. 

Edith: You're right. I shouldn't have come here. 

She stands up to go.

Foyle: You know that in, er, any other circumstances, he'd have been arrested, suspended, erm, quite possibly put into jail. 

Edith: I know. You're doing what you can. 

Foyle: No, I'm doing what I believe is right. And I'm sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear. 

Edith: You really think he's guilty? 

Foyle: No, I don't. I think you do. 

She leaves.

Police station. Sam is outside the evidence room again. Peters comes up behind her.

Peters: Terrible, isn't it, miss? 

Sam: What is? 

Peters: Waste of good food, and at a time like this, you know. It won't be long before it starts to rot. 

Sam: I wasn't even thinking about it. 

She moves away and Peters walks after her.

Peters: Oh, I suppose not. This whole place is rotten, if you ask me. What they're saying about Sergeant Milner, it's tripe.

Sam: I'm sure Mr Foyle will get to the bottom of it. 

Peters: Well, I hope so. We all do. By the way, for what it's worth... I do have the key. 

Sam: What for? 

Peters: The evidence room. Just thought you'd like to know. 

He chuckles as he walks away. Sam rounds the corner, passing Brooke.

Brooke: Everything all right, Miss Stewart? 

Sam: Yes, thank you, Brookie. No. Not really. It really is a bleak midwinter, isn't it? 

Brooke: Well, we've just had some news that might cheer you up. There was a witness. 

Sam: What? 

Brooke: When Mrs Milner was k*lled. There was someone there, and he's just been on the blower. 

A cobbled yard behind the headquarters of the local f*re Guard. Foyle watches Bradshawe as he walks inside to make himself some tea.

Bradshawe: In a way, I'm quite grateful to Herr h*tler. Him and his w*r have given me something to do. Oh, yes, I saw her. I was on my way home. There are twelve of us f*re guards in this district. 

Foyle: Responsible job. 

Bradshawe: Yes. Mind you, we haven't had a raid for a while. It's all reports, really. Weekly meetings. I've never actually seen a f*re. I drink a lot of tea. D'you want some? 

Foyle: Er, no, I won't. No thank you. Would you, erm, be kind enough to explain to me again, er, what exactly it was you saw? 

Bradshawe comes back out with his cup of tea.

Bradshawe: I thought I already told you. 

Foyle: Well, you told me that, er, yes, you saw a young woman and somebody was following her. 

Bradshawe: Oh, yes. He was definitely following her. I heard her calling out to him. "Why are you following me?" That's what she said. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. Did he say anything? 

Bradshawe: I can't really remember. I don't think so. If he did, I'd have heard his voice. And I didn't know he was going to k*ll her. I only read about that in the paper this morning.

Foyle: Mm-hmm.

Bradshawe: I thought it was one of those, you know, one of those husband and wife arguments. 

Foyle: Did you see him? 

Bradshawe: Oh, yes, I saw him, but of course it was dark. 

Foyle: Would you recognise him if you saw him again? 

Bradshawe: I wouldn't want to see him again. 

Foyle: But if you did? 

Bradshawe: Er, yeah, I, I suppose so. Er, I'd have to see him again to be sure. 

Foyle: Well, if we organised an identity parade, er, at the station, would you be kind enough to come down? 

Bradshawe: I don't mind. 

He stands up.

Foyle: Well, I don't mean now, but, er, I'll send a car to collect you. 

Bradshawe: Oh. Thank you. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

He heads back to the car where Sam stands waiting with a newspaper.

Foyle: Ready? 

Sam: Ready, sir. 

Foyle: Sorry to interrupt. 

Sam: Sorry, I just get a bit bored standing around. There's something in here about Grace Phillips. Front page. 

She hands him the newspaper.

Foyle: Is that her? 

It's the same article Jane was looking at.

Sam: Yes. Poor girl. She was only twenty. 

Foyle: I've seen her before. 

They get into the car.

Hairdresser's. There's a framed photograph of Grace modelling a haircut on the wall.

Foyle: This is Grace, isn't it? 

Mollie: Yes. That was taken before the w*r. She changed her hair. These days, it's all Victory cuts from America. It's easier to wash and curl. All the girls want to look like Veronica Lake. 

Foyle: You ever meet her boyfriend? 

Mollie: Well, not properly. But I did see him a couple of times going in and out of the bank next door, but he didn't come in here. 

Foyle: Jane and Grace were friends, isn't that right? 

Mollie: Yes, well, they were more than that. They were cutters together, but Grace had been orphaned when she was young and she was all on her own. She used to look upon Jane as her big sister. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. Jane ever mention her when she was staying with you? 

Mollie: Yes. Well, she saw the story in the newspapers about Grace being k*lled and she was terribly upset. 

Foyle: Recognise this handwriting? 

He shows her the envelope.

Mollie: Well, yes. That's Grace's. Mr Foyle, what has this got to do with anything? Grace was k*lled in an accident and you said that Jane was m*rder. I mean, two completely different things. 

Sam and Foyle are driving along. She looks over at him.

Sam: You've found something, haven't you, sir? 

Foyle: Have I? 

Sam: I can always tell. You have a look. A sort of "Cry havoc, and let loose the dogs of w*r." That's Julius Caesar. 

Foyle: "Slip". 

Sam: What? 

Foyle: It's, "Let slip the dogs of w*r."

Sam: Is it really? 

Foyle: Yep. Yes, it is. Keep your eyes on the road, will you?

The car radiator begins to hiss. Sam sits forward to try and see.

Sam: Oh... hell! 

Steam boils out of the front of the car. They come to a halt and both get out.

Sam: Oh, my gosh. Ugh.

Foyle: Radiator? 

Sam: Radiator. 

Foyle: Is this as far as we go, then? 

Sam: Seems so, sir. 

Foyle: Can you get this as far as a garage? 

Sam: I hope so. 

Foyle: Well, do your best. 

Sam: I'm sorry, sir. 

Foyle: I'll walk. 

Munitions factory office. Watson leads Foyle into the room where Baker is at work.

Watson: You'll forgive me for saying so, Mr Foyle, but this isn't a very good time. We're just putting out the Christmas payroll. 

Foyle: Well, I'm sorry, Mr Watson, it's, er, a little difficult arranging a m*rder enquiry around your wages schedule. 

Baker: m*rder? What you talking about? 

Watson: Well, I'm afraid, er, another woman has been k*lled. A woman called Jane Milner. Does that mean anything to you? 

Baker: No. 

Foyle: A friend of Grace Phillips? 

Watson: No. 

Foyle: It seems on the, er, morning Grace died, she hadn't been feeling particularly well, is that right? 

Baker: Who told you that? Er, it's true, yes. She did seem half asleep that morning. 

Watson: You never told me this, Mr Baker. 

Baker: Well, no, sir. I didn't want to trouble you with the details. 

Watson: If she was so tired, should she have been at work? 

Baker: That was my decision, sir. And I stand by it. It's easy enough to make judgments in hindsight. 

Foyle: Anaemic evidently. Er, taking a supplement for iron deficiency. 

Baker: Yes, she was tired. Yes, she was under a great deal of stress. But that's all there is to it. She made a mistake. 

Watson: It does happen, Mr Foyle. There are munitions workers all over the country missing fingers and worse. 

Baker: There's no way this could be anything more than a terrible accident. 

Foyle: She also mentioned something about a theft. 

Baker: What theft? First it's m*rder. Now it's theft. There is no theft in this factory, Mr Foyle. All the girls are searched for anything metallic - hairpins, safety pins, anything that might cause a spark. Cigarettes, lighters, matches too. On the way in and on the way out. 

Watson: They're watched throughout the day. We have passers, over-lookers and inspectors. 

Foyle: So, no idea what she meant? 

Baker: Absolutely not. 

Foyle: Possible to speak to a Hilda Greenwood? 

Watson exchanges a look with Baker, who leads Foyle out.

Factory floor. Hilda is holding the envelope.

Hilda: Oh, that was her handwriting. What was inside it? 

Foyle: It was empty. 

Hilda: "Jane Milner". She was the woman-

Foyle: That's right. 

Hilda: Oh, Lord! 

Foyle: Well, they were friends evidently and, er, she got this just before she died. 

Hilda: I don't understand what you're saying, Mr Foyle. I don't think I want to understand. 

Foyle: You thought Grace had been k*lled deliberately. 

Hilda: I never said that. 

Foyle: Isn't that why you came to see me? She was frightened. Erm, isn't that what you said? 

Hilda: Yes. 

Foyle: About some stealing going on here. 

Hilda: That's what she said. But that's all she said. Oh, I wish I'd spent more time with her now, but you know how it is. You're either late for your shift or you want to get out of here as soon as you can. I've told you everything I know. 

Foyle: Right. You ever meet her boyfriend? 

Hilda: No. 

Foyle: Er, so, did she say anything about him? 

Hilda: Er, she thought he was going to marry her, silly little minx. One born every minute, isn't there? Er, she used to say he was like that actor in all those films. You know, whatshisname. Jimmy someone. 

Foyle: Stewart? 

Hilda: Cagney. 

Foyle: Oh. 

Hilda: Yes, he hero-worships him. That's what she said. Showed me his photo once. Handsome enough devil. He was the one who persuaded her to come here, the w*r effort. 

Foyle: Right.

Hilda: All right for him. He wasn't the one who got blown up. 

Foyle: He was at the funeral, wasn't he? 

Hilda: Yes, that's the only time I ever saw him, really. I didn't like him. There was something about him that gave me the creeps. 

Foyle: Don't suppose you know where I can find him? 

Hilda: No. All she ever told me was his name. And not even his full name. Harry. 

Johnson garage. Harry heats a metal rod in the brazier and begins to hammer it. Sam pulls up outside in the car, still spewing steam. She walks around to the entrance.

Sam: Hello! I'm sorry to bother you but it's my car. I wonder if you can help. Um, it seems I have a split radiator. 

Harry: Oh, sorry. I can't do nothing for you. This is a private garage and we're full. 

Sam: Well, if you could seal it, even briefly. You see this is a police vehicle, so it sort of takes priority. 

Harry: You the police? 

Sam: Yes. Do I know you from somewhere? I do, don't I? You were at the funeral. You're Grace Phillips's friend. 

Harry: What of it? 

Sam: Well, you seemed so obviously upset. You were going to be married. 

Harry: Maybe. 

Sam: I'm sorry. 

Harry: Why was you there? 

Sam: Well, it is difficult to explain. 

Harry: You was there, and now you're here. What's your game? 

He walks towards her, and she edges away from him.

Sam: Nothing. I told you. My car's broken down. 

Harry: Nice and convenient. 

Sam: Look, I was near here and I saw your garage first, but if you're too busy to mend it, I quite understand. I'll just take it elsewhere. 

Harry: You're not going anywhere. 

Sam: Now, wait a minute. 

Eric walks in.

Eric: Harry, Harry. What's going on? 

Harry: We got trouble. 

Eric: What? 

Harry: She's a copper. She's been following me. 

Sam: No. I'm not, really. I haven't, I promise you. Not at all.

Harry: She's been asking questions. 

Sam: I just wanted to get my car mended. 

Eric: Harry, come on. She's got nothing to do with us. Just let her go. 

Harry: We can't risk it. 

Eric: What you talking about? 

Harry: Oh, just shut your face! 

Sam grabs a coal shovel and tosses hot coals at him.

Harry: Argh!

He flinches away. Eric moves to intercept him as Sam runs.

Eric: Get, get out! Get out! Go, go! 

Harry grabs a screwdriver.

Harry: Out of my way! Out! Get out! 

As Sam runs off, he s*ab Eric with the screwdriver. Eric looks down at it sticking out of his abdomen.

Eric: Harry, what you done? You bloody fool, Harry. 

Harry: You, you shouldn't have got in the way. You shouldn't have got in the way. 

Eric collapses to his knees.

Eric: You've hurt me. You've hurt me. 

A street in Hastings. Edith and Milner are walking along.

Edith: You know, I, I went to see Mr Foyle. 

Milner: Why? Edie, you shouldn't have. 

Edith: I thought- I can't see why he's doing this. He knows you. He can't possibly think you-

Milner: He's only doing what he has to. I'd do the same. 

Edith: How do you think...? I mean, do you have any idea how that blood got onto your shirt? 

Milner: I don't know. It has to be a mistake. 

Edith: Paul... Only that if you had k*lled her, I could try to understand. I mean... 

Milner: No, Edie. You must never say that. 

Edith: Why? 

Milner: Because m*rder is m*rder. I've met men like that, and you must never believe, even for a minute, that I'm capable of, of that. 

Edith: I'm sorry. 

He walks away.

Police station. Foyle walks through into the back, passing Sergeant Brooke.

Brooke: Sir.

Foyle: Is Sam back? 

Brooke: No, sir. But, er, Sergeant Milner's here, and Mr Bradshawe's standing by. 

Foyle: Right. 

Foyle walks up to Milner where he stands in front of his office.

Foyle: Ready for this? 

Milner: If you think it'll help. 

Foyle: Well, I think it'll sort it out, don't you? Unless you'd rather...?

Milner: No, sir. No, I want to do it. 

Foyle: Good. 

Back yard behind the police station. An identity parade has been set up. Peters is taking to Bradshawe.

Peters: Just take your time.

Bradshawe: Yes. Just take as long as I like.

Peters nods.

Bradshawe: Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Yeah.

Foyle emerges from the building and watches for a moment, then walks up to Bradshawe.

Foyle: Mr Bradshawe, hello. You understand what you've got to do? 

Bradshawe: Yes. Yes, I understand. 

Foyle: Good. Take your time. 

Bradshawe: I understand what to do. 

Foyle: Good. 

Bradshawe walks along and studies the men in the identity parade. He moves past Milner, then moves back to him. Then he goes to Foyle.

Bradshawe: (This is the man.) 

Peters looks from him to Milner.

Foyle: This is the man you saw in the alley? 

Bradshawe: Yeah. He was there. 

Foyle: This is the man you saw with the woman Jane Milner? 

Bradshawe: I'm sure it was him. 

Foyle: Well, thank you, Mr Bradshawe. Er, thank you.

He nods towards some of the uniformed officers.

Foyle: Would you be kind enough to see Mr Bradshawe home? Thank you.

The members of the identity parade file in. Peters lingers a moment before following him.

Milner: He couldn't have seen me, sir. I wasn't there. 

Police station front desk. Brooke watches as Milner is escorted out by a policeman. Foyle walks after him.

Brooke: Mr Foyle. 

Foyle: Yeah? 

Brooke: Well, pardon my saying it, sir, but you must have it wrong. 

Foyle: Oh, yeah? 

Brooke: Well, I haven't known Sergeant Milner all that long, but, er, a man less likely to m*rder his wife is hard to imagine. 

Foyle: Well, that's very helpful. Anything else you want to say before I get you transferred? 

Brooke: No, sir. 

Foyle: Who did pick up Mr Bradshawe from his home? 

Brooke: Constable Peters, sir. As you asked. 

Foyle: I want to see him. 

Brooke: Right away, sir. 

He hurries off.

Foyle's office.

Foyle: Know why you're here? 

Peters: No, sir. 

Foyle: Well, it looks like I'm going to need a new sergeant. 

Peters: Yes, sir. I suppose so. 

Foyle: I understand, erm, you and Milner trained together at Brighton. Joined the force about the same time. He got promoted, you didn't. 

Peters: That's about right, sir. 

Foyle: Mmm. Well, it's never too late. Interested? 

He sits down and Peters joins him at the desk.

Peters: To work with you, sir? Anyone would, er, jump at the opportunity. 

Foyle: Get the impression that, erm, you never liked Milner much, anyway. Is that right? 

Peters: You want the truth, sir? 

Foyle: Generally, find it helps. 

Peters: I, I thought he was a bit hoity-toity. 

Foyle: Yeah, could be a bit unreasonable sometimes, don't you think? I mean that business at the, er, restaurant, for example. 

Peters: I did think he came down on me and the lads a bit much, sir. 

Foyle: You were only stealing food. 

Peters: It was there for the taking. 

Foyle: Yep. And he disciplined you and, erm, you thought you'd get your own back? 

Peters: What do you mean, sir? 

Foyle: Well, what I mean is, erm, you picked Mr Bradshawe up, old, unreliable Mr Bradshawe. Bags of opportunity to describe Milner to him, even perhaps help to point him out. 

Peters: No, sir. 

Foyle: And it seems to me, there are only two ways that, er, Milner's wife's blood could have finished up on his shirt. A, if he'd m*rder her. 

Peters: Well, that's what-

Peters: And, B, if somebody had put it there. 

Foyle: You brought the body in. 

Peters: Not on my own, sir. 

Foyle: You... searched his room. 

Peters: Look... I never meant it to go this far. 

Foyle: Well, how far did you mean it to go? The hanging? 

Peters: No, no, no, no. It started as a prank. That's all. He got at me, so I thought I'd have one back on him. It was just a stupid joke. I just wanted to see him sweat a bit. But once it'd g*n, I couldn't stop it. I wasn't going to let him hang. Of course I wasn't. What you gonna do with me, sir? 

Foyle: You'll be charged with obstruction and perverting the course of justice, for starters. Would you be kind enough to leave now, please? 

Police station reception area. Sam rushes through the doors into the back, out of breath, her hair dishevelled.

Sam: Sergeant Brooke! 

Brooke turns to shout down the corridor.

Brooke: Mr Foyle, sir! 

Sam: He's mad. He's quite mad. 

Brooke comes back to sit beside her.

Johnson garage. Eric's d*ad body lies on the floor. There are police cars parked outside. Neville Johnson comes running towards the building and approaches the policeman on guard at the door.

Policeman: Sir. 

Foyle is standing looking at the body. Johnson comes in and sees Eric's body.

Johnson: Oh, my God. Oh my God. Oh God. Who are you? 

Foyle: Well, I'm a policeman. Who are you? 

Johnson: This is my garage. I'm Neville Johnson. W-was he like that when you found him? That's a screwdriver. 

Foyle: You know him? 

Johnson: Of course I know him. That's Eric. Eric Clayton. He worked for me. This is- this is Harry done this, didn't he? He did this to him. 

Foyle: Did he? 

Johnson: I should have known. I never should have employed the little bastard. 

Foyle: Why's that? 

Johnson: I always knew there was something wrong with him. Sick in the head. A nasty piece of work. 

Foyle: That have, erm, anything to do with why he hadn't been called up? 

Johnson: No, he- he said he was asthmatic. That's what he told me. I think... I think the forces probably just took one look at him, and decided they could manage without him. I don't believe this. I just don't believe this. 

Foyle: Where is he now? 

Johnson: Harry? Well, he gave me an address on Helm Street, but he was never there. Spent most of his time with his friend. 

Foyle: Friend? 

Johnson: That girl, Grace Philips. Of course, er, they were more than just friends. He, he thought I didn't know, but I had a good idea what was going on in there. 

Foyle: In where? 

Johnson: There's a flat at the back, over the s*ab. I mentioned to him and Eric that I wanted to rent it out, and the next thing I know, she appears out of nowhere. A munitions worker. Nice girl. That's what I thought. Was only later on that I realised that they were together. Of course, by then it was too late. 

Foyle: But you, er, let her stay? 

Johnson: She paid the rent. On the dot every week. There was nothing wrong with her, except she, she managed to fall in with him. 

Foyle: Can I see the flat? 

Johnson: Er, yeah. Yeah, of course. 

He leads the way.

Grace's flat.

Johnson: This is more or less how she left it. I didn't quite know what to do after she... thought a relation, someone might come for her stuff. 

Foyle goes over to the nightstand and picks up the prescription envelope for Grace's supplement.

Johnson: What's that? Medicine? I never knew she was ill. 

Foyle sniffs the envelope.

Foyle: It's, erm, a supplement for an iron deficiency. 

He sniffs the glass as well. Then he goes over to open the wardrobe.

Johnson: That's his clobber. Disgusting, innit? Young people nowadays, they've got no sense of decency. 

Foyle: Well, I think, er, she thought he was gonna marry her, didn't she? 

Johnson: Well, I suppose he could turn on the charm when he wanted to. After all, he fooled me. When he first started work, I thought he was, you know, just a good-looking boy. 

Foyle pulls a box on from the bottom of the wardrobe.

Johnson: What's that you've got there? 

The box contains wire and various components, as well as a package of Durex condoms.

Johnson: Oh, well. That just goes to show you. That's exactly what I was talking about. 

Foyle: I don't think they were going to be used for what, er, you think they were, Mr Johnson. 

Hairdresser's. Mollie is sorting through some magazines when Harry knocks on the door. Mollie opens it.

Mollie: I'm sorry. We're closed. 

Harry: Yes, I, I, I, I know. Um, I'm sorry. I'm sorry to bother you.

He edges his way in. 

Harry: I, I just wondered whether I could... 

He closes the door behind him.

Harry: Erm, well, er, the thing is... 

He shoves Mollie backwards and she screams.

Factory floor. Foyle is walking along with Watson and Baker.

Baker: I've already told you, Mr Foyle, the last time you were here. All the workers are searched as a matter of course. They're also scrutinised every minute of the day. Why do you need to ask again? 

Foyle: Well, the last time I was here, I wasn't aware she was involved with a safebreaker. 

Watson: Really? 

Foyle: They shared a room together. We found wires, buttons, tamping sticks, prophylactics. 

Watson: Condoms? 

Foyle: Condoms are filled with expl*sives and placed, er, between the back of the door plate and the front of the lock cap. What he was short of were the expl*sives. 

Watson: You think they came from here? 

Foyle: Er, e do, through Grace. He might even have been responsible for her death. 

Baker: He k*lled her? How? He couldn't have got through the gate. 

Foyle: He wouldn't have needed to. 

They walk through into the shell-filling room.

Foyle: What chemicals did she have access to? 

Baker: Mainly cordite and TNT. Brought from the storeroom over there. Everything measured and recorded. 

Foyle: Nothing else? 

Baker: We store a very small amount of nitroglycerine. 

Watson: It's unstable. Horrible stuff.

Baker: And that's putting it mildly. Even assuming she could have got her hands on it, she couldn't have smuggled it out of here without bl*wing herself to pieces.

Watson: Possible she could have used s*ab it with methadone.

Baker: Still too dangerous. 

Foyle: Right, well, thank you.

They walk out through a set of double doors.

Foyle: Incidentally, Grace Phillips's mother? 

Baker: Yes? 

Foyle: The mother you took a collection for. 

Baker: What about her? 

Foyle: She's been d*ad fifteen years. 

Watson: Is that true? 

Foyle: How much did you collect? 

Watson: Answer the question.  

Baker: About £18. 

Watson: And you kept it? 

Foyle: Well, thanks again. I'll leave you with that one. 

He turns to go.

High Street. There are police cars outside the Southern Bank next to the hairdresser's. Milner gets out of one. A uniformed officer lifts the police barrier to let Sam and Foyle drive through and Foyle gets out of the car.

Milner: Sir, we got a call saying banging had been heard coming from the bank. I can't get hold of the manager. Incidentally, this is the bank that handles the munitions factory payroll. 

Foyle: A call from whom? 

Milner: Er, the solicitors at the back. 

Foyle: Not the hairdresser? 

Milner: No, sir. 

Foyle: Have you been in there? 

Milner: Er, no, sir, not yet. 

Foyle: Is it open? 

Milner: Erm, I don't think so. Doesn't seem to be anybody there. 

Foyle: What, not even Mrs, erm...? 

Milner: Mrs Summersgill. No. 

Sam walks over to join them.

Foyle: Do we know where, er, Harry Osborne is? 

Milner: No, sir, we don't. 

Foyle: Thinking what I'm thinking? 

Sam: Isn't this the place where your wife used to work? 

Milner: And Grace. 

Sam: This is to do with the expl*sives, isn't it, sir? 

Foyle: Possibly. Well, we should take a look. 

Milner: I don't mind going in, sir. 

Foyle: Well, neither do I, and, er, perhaps this isn't the best time for you and Mrs, erm- 

Milner: Summersgill.

Foyle: Mmm.

Milner: True. Sir, if he is in there, why don't we wait until he's finished what he's doing, and arrest him when he comes out? 

Foyle: Well, that'd be fine, if we knew for a fact that she wasn't in there. 

He walks towards the hairdresser's.

Inside. The front room is empty. Foyle walks towards a door leading into the back. A bottle has been knocked onto the floor and is dripping its contents down the basement stairs. Foyle goes the steps and sees a hole has been knocked through into the basement of the bank next door. He climbs through it and walks through the basement, where he sees Mollie, tied up and gagged. She nods him onward and he rounds the next corner to find Harry wiring a mechanism up to the vault door.

Harry: Who the hell are you? 

Foyle: I'm a policeman. 

Harry: How'd you find me? 

Foyle: I came through that hole in the wall. 

Harry: Has Eric bought it? 

Foyle: He has. 

Harry: Then they'll hang me, won't they? 

Foyle: Perhaps. 

Harry: You on your tod? 

He goes to look.

Foyle: Well... you like gangster films, don't you? Isn't that right? 

Harry: Yeah. 

Foyle: Well, you probably know the answer to that question, then. 

Harry (American accent): You've, er, got the place surrounded. 

Foyle: Yep. 

Harry: You think I'm going to give myself up? There's just you. You going to make me or do you think you can talk me out, make me see reason? Well, you're wrong. D'you know what this is? 

He picks up a flash of yellowish liquid.

Foyle: Tell me. 

Harry: It's nitroglycerine. I smash this, we all die. What d'you say about that, copper? 

Foyle: Did Grace get that for you? 

Harry: That's right. 

Foyle: How did she do that? 

Harry: Oh, it was easy. They thought they were so clever at the factory with all their narks. She said she'd never be able to do it, but in the end she just walked into the storeroom in her lunch break. No one was there. 

Foyle: Well, she'd have been searched, wouldn't she? 

Harry shakes the flask a little.

Harry: She sewed a little pocket in her dress. In the hem. 

Foyle: Right. 

Harry: Nobody looked there. It was easy! 

Around the next corner, Mollie starts to whimper.

Harry: Shut up! They will hang me, won't they? Yeah, they will. This is faster. We all go together. And it's fun! I take a copper with me. 

Foyle: There's something I'd quite like to know. 

Harry: You would like to know. What would you like to know? 

Foyle: How you k*lled her. 

Harry: Gracie? 

Foyle: Mmm. You put something in her medicine, didn't you? Strychnine, wasn't it? 

Harry: Who told you that? 

Foyle: Well, you left it in the glass. 

Harry: Well, yeah. That's right, Mr Policeman. But it was rat poison. 

Foyle: Right. So, er, you got her to steal this stuff? 

Harry: Yeah. 

Foyle: And she got frightened? 

Harry: She got cold feet. "Oh, don't do it, Harry. You mustn't do it. We don't need the money." But I wanted to do it, so I made her get me the stuff. I mean, why d'you think I was walking out with her in the first place? 

Foyle: Right. What, so she, er, she stole it and then, er, had second thoughts? 

Harry: Yeah, she asked me to give it back or get rid of it. I knew she was gonna tell someone. I did it like you said. I poisoned her. I, I thought she'd have croaked it before she even got to the factory, but... that wasn't how it happened, was it? 

He laughs. Flashback to Grace dropping the shell casing and the expl*si*n.

Harry (voiceover): You must admit it's the perfect m*rder. She blew herself up. 

Cut back to the bank basement.

Harry: I couldn't believe it when I heard. All the evidence gone. No d*ad body for you to poke around with. Nothing. But then that was Gracie for you. She was always very considerate. 

Foyle: But she wrote the letter. 

Harry: You like it all neat, don't you? Dot the Is and cross the Ts. How long have you been a copper? Yeah. Some old friend of hers. I didn't know that until that interfering bitch came up to me the garage. She had a letter and she knew all about me, and then suddenly Grace is d*ad, and she thinks I've got something to do with it. She thr*at me. You know what?

Flashback to Harry striking Jane in the alley.

Harry (voiceover): I followed her into town and then I h*t her with a brick. I k*lled her. 

Harry takes the envelope from Jane's handbag and removes the letter from it. He drops the envelope on the ground and looks at the letter for a moment before pocketing it.

Harry (voiceover): I took the letter and that was that, you know. Grace shouldn't have written to her, you know? It was stupid of her.

Bank basement.

Harry: If it- if hadn't been for Grace, then I wouldn't have had to touch her.

He shakes the flask.

Harry: Is there, er, anything else you want to know? 

Foyle: No, I think that about covers it. 

Harry: Yeah. I think you're right. You know, that's funny, really. When your friends come in, they're not going to know which is you and which is me and which is her.

He points at Mollie.

Harry: There's just going to be pieces, and in the end, they'll have to bury us together. For ever and ever. 

He throws the flask on the ground. It smashes and the liquid spills. He looks up at Foyle.

Harry: Grace. Oh, Grace. You lying bitch. 

Foyle: Nice sense of humour, though. 

Later. A uniformed officer takes the gag off Mollie and helps her up.

Mollie: Oh, thank you. Thank you. 

Hairdresser's. Milner watches as Harry is led up the basement stairs and out. Foyle follows him up.

Milner: So it was just glycerine. 

Foyle: It was, coloured. Nothing nitro about it. 

Milner: And did you know that? 

Foyle: Well, she couldn't have got the real stuff out of the factory, A because the searches were too rigorous and, B, if she had, she'd have blown herself up. 

Milner: But she had to give him something to keep him sweet. 

Foyle: And as soon as she did she knew she was in trouble, and that's perhaps when she, er, wrote to your wife. 

Milner: And he k*lled her. 

Foyle: I'm sorry. 

Sam joins the two of them.

Sam: This whole thing, trying to rob the bank, all the k*lling. He was completely off his rocker. 

Milner leaves.

Foyle: Seems so, anyway. Thank you. 

Sam: For what? 

Foyle: For finding him. 

Sam: Well, it was just an accident. 

Foyle: Well, your accidents are very helpful. 

Sam: Are they, sir? I'll have to arrange some more, then. 

Foyle: And you also helped confirm that Grace's mother was d*ad. 

Sam: Did I? Well, all I knew that she wasn't at the funeral. 

Foyle: Well, surviving mothers tend to turn up to their daughters' funerals, don't they? 

Sam: Yes

Foyle: Mmm.

He goes to leave and she follows him out.

Sam: Of course they do. 

Outside. Milner goes over to join Edith where she's standing behind the crowd barrier. A policeman lifts it to let out.

Edith: Is it true? Is it over? 

Milner nods.

Edith: Thank God. You know I would have stood by you. Whatever. 

Milner: I know. 

They kiss and then walk on together.

Police station. Sam walks along the corridor, then goes to take another peek through the evidence room window. The turkey has been removed, a photograph of it propped up in its place.

Sam: Brookie! 

She hurries back to the front desk.

Sam: The turkey! 

Brooke: I know, Miss Stewart. 

Sam: What happened to it? 

Brooke: Oh, I wish I could tell you. But Mr Foyle's gone up the wall, and he was asking for you.

Sam: Well, he doesn't think I took it, does he? 

Brooke: Well, I wouldn't like to say. But I can tell you, he had steam coming out of his ears. 

Sam: And he's looking for me? 

Brooke: He said you were to see him the moment you came in. 

He smiles as he watches her walk office.

Foyle's office. Sam walks in and hurries up to his desk.

Sam: Sir. 

Foyle: Yeah. 

Sam: I just want you to know that I had nothing whatsoever to do with the disappearance of the turkey. 

Foyle: I know. 

Sam: I don't know who took it, and I've no idea why they left a photograph. You know? 

Foyle: The photograph is the evidence. 

Sam: I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand. 

Foyle: Well, in the circumstances I thought, much as you did, what a waste of a turkey. So I rang the local magistrate. 

Sam: And he said we could eat it? 

Foyle: No, he didn't say we could eat it. He did say he'd give us special dispensation to use the photograph as evidence. 

Sam: So who is going to eat it? 

Foyle: Well, I thought we'd offer it to the children, the local evacuees. 

Sam: That's a terribly good idea, sir. 

Foyle: Well, I'm glad you think so. The magistrate seemed to. Would you mind driving it round? 

Sam: Not at all. 

There's a knock at the door.

Foyle: Yep. You manage that? 

Brooke enters with the plucked turkey.

Sam: Absolutely. 

Brooke: Here we are, sir. All plucked and ready for the oven. My mum's old recipe. 

Foyle: Right. 

Brooke: Though it was a bit tricky stuffing it without any onions. 

Foyle: They, um, also hoped you'd, er, be able to join them. 

Sam: When? 

Foyle: Tomorrow, lunch? 

Sam: Well, that would be wonderful, sir. 

Brooke hands her the turkey.

Sam: The evacuees. Erm, I had them in mind, really. All the time. 

She backs out with the turkey.

Foyle: Ah.

She and Brooke leave.

An open square in Hastings. Foyle is walking along. An ARP warden, Perkins, is coming the other way. The bells of a nearby church start ringing, and everyone stops to look.

Perkins: You hear that? They're ringing the bells again. It's all over for h*tler. He's finished! Happy Christmas. 

Foyle: And you. 

They go their separate ways. The church bells keep ringing.
{"type": "series", "show": "Foyle's War", "episode": "05x01 - Bleak Midwinter"}