Countryside. Edith Johnstone is bicycling along a country lane. She stops by a telegraph pole and climbs up to the top of the pole. She cuts the wire then starts to climb back down.

Meeting hall. A poster outside announces an event called "Whose w*r? A meeting of the Friday Club". Two men in suits are waiting on the front steps as several people walk in past them. Thunder rolls in the background.

CAPTION: LONDON, MAY 1940.

Milner makes his way along the street on crutches. As he's passing the steps into the meeting hall, a car pulls up in front. The two men from the steps walk down to meet it and open the door for the occupant.

Man: Sir.

Guy Spencer gets out of the car.

Spencer: Thank you.

He nods to Milner in passing.

Spencer: Good evening. You coming in? 

Milner: I wasn't planning to.

Spencer: Oh.

Milner: I'm on my way back to my hotel. 

Spencer: Is it far? 

Milner: Gloucester Road. 

Spencer: Far enough. 

There's another roll of thunder.

Spencer: Looks like it's going to bucket down. Why don't you come in? I'm Guy Spencer. I'm speaking here tonight. 

Milner: "Whose w*r"?

They start up the steps together.

Spencer: Are you a casualty? 

Milner: Yes. 

Spencer: Well, it clearly wasn't yours. 

The two of them enter the hall together.

Milner: Friday Club. What is that? Are you pacifists? 

Spencer: Nobody wanted this w*r. Did you? 

Milner: I wouldn't have said I had much choice. 

Spencer: My point exactly. Alan

He approaches his assistant Alan Fleming.

Fleming: Evening, Guy. 

Spencer: How is everything? 

Fleming: Not a great turnout, I'm afraid. There's about twenty. People are getting scared to come. 

Spencer: Well, that's to be expected, I suppose. This is a young friend of mine. 

Milner: Paul Milner. We met outside. 

Fleming: Alan Fleming. 

Spencer: Well, let's get on with it. You will stay? 

Milner nods. Spencer walks off with Fleming.

Spencer: (Useful.)

Later. Spencer is speaking on stage with Fleming sitting beside him.

Spencer: Some people say that h*tler is mad. Well, they should ask themselves this. Is it a madman who has been able in seven years to restore Germany to its position as one of the foremost nations of the world? Is it a madman who has led his forces across Europe and who is even now knocking at our door? Let me ask you a question. Who are the real benefactors of this w*r, hmm?

He points out Milner in the crowd.

Spencer: Here's a young soldier. Just back from Norway. A true hero who served his country and has been crippled and cast aside. Has he benefited or has he been used as cannon fodder in a w*r we should never have g*n? 

Outside. Isaac Wolf is walking along and sees the sign for the meeting.

Isaac: Why can't you people find somewhere else for your filthy rabble-rousing?

He spits on the ground. The two men on the steps exchange a look and then follow him.

Spencer (voiceover): Who is the real enemy? The Bolshevik and the Jew.

Cut to back inside the hall.

Spencer: They were the enemies of Germany, and they are our enemies now. And because I hold this belief I am called a fascist, a sympathiser, an agitator. Well, believe me. I am not a violent man. 

Intercut between Spencer's speech and the two men beating Isaac up in a back alley.

Spencer: This organization, the Friday Club, does not believe in v*olence. I think of myself as a patriot, who will do anything to serve the country that he loves.

Isaac is left unconscious on the ground.

Inside, Spencer concludes his speech.

Spencer: But this is an unnecessary w*r and not our w*r. And that is the truth that the British government is determined to hide. 

The crowd rise to their feet and applaud. Milner stays seated, watching the people around him but not joining the applause.

OPENING CREDITS

Hastings police station. The reception area is crowded with a lot of people all talking at once. Foyle enters and walks through to where Hugh Reid is behind the desk.

Hugh: Ah, Christopher, have you got a moment?

Foyle: It's like Piccadilly Circus in here. 

Hugh: Yes, these new defence regulations - evacuation, lighting, use of firearms. It's causing disaffection among members of his majesty's forces.

Foyle: You're a bit overstretched, aren't you? 

They head into the back together.

Hugh: Whole thing's ridiculous. Apparently, in Eastbourne the other day, a young couple parked in one of these regulated areas, and just as they were leaving, a constable pulled them over and told the driver he'd been in a prohibited area. Young girl next to him went bright red, said, "Don't worry, officer. I didn't let him go anywhere near it."

He chuckles at his own joke as they arrive at Foyle's office.

Hugh: Now everyone's panicking. The whole country's gone mad. They're seeing German parachutists everywhere. Clouds, flying geese, ack-ack f*re. Ever since Brussels fell, everybody's been waiting for this invasion to happen, and now they've g*n to imagine that it already has. 

Foyle: Well, the Germans are on the coast South of Boulogne, which puts them only, what, 30 miles from here. Our forces have got nowhere to go. North of Boulogne, Calais, Ostend? They're cornered. 

Hugh: So what will happen? 

Foyle: Well, I don't know. It's a little bit worrying, though, isn't it, when the king feels it necessary to tell everyone to get on their knees for a national day of prayer? 

Hugh: Oh, well, let's hope it works. Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favour. Are you busy? 

Foyle: Hmm.

Hugh: Silly question. I've got a young girl here, name of Edith Johnstone. She works as a chambermaid up at the White Feather. It's a hotel. 

Foyle: I know it. 

Hugh: She's been caught cutting telephone wires just outside Crowhurst. 

Foyle: Not good. 

Hugh: No, and it gets worse. There's a military camp half a mile up the road. 

Foyle: Want me to talk to her? 

Hugh: Would you mind? 

Foyle: Where is she? 

Hugh: Downstairs. 

Foyle: Right. 

Hugh goes to leave the office.

Foyle: You're still on for Sunday afternoon? 

Hugh: Sunday afternoon? Absolutely. 

Foyle: Good. 'Cause we're, um, praying Sunday morning, aren't we? 

Hugh chuckles as he leaves.

Interview room. Edith sits at the table. She looks up as Foyle walks in.

Foyle: Hello. How are you? Got everything you want? 

Edith: I'd like a cigarette. 

Foyle: Ah, well, I'm afraid I don't smoke. Er, my name's Foyle. I'm a police officer. And, um, you're in an awful lot of trouble. I mean, what on Earth did you think you were doing? 

Edith shrugs slightly.

Foyle: I mean, did your, um- I mean, where, where do your parents live? 

He sits down.

Edith: They don't care about me. 

Foyle: That's not quite what I asked, is it? 

Edith: I don't know where my father is. My mum lives in Norfolk. Hunstanton. Do you know where that is? 

Foyle: Yes. 

Edith: Don't matter. She don't give a damn. 

Foyle: It seems very strange that a young girl like you, cutting telephone wires. I mean, that's bad enough, but there's a military camp half a mile away. Did you know there was a camp there? 

Edith: Yes. 

Foyle: What on earth made you do it, then? I mean, do you want to help the Germans? Is that it? You must be very committed to risk your life because that's what you've done, I'm afraid. 

Edith: I don't think so. They'll be here soon anyway. Another few days. 

Foyle: Who? 

Edith: The Germans. They've smashed the Dutch, the Belgians, and the French. We ain't got a hope. Any day now, they'll inv*de, and you'll be out of a job. You'll be the one who's in jail. And I'll be the one who's laughing. 

Foyle: All right. So that's what you think? 

Edith: That's what I know. Heil h*tler.

She raises her hand in a n*zi salute, but mispronounces 'heil'.

Milner's office. Sam pushes a drawer closed.

Sam: Where do you want these? 

Milner: Don't know. 

Sam: Actually, I'm not sure there's anywhere to put them. Are these all unsolved cases?

She's looking at a hefty stack of files in boxes.

Milner: No. 

Sam: Oh. Sorry. Well, er, if it's not important, we could move them up here. Out of sight, out of mind. 

She puts the files on top of a cabinet. Foyle walks in.

Foyle: Settling in all right? 

Milner: Yes, sir. 

Foyle: Need anything? 

Sam: We could do with some more space. 

Milner: I'm all right. 

Foyle: Well, I want you to find out what you can about an Edith Johnstone of Hunstanton, Norfolk. Parents, background, schooling, political affiliations. And also whatever we've got on, er, a hotel called the White Feather. 

Milner: Right.

Sam and Foyle are driving along.

Sam: The White Feather? I thought that's what they gave people for cowardice in the last w*r. 

Foyle: It is. 

Sam: Do you think they'll hang her? Sabotage in a time of w*r, that's treason, isn't it? 

Foyle: Well, it's not actually been confirmed. 

Sam: I wonder why she did it. You have any idea? 

Foyle: Sam. 

Sam: Sorry. 

They pull up in front of the White Feather.

Hotel lobby. Foyle approaches the desk. Margaret Ellis comes down the stairs to meet him.

Margaret: Can I help you? 

Foyle: Good morning. Erm, my name's Foyle. I'm a police officer. 

Margaret: Ah, yes. 

Foyle: Are you the owner? 

Margaret: Margaret Ellis. Yes, my husband and I run this hotel. 

Foyle: I understand you employ an Edith Johnstone. 

Margaret: Edith. She's not in any trouble, is she? She's been with us now for five or six months. She's always seemed quite reliable. 

Foyle: And where did you find her? 

Margaret: She was working in a smaller hotel near Hastings before she came here. The Crescent. 

Foyle: She have references? 

Margaret: Excellent references. It's almost impossible to find good staff at the moment. May I ask what it is she's done? 

Foyle: Well, yes, you can, but I'm not at liberty to tell you at the moment. 

Margaret: Oh, I quite understand. 

Foyle: Did she ever express, er, any sort of political opinion? 

Margaret: Political? 

Foyle: Well, um, the way things are going. Um, events in Germany, for example. 

Margaret: Well, I really couldn't say, Mr Foyle. It's never been my habit to hobnob with the staff. 

Arthur Ellis comes through the door behind her.

Margaret: Ah, this is my husband, Arthur. This is Mr Foyle, a police officer. 

Foyle: Morning. 

Arthur: Really? Why? Er, I mean-

Margaret: He's been making inquiries about Edith Johnstone. 

Arthur: Edith? Where is she? What's she done? 

Margaret: Well, she hasn't done anything as far as I know, and I'm afraid Mr Foyle is refusing to enlighten me. 

Foyle: Er, she ever tell you, um where she came from? 

Arthur: Yes. Came from Norfolk. 

Foyle: Yes, yes. That's right. Well, thank you for your time.

He leaves

Arthur: Why was he asking about Edith? 

Margaret: It doesn't matter. It's nothing to do with us. 

Arthur: Having the police here, now? 

Margaret: We've got nothing to be afraid of. We have nothing to hide. 

Arthur: We're breaking the law. 

Margaret: Margaret: Arthur, we've been through all this, and I have told you, a week from now, there will be no law. 

Alan Fleming enters the lobby through another door.

Fleming: Who was that, just now? 

Margaret: Oh, it was nothing, Mr Fleming. A police officer. 

Fleming goes to look out of the window.

Fleming: What did he want? 

Margaret: He was just making inquiries about one of our staff. Nothing important. 

Fleming: Good.

Hotel dining room. Sam is sitting at a table with Foyle, having tea and sandwiches.

Sam: This is very decent of you, sir. 

Foyle: That's perfectly all right, Sam. 

Sam: I've never been particularly fond of sandwiches. Seem to have been brought up on them. Too many tea parties. These are very good, though. My father says you should always eat four times a day. He says it's healthier. 

Foyle: He's a vicar, isn't he, didn't you say? 

Sam: Mm. But he cycles and swims. He's very fit. 

Foyle: And how's Milner settling in? 

Sam: Oh, he seems all right, sir. I think he's glad to have the new leg, although the doctor says he wasn't supposed to wear it for another six weeks. He seemed very determined.

The waitress, Dot, brings a plate over to their table.

Dot: There we are. 

Foyle: Miss, excuse me. I wonder if you could help me. 

Dot: I'm Dorothy. Everyone calls me Dot. 

Foyle: Dorothy, do you, by any chance, remember an Edith Johnstone who used to work here? 

Dot: Edie, yeah. Why do you want to know? You're not her dad, are you? 

Foyle: Er, no. I'm a police officer. 

Dot: Is she in trouble? 

Foyle: Er, no. How well did you know her? 

Dot: Not that well, really. She'd been working in London. Then she came down here, but she said they weren't paying her enough, so she moved. 

Foyle: Ah. Lots of friends? 

Dot: I couldn't say. There was a man she used to walk out with. 

Foyle: And, er, what was his name? 

Dot: I don't know. I, I don't know anything about him. 

Sam: They're a bit like that, aren't they? 

Dot: What? 

Sam: Boyfriends. Here today, gone tomorrow. And it's over so quickly, you hardly get to know what they're called. 

Dot: He wasn't like that. 

Sam: Was he a soldier? 

Dot: I don't know what he was. He was a nice boy. Edie was crazy about him. David. That was his name, if you really want to know. David Lane. 

Foyle: Right. Thank you. Well done, Sam. 

Sam: That's all right. Is that the last lemon curd? 

Foyle: Yes. 

Sam: Do you mind? 

Foyle: Not at all. 

Hotel lounge. Margaret brings a tray of drinks over to an older couple, Ernest and Caroline Bannerman.

Margaret: Here we are, Sir Ernest. It's always such a pleasure to have you and Lady Bannerman here. 

Ernest: It's a pleasure to come. 

Margaret: And, of course, you're staying for tomorrow. 

Ernest: Absolutely. 

Caroline: That's why we're here. 

Margaret looks around and spots someone else coming in.

Margaret: Oh, can I introduce Miss Harwood?

Miss Harwood enters room, followed by Alan Fleming.

Margaret: She's come all the way down from London. She works in Whitehall. All very hush-hush, but I'm sure you'll be able to wheedle a few secrets out of her. 

Ernest: How do you do? 

Hardwood: It's very nice to meet you, Sir Ernest. I've heard a lot about you. And I've heard you speak out in Parliament. I think you're very brave. 

Ernest: Well, somebody has to face up to the facts. 

Harwood: I agree. 

Margaret: Excuse me. 

She leaves.

Ernest: When's Guy coming down? 

Fleming: Tomorrow.

Ernest: Ah.

Hotel lobby. Robert Wolf is signing the guestbook.

Arthur: I'm afraid I'll have to ask you for your identity card, Mr Woolton. 

Wolf: Of course.

He takes it out and hands it to Arthur.

Arthur: Thank you. And it's for two nights? 

Wolf: At least two nights, yes. 

Margaret comes through from the back.

Margaret: Can I help you? 

Arthur: It's all right, dear. 

Margaret: Are you staying here? 

Wolf: Yes. My secretary made a reservation. 

Arthur: This is Mr Woolton, dear. 

Wolf: I must point out it is the policy of this hotel not to take Jewish guests. 

Arthur: I have his identity card. 

Wolf: I am not of the Hebrew faith. 

Margaret: Good. 

Stanley Ellis enters the lobby.

Margaret: Oh, this is my son. He'll take your bags for you. 

Arthur hand Stanley the room key.

Arthur: Room six. 

Margaret: Oh, and, Mr Woolton, I'm afraid the main lounge of the dining room will be closed tomorrow night. We have a private function. 

Wolf: I see. 

He leaves and follows Stanley up the stairs.

Milner house.

Jane: So how did you get on today, then? 

Milner: It was all right. 

Jane: You haven't told me anything about it. 

Milner: There's not much to say. 

Jane brings the kettle over from the stove to the table where Milner is seated.

Jane: Did you catch any criminals? 

Milner: It's not like that. You know that. It's just paperwork. 

Jane: Well, I suppose that's all you can manage. 

Milner: What does that mean? 

Jane: Nothing. 

Milner: So, what's for tea? 

Jane: Shepherd's pie. 

She gets up to get it out of the oven.

Milner: Here. Let me help. 

Jane: Not with the leg. You stay where you are. 

Milner: It's aluminium. Invented by a man called Desoutter. He was a pilot. He lost his own leg in a plane crash. 

Jane: Why do you think I want to know that? 

Milner: I thought you might be interested. It's part of me now. 

He clasps her hand, but she pulls away and hurries back to the oven.

Jane: I don't want to know. And I don't want to see it. At night when you're not wearing it, I don't want it in the room. 

Milner: Jane. 

Jane: A few months from now, we may be able to pretend it's not there.

She looks down at the food.

Jane: That's too hot. Um, let it cool down. 

Milner: Where are you going? 

Jane: Just next door. Get a cigarette.

She leaves the room.

Hotel, room six. Wolf takes a revolver out of a case and aims it, practising pulling the trigger while the g*n is unloaded.

Foyle house. Foyle is finishing getting dressed, adjusting his tie and putting his suit jacket on. He picks up a hat from on top of a folded copy of the Daily Herald.

Hotel dining. Margaret Ellis is reading a copy of the same newspaper aloud to the guests.

Margaret: "Boulogne falls. The thr*at to this island grows nearer and nearer. While the people of Britain wait anxiously for news of their soldiers over the channel, they must prepare for the onslaught which may come upon their soil."

Milner house. Milner is reading a pamphlet titled "The Jewish World Problem". He looks up as he hears footsteps approaching.

Milner: We don't have to leave yet, do we? 

Jane: It'll take us a while to get there. It's not as if you can drive. 

Milner sighs.

A street in Hastings. Foyle and Sam are walking along together.

Foyle: Good of you to come, Sam. 

Sam: Oh, it's a pleasure, sir. Anyway, national day of prayer, I'm only obeying orders, really. 

Foyle: Oh, I see. 

Sam: I just hope the sermon's shorter than one of my father's.

They arrive at the church and walk in along with a group of other people.

Church interior. The vicar speaks at the pulpit.

Vicar: It is not wrong to be afraid. Our enemies are close and might appear almost unstoppable. We fear for our soldiers in northern France and Belgium. This w*r, this terrible w*r, seems to have fallen upon us like a great darkness, and it is hard to find the light. But on this, this national day of prayer, I do not think we congregate here simply to ask God to help us to win, but to help us to find the courage to face whatever the future may bring, because it is in that courage, in that determination that we will find the strength to overcome. 

Church exterior. The vicar is shaking hands as people emerge. A small boy snatches the hat of the girl next to him.

Boy: Got it. 

Girl: Hey, that's my hat!

Milner and Jane emerge, followed by Foyle and Sam.

Girl:  Give it back.

Foyle: Morning, Milner. 

Milner: Morning, sir. I don't think you've met my wife, Jane. 

Foyle: How do you do? Pleased to meet you. 

He shakes hands with Jane.

Jane: Paul has told me a lot about you, Mr Foyle. It was very kind of you to take him on. 

Foyle: Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that. 

Jane: I thought he was finished with the police force. We both did. Strange how things work out.

There's a moment of slightly awkward silence.

Sam: I used to think I was going to become a nun. 

Jane: Oh, really? 

Sam: But here I am, too. Just goes to show. 

Jane: Yes. 

More awkward silence, then Milner takes some folded pages from his inner pocket.

Milner: By the way, sir, I wanted to give you these. Background on Edith Johnstone. 

Foyle: Oh, right. 

Milner: And I think I've found your David Lane. Traced him through the Department of Labour. He's a fisherman registered in Hastings. 

Foyle: Only one David Lane? 

Milner: No, actually, there are two. But the other one's 85. 

Foyle: Oh, right. Well, good. Thank you. Nice to meet you. 

He shakes hands with Jane again.

Jane: Mm-hmm. 

Foyle: Bye. 

He and Sam start to walk away.

Foyle: Are you busy now, Sam? 

Sam: No. You're not going to invite me to lunch? 

Foyle: No, I'm not going to invite you to lunch. But the boat's coming in now, and I thought that, um-

Sam: David Lane. 

Foyle: Yes. 

Sam: Working Sundays? 

Foyle: There's a w*r on, Sam. 

Sam: Yes, sir. 

Hastings beach. A small fishing boat is approaching the shore as Foyle and Sam drive up. Foyle gets out of the car and speaks to a man stacking fishing gear, who points him in the right direction.

Ian Lane jumps down from his boat as Foyle approaches.

Foyle: Looking for David Lane. 

Ian: Oh, yeah? Who are you? 

Foyle: I'm a police officer. The name's Foyle. 

Ian: What's he done? 

Foyle: Well, nothing, as far as I know. 

Ian: Coming down here on a Sunday. I don't suppose you want to ask him the time of day. 

Foyle: No, I want to ask him about somebody he knows. 

Ian calls up to David on the boat.

Ian: David!

He turns back to Foyle.

Ian: I'm Ian Lane. I'm his father. 

Foyle: How do you do? 

David: Yes, Dad? 

Ian: This is a policeman. He wants to talk to you. 

David: What about? 

Foyle: Edith Johnstone.

Later. Ian is cleaning fish while David talks to Foyle nearby.

David: She used to work at the Crescent, you know? That's where I met her, and we walked out together. The only girl I ever met who didn't mind the smell of fish. She and me, we were talking about, you know, one day... 

Ian comes over to join them.

Ian: After the w*r?

David: It was just talk, Dad. She felt she wasn't earning enough. She had to rent a room and all that, so she got a job up at the hotel, the White Feather. A bit more money and somewhere to stay. It seemed like a good idea.

Ian: What's she done, anyway? Why are you asking questions about her? 

Foyle: I'm afraid she's under arrest.

David: What? 

Foyle: For sabotage. She was found cutting telephone wires near a military camp. 

David: You've made a mistake. 

Foyle: Oh, it doesn't appear so. 

David: I said, you've made a mistake. She wouldn't do a thing like that. Sabotage? That's rubbish! 

He grab at Foyle aggressively. Ian ushers him back.

Ian: David! 

David: No, I, I want to see her. 

Ian: That's enough. Let him go. 

Foyle: Mr Lane, I'm not the one who placed her under arrest. In fact, I'm actually trying to help her. 

David: Oh, yes?

Foyle: And I can't help her unless you help me. I mean, was she not very happy? 

David: She was afraid. That's what I thought, anyway. And when I first met her, she was a laugh, but later... 

Foyle: She, um, talk to you about how she felt about the w*r? 

David: Well, she talked, yes. But it wasn't her words that came out of her mouth. Look, she said lots of things. There were meetings, rich people coming from London. She wanted to tell me, but I never listened. I'm not interested in all that. She changed. That's all that mattered to me. She wasn't the same. 

Foyle: You felt that she was being thr*at, maybe? 

David: No. I don't know, but I can't explain it to you. It was more like, I mean, she was ill. 

Ian: We stopped seeing her. She came here less and less. 

David: It was that bitch up there, Mrs Ellis. She poisoned her mind against us. That's what she did. I'd have gone up there and sorted her out myself if-

Ian: If I hadn't stopped you. 

David: Yeah, maybe I still should. 

Ian: Now, then, that's enough of that. 

Foyle: I don't think there's anything to be gained by going back to the hotel. 

David: What are you gonna do? You're the one who's got her under arrest. 

Hotel. Guy Spencer's car arrives and Fleming goes out to meet him.

Fleming: Hello, Guy. 

Spencer: Alan. 

Fleming: How was the journey? 

Spencer: Bloody. How's everything here? 

Fleming: The beds are lumpy. The food's atrocious. 

Spencer: I wasn't asking about the accommodation. 

Fleming: The Bannermans arrived yesterday. The honourable John Mowbray and his wife came this morning, and the Gilberts are here. 

Spencer: Hmm. What about Miss Harwood? 

Fleming: Yesterday evening. Why the interest in her? 

Spencer: And how about our host, Mrs Ellis? 

Fleming: She hasn't said anything. 

Spencer: I see. 

Margaret: Guy! 

She comes out to meet him, followed by Stanley.

Margaret: Oh, my dear Guy. How very good to see you. 

Spencer: And you. 

Margaret: Stanley, the bags. You're just in time for lunch. 

Spencer: Oh, good. 

They head inside, followed by Fleming, while Stanley fetches the bags from the car.

Margaret: Now, tell me, how are things in London? 

Spencer: Rather too cosmopolitan at the moment, I'm afraid. Having a lot of refugees being forced on us right, left, and centre, Dutch, Belgians, but also Slavs, Latins, and all the rest of it. There are streets in Paddington and Bloomsbury that you would hardly recognise. 

Margaret: Oh, you'll soon put that right. 

Spencer: Absolutely, with your help, Margaret. 

She chuckles.

River. Foyle is casting his fishing line as Hugh Reid comes over to join him.

Foyle: Oh. Oh, hang on. 

He's managed to hook a fish, and crouches to reel it in.

Hugh: I don't know how you do it, Christopher. What's that, your fourth? 

Foyle: Yeah. 

Hugh: If I don't take something home for tea, I'll be sh*t. 

Foyle: Well, you can have one or two of these. 

Hugh: That's cheating. 

Foyle: Oh. Well, I've caught enough now. You come and fish here. 

Hugh: What do you think would happen if there was an invasion? 

Foyle: Well, the likes of us will be, um, lined up against the wall and sh*t, I suppose. 

Hugh: That's comforting. 

Foyle: Incidentally, I met the, er, the owners of the hotel. 

Hugh: Oh, the White Feather? 

Foyle: Yeah. I don't know quite what we're uncovering there, but I come away feeling distinctly unclean. I mean, Edith Johnstone, there. She obviously went in as a sweet, charming young thing, and, I don't know, something happened to her in there. 

Hugh: Do you think you can help her? 

Foyle: Well, I'll try. I mean, if they hang her, that's a- what a complete waste of a life. 

Police station.

David: I want to see her. 

Desk Sergeant: You could be her best friend, her father, and the king of England, but it wouldn't make no difference. She's not seeing anyone.

David: She didn't know what she was doing. She- I mean, she didn't mean to hurt anyone. All right, I'll show you who's... I'll show you. 

He turns to leave.

Hotel, evening. Mr Wolf enters from outside and heads for the stairs. Fleming steps out.

Fleming: I'm afraid the hotel is closed this evening. 

Wolf: I'm staying here. I have a room. 

Fleming: Oh, yes? 

Wolf: Room six. 

Fleming: Well, I'm afraid the, er, public rooms are closed. 

Wolf: I was told. A private function?

Fleming: An evening lecture. 

Wolf: And what's the subject? 

Fleming: The w*r effort. 

Wolf: Very commendable, I'm sure. 

Hotel back office. Spencer is reading Margaret Ellis's will.

Spencer: So, um... There. 

He indicates a spot for Margaret to sign.

Margaret: Mm-hmm. 

She signs and Spencer blots the ink for her.

Margaret: We'll need to have it witnessed. 

Spencer: Yes. I'll find Fleming. You're a true patriot, Margaret. 

He leaves with the will.

The Ellis's rooms in the hotel. Arthur is tying his bow tie when Stanley enters.

Arthur: What do you want? 

Stanley: I was looking for you. 

Arthur: Why? 

Stanley: Can I ask you something, father? 

Arthur: Yup. 

Stanley: Do you enjoy having these people here? 

Arthur: What do you mean? They're guests. 

Stanley: Always have to dodge the question, don't you? 

Arthur: Oh, Stanley. 

Stanley: It's mother, isn't it? She's the one that wants them here, not you. They're sick. 

Arthur: You shouldn't talk like that. 

Stanley: Why not? 

Arthur: You don't understand. They'll come, they'll go. They won't do any harm. 

Stanley: I'm not so sure of that. 

Arthur: Why do you say that? 

Stanley: I was in room six just now. Mr Woolton's room. 

Arthur: What were you doing there? 

Stanley: Guess what I found. 

Arthur: What? What did you find? Tell me. 

Hotel exterior. Fleming is lighting a cigarette in the window and spots a figure approaching the hotel in the darkness. It's David Lane.

Hotel room. Rosemary Harwood is getting ready at her dressing table. She opens her jewellery box and lifts the jewellery in the top layer aside to reveal a folded letter. She stands up and tucks it into her purse.

Hotel staircase. A couple, John Mowbray and his wife, are heading downstairs as Wolf is coming up.

Wolf: Good evening.

Once they're gone, he takes his key from his pocket and heads back to his room. Once he's gone in, Arthur is revealed to be nearby. He takes a few nervous steps forward.

Hotel lounge. Guests share polite laughter while a pianist plays. Spencer is standing talking with Margaret.

Spencer: I'm afraid the days are long gone when you can believe anything put out by the BBC. 

Margaret: Oh, yes, the whole thing's a complete fiction. 

Rosemary Harwood is standing with some other young women.

Woman: Of course, London isn't the same anymore. Full of refu-Jews. 

They laugh. Nearby, Spencer listens in on the various conversations, smiling to himself.

Caroline: We stayed at the metropolitan. It was full of Jews. Simply ghastly. You don't know what Ernest said. 

Ernest: There aren't enough foreskins here to cover a threepenny piece. 

Laughter.

Harwood: Dodging the call-up, queue-jumping, profiteering. They're the worst offenders. It's a fact. 

Margaret: Well, I've stopped buying the Express. 

Spencer: It's completely obvious, of course, that the press is very largely under Jewish control. 

Margaret: Yes. 

Harwood: What's happening in Germany they brought it on themselves. They've only got themselves to blame. 

Mowbray (imitating Jewish accent): The army wants blankets, so now I make blankets. 

The pianist launches into an upbeat jaunty tune and begins to sing:

♪ As I go rolling down the strand

♪ I see them strolling hand in hand 

♪ And I really don't

♪ I just don't understand 

♪ Why are there so many Jews around in London? 

♪ Why can't the Jews just simply disappear? 

Outside the lounge. Stanley can hear this going on while he sits trying to read a book on Psychopathology.

♪ h*tler's got them on the run in Germany

♪ Why can't we do the same thing over here? 

Man (offscreen): Hear, hear.

Hotel fuse box. One of the fuses starts to throw off sparks.

Outside the lounge. Stanley sees the lights overhead flicker.

♪ They're everywhere in London 

♪ why can't the Jews just simply disappear? 

Others of the group start to sing along with the pianist.

♪ h*tler's got them on the run in Germany

♪ Why can't we do the same thing over here? 

Ernest: Hear, hear! 

Later. The party guests along with Arthur and Margaret Ellis sit listening to Spencer speak.

Spencer: It's quite possible that the w*r is already over. Good news for those of us who said it should never have happened in the first place. The British army is outnumbered, surrounded, and will soon be destroyed. I take no pleasure in so many young lives being sacrificed on the altar of politicians. But I say it again. This was an unnecessary w*r. The British government has misled its people for long enough.

The lights spark and go out.

Spencer: What's going on? 

Margaret: Oh, I'm so sorry. It's a fuse. Do sit down. Arthur? 

Arthur: It's all right, dear. 

There's the sound of the door opening.

Fleming: Who was that? 

Margaret: Oh, don't worry. This will only take a minute.

There are g*n. People scream and scramble to get down on the ground.

Woman: Oh my God! 

Ernest: My God. What's happening? Keep down! 

The lights come back up. Fleming checks on Spencer next to him.

Fleming: Guy. 

Spencer: I'm all right.

As people start to get up, Arthur walks towards his wife.

Arthur: Margaret! 

She's slumped back on the sofa, unmoving.

Sam and Foyle are driving along a country lane.

Foyle: Guy Spencer? 

Sam: Was he one of the guests? 

Foyle: Guest speaker, it would seem. Do you know who Guy Spencer is? 

Sam: No. 

Foyle: Friday Club? He's one of those Mosleyites, pro-n*zi, anti-w*r, antisemitic. 

Sam: It's a shame someone didn't sh**t him. 

Foyle: Perhaps they tried. 

Hotel exterior. Sam paces around waiting by the car. There are policemen stationed at the hotel entrance.

Lounge. Foyle studies a chair with two b*llet holes in it. He takes a pinch of ash from the ashtray on the coffee table next to it and sniffs his fingers.

Spencer enters the room, followed by Fleming.

Spencer: Mr Foyle? I'm Guy Spencer. This is my colleague and assistant, Alan Fleming. I gather you're handling the investigation. 

Foyle: That's right. 

Spencer: Good. I'm very glad to see you. Margaret Ellis was a fine, intelligent woman and a close personal friend. 

Fleming: You were here the other day. I saw you leaving. 

Foyle: Yes. Um, forgive me. You, er, assist Mr Spencer how exactly? 

Fleming: Well, I organise his diary, I set up meetings. 

Foyle: Right. And, er, a meeting, that's why you were here? 

Spencer: This was an informal meeting of friends. We were here to discuss the w*r and the likely direction it might take. I'd get a move on with this investigation if I were you. You could be out of a job in a week. 

Foyle: Oh, if the, um, the Germans inv*de, you mean?

Fleming: Guy's not really being serious. 

Spencer: It's certainly a possibility. 

Foyle: And would I be right in thinking it's, er, something you'd approve of? 

Spencer: I don't care what you think, Mr Foyle, of me or of my politics. I was here in a private capacity. I was not breaking the law. But last night, someone took a sh*t at me. Three sh*ts, to be precise. And like it or not, it is your job to find out who. 

Foyle: So you, um, don't think it was, er, Mrs Ellis that was the intended target? 

Fleming: Guy's had death thr*at before. 

Spencer: I was standing here. Mrs Ellis was sitting there, and her husband, Arthur, was on the other side. 

Foyle: Her husband? He was a member of the group? 

Spencer: Association. No. I don't think he's entirely in sympathy with our views. He was fiddling with his pipe all the time I was talking. 

Foyle: And, er, who else was here, then? 

Spencer: A Miss Harwood. She's a secretary from London. She was there. The Gilberts. Sir Ernest and Lady Caroline Bannerman were there. The right honourable John Mowbray and his wife, Lady Helen. John is the son of Lord Mowbray. 

Foyle: An elevated association. 

Spencer: The Duke of Westminster is one of our loyal supporters. You could say that our influence extends as far as the palace. 

Foyle: So it could well be the case that it was one of your loyal supporters who took a sh*t at you? 

Spencer: The sh*ts came from the door. 

Fleming: It was, er, pitch-black in here when the lights went out, but I heard the door open just before the sh*ts were fired. 

Spencer: Someone coming in. 

Foyle: Or going out. Right. 

He moves to leave.

Spencer: On the subject of which, when can we leave? I have work to do in London. I would like to be gone by lunch. 

Foyle: Well, not possible, I'm afraid, Mr Spencer. Um, just need everybody to be here for the time being. 

Spencer: I see. Can I ask you a question, Mr Foyle? 

Foyle turns back to look at him.

Spencer: Are you, by any chance, Jewish? 

Foyle gives no visible reaction, and after a moment turns to leave without answering him.

Outside. Sam is still waiting by the car. The Bannermans emerge from the hotel, followed by Miss Harwood.

Ernest: You! 

He points his cane at Sam.

Ernest: Yes, you. Young woman. I want to speak to your commanding officer. 

Sam: You mean Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle, sir. 

Ernest: I don't care what his name is. I want to leave this hotel. 

Sam: Er, I'm afraid that's not possible. He gave strict orders that everyone-

Ernest: Do you know who I am? 

Sam: No, sir. I'm afraid I haven't got the faintest idea. 

Ernest: I am Sir Ernest Bannerman. 

Caroline: Sir Ernest is the MP for this constituency. 

Ernest: You have no right whatsoever to keep me here. And this Lady, er, Miss, er, Harwood, she has important work in Whitehall. 

Harwood: I have to be in London. I'm at the Foreign Office. I'll be missed. 

Ernest: Now, you're a driver.

He moves to open the back door of the car.

Ernest:  You can take me and my wife home and then take Miss Harwood to the station. Come along. 

Sam: Er, I'm afraid you'll have to ask Mr Foyle, sir. 

Ernest: What? Are you defying me? 

Sam: Yes. It looks as if I am. 

Ellis bedroom. Arthur is lying on the bed.

Arthur: I can't believe it happened. It's a terrible thing. I was right beside her when the lights went out. Inches away. 

Stanley: Maybe they were f*ring at you. 

He's standing nearby with his face turned away. Foyle observes the two of them.

Foyle: Were you due to speak at this meeting, Mr Ellis? 

Arthur: No, certainly not. 

Foyle: Did you not, um, share your wife's political opinions? 

Arthur: Didn't say that. 

Stanley: Neither of us did. We did what we were told. 

Foyle: Um, so what happened, um, after the lights went out, then? 

Arthur: I got up. She told me to mend the fuse. 

Foyle: So you left the room? 

Arthur: It was too dark. 

Foyle: Well, evidently, somebody did because Fleming said that he heard the door open, um, before the sh*ts were fired. 

Stanley: That was Rosemary Harwood. 

Foyle: Ah. How did you know that? 

Stanley: I was just outside. 

Foyle: But, er, how did you know it was her if you couldn't see her because it was, it was too dark to see anything? 

Stanley: I smelt her. She, um, she wears lavender water. 

Foyle: Ah. 

Stanley: Er, I'd say she wears it by the bucket. 

Foyle: Right. 

Stanley: It was definitely her. 

Later. Stanley is escorting Foyle back down the stairs.

Stanley: I don't think Miss Harwood could have sh*t Mother, if that's what you're thinking. They all adored her. Ate out of her hand. 

Foyle: You don't appear to be very moved by your mother's death. 

They reach the front desk.

Stanley: Do you find that shocking? 

Foyle: Well... 

Stanley: Sorry. I, I believe in honesty. 

Foyle: So, you were, um-

Stanley: Yes, I was sat just there. Er, at first, the lights started flickering, er, and then went out. It was the fuse, by the way. I replaced it. 

Foyle: Does that happen often? 

Stanley: Yes, all the time. It's overload. The, the electrics can't take it. Anyway, it was pitch-black, what with the blackouts and everything, so I, I didn't see anything. 

Foyle: And, er, did you hear anything of, er, what was being said? 

Stanley: No. I heard the g*n. At the time, I assumed someone had taken a potshot at Spencer, and I wasn't surprised. 

Foyle: Why's that? 

Room six.

Stanley: The case was on the bed here, and the g*n was in the case. 

Foyle: And, er, you saw the g*n how? The case was open? 

Stanley: Yes. 

Foyle: It was open already or did you open it? 

Stanley: Er, I opened it. 

Foyle: Oh. Why would you do that? 

Stanley: I'm curious about people. 

Foyle: Well, so am I, but I don't feel the need to go through their belongings. 

Stanley: I study psychoanalysis. Freud. That's what I do. 

Foyle: Who turns down the beds? 

Stanley: Um, I do. Though Father did last night. 

Foyle: And you say his name was-

Stanley: Robert Woolton. I think he must have left during the night. Father saw his identity card. There's an address in London, I think. 

Foyle: Um... You must be what, 22? 23? I'm surprised you haven't been called up. 

Stanley: 22. It's because of my eyes. 

Foyle: Ah. So you saw the g*n in the case, and, er, what did you do then? 

Stanley: I told my father, and, of course, he didn't want to know, so I told Mother. 

Foyle: What did she do? 

Stanley: I suppose we'll never know. 

Hotel exterior. Foyle walks out to the car where Sam is waiting.

Sam: Everything all right, sir? 

Fleming: Mr Foyle.

Foyle turns to see Fleming following him out.

Fleming: I'm very sorry if Guy rubbed you up the wrong way just now. He does that sometimes. 

Foyle: I'm sure. 

Fleming: Um, there's something I forgot to mention. Last night, there was somebody in the garden. I saw them just before dinner. He was about twenty years old, well-built, fair hair. I'd have said he was a labourer of some kind. I had the idea he was trying to break in. He was definitely trying not to be seen. 

Foyle: Right. Thank you. 

Fleming: Um, there's something else you ought to know. 

Spencer: Fleming? 

Spencer is standing in the doorway.

Foyle: And what's that? 

Fleming: It doesn't matter. Never mind. Goodbye.

He follows Spencer back in.

Police station, Foyle's office.

Foyle: So we can't even be certain who was meant to be the victim here, Margaret Ellis or Spencer. But the b*ll*ts were grouped very close together. One h*t Margaret Ellis, one h*t the wall behind her, the other h*t her chair. 

Milner and Sam are both in the room with him.

Sam: Suggesting that she was the target. 

Foyle: Other people who were there? 

Milner: Um, well, the Bannermans you know about, and I've run a check on Rosemary Harwood. She is with the Foreign Office, very senior. Reports directly to Lord Halifax. 

Sam: Is that possible, sir? I mean, if she's with the Friday Club? 

Foyle: Well, it's not a crime. Yet. 

Milner: Actually, sir, I should have mentioned to you. I met Guy Spencer when I was in London. 

Foyle: Oh, yes? 

Milner: I wandered into one of his meetings. 

Foyle: Right. 

Milner: Er, here's not much to say. There was a lot of talk about the w*r. About why we're fighting. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. 

Milner: He's got some very original ideas. 

Sam exchanges a look with Foyle. Milner takes a breath and pushes on.

Milner: Um, the man that calls himself Robert Woolton. The address he gave the hotel, 37 Dormerville road, doesn't exist. It was probably a false identity card. 

Foyle: Er, he made two telephone calls from the hotel?

Milner: I'm already looking into it. 

Sam: What about the man that was seen outside? Fair hair, in his twenties. What was he doing? 

Milner: David Lane? 

Foyle: We're going to ask him, and in the meantime, I want the hotel searched, and the grounds. If it is Woolton's g*n, we've got to be sure that, um, he didn't take it with him. 

Hotel lounge. Harwood and Spencer are watching the police search outside through the window.

Harwood: What are they doing? 

Spencer: Searching for the g*n, I suppose. 

Harwood: How much longer can he keep us here, this Mr Foyle? 

Spencer: Yes, it is irritating, isn't it? Being pushed around by a provincial policeman with ideas above his station. 

Harwood: They're not looking for the letter? 

Spencer: No. No, they know nothing about that. You've done us a great service, miss Harwood. It won't be overlooked. 

Harwood: I think you should destroy it. They're everywhere. 

Spencer: Yes, but they know nothing. Now, don't worry. They won't find it. I'll keep it safe. 

He pats her arm.

Outside. One of the policemen finds the g*n beneath some plants. He holds it up.

Policeman: Hey! 

Hastings beach. Foyle and Milner are standing on the beach as David Lane climbs down from his boat.

Milner: You were there. 

David: No, I wasn't. 

Milner: You're lying. You were seen. 

David: Well, you ask my dad. 

Foyle: You told me you were going, David, because you blamed her, Margaret Ellis, for what had happened. 

David: I never hurt her. 

Milner: So you admit you were there. 

David: No. I didn't say that. 

Milner: But you were. You're gonna have to come with us. 

David: I'm not going anywhere! 

He runs. Foyle chases after him, leaving Milner behind on his crutches. David runs through a shed and emerges from another door near where Sam is standing with the car. Foyle follows him out and rounds the car to get in.

Foyle: Sam, get in the car. 

Sam: Right. 

David flees along an alley and out into the road, running in front of a woman with a bicycle who barely manages to brake to avoid the collision.

Woman: Oh!

Horns honk as David flees up the road, pursued by Sam and Foyle in the car. They chase him through the streets, but have to stop when he runs down some steps. They both get out of the car to look down the steps.

Foyle: Well. Lost him.

Foyle house. A postman walks up to the front door and pushes something through the letterbox.

Inside, Foyle, in the middle of eating some toast, picks up two letters from the mat.

Andrew (voiceover): Dear Dad, well, here I am in you know where. If I mention the name, someone will only cut it out. So I'll say I had haggis for lunch today, and it was revolting. We're well into training now. Lectures all day and not nearly enough time in the air.

Foyle walks over to take a seat in the armchair as he reads. A framed photo of Andrew in RAF uniform stands on a table nearby.

Andrew (voiceover): We're flying Lysanders. Great, fat beasts that grumble all the way down the runway. But at least they're reliable once they're up and almost impossible to stall. I got a wonderful view of the coast last night just as the sun was coming down. Sometimes it's hard to believe what this is all about, that there's a w*r, and the news from France not so good. Anyway, I'm eating well. Drinking far too well. It's a good crowd here, optimistic and all determined to get out there and do our bit. How's Hastings? Strange to think of you so far away and on your own. But hopefully, I'll get a bit of leave before my wings exam, and we can go out and catch a trout or two. Look after yourself, Dad. As always, Andrew. 

Foyle sets the letter down next to Andrew's photo. He looks at it for a moment, then stands up with a sigh.

Milner house. Jane is sitting at the table reading the paper. She looks up at the sound of Milner's footsteps approaching. Jane: It's terrible about the Belgians. The papers are full of it. King Leopold giving up like that. I think he's a coward. They say the government will go on fighting anyway without him. Our king would never behave like that. 

Milner: Jane. You won't even look at me. 

Jane: I'm reading the paper. 

Milner: I'm going to work. 

He moves to leave.

Jane: This m*rder investigation, how's it going? 

Milner: I don't know. It's, it's complicated. We found the fisherman. 

Jane: Who?

Milner: The man who ran away, David Lane. He was picked up by two policemen trying to get on a train for London. 

Jane: And now you can go and interrogate him or whatever it is you do. 

Milner: Things are going to be how they were, Jane. 

Jane: Really? 

Milner: I promise. 

Wolf's Electrical. Sam and Foyle pull up outside the shop in the car.

Sam: That's it, there. 

Foyle: Right. 

Sam: Can I- 

Foyle: Nope. 

He gets out.

Sam: I just thought I'd ask. 

Foyle: Won't be long. 

He shuts the car door. Sam sighs to herself and picks up a newspaper.

Another car pulls up across the road. The occupants watch Foyle as he walks into the shop. Inside the car, Baddeley turns to speak to the person next to him.

Baddeley: That's him. 

Inside the shop, a woman is just leaving. Foyle closes the door behind her and approaches the counter. Robert Wolf stands behind it.

Wolf: Can I help you? 

Foyle: Mr Woolton? 

Wolf: My name's Wolf.

Foyle: Well, quite possibly, but, er, you used the name Woolton on your false identity card when you checked into the White Feather hotel. 

Wolf: How did you find me? 

Foyle: You made two telephone calls from the hotel to the number at this address. 

Wolf: You are? 

Foyle: I'm a police officer. 

He takes his ID out to show to Wolf.

Wolf: I see. 

Wolf switches the shop sign to closed.

Wolf: I didn't sh**t anybody. It wasn't me. 

Foyle: But you, er, took a g*n to the hotel. This one. Is this your g*n? 

He takes the g*n out of his pocket and unwraps the cloth covering it.

Wolf: It's mine. Look. I admit I went to the White Feather to k*ll Guy Spencer. I took a g*n. That g*n. But imagining something and doing it are two very different things. Anyway, I never had a chance. I was in my room. The lights went out. I heard three sh*ts. I didn't know what was happening. But as soon as the lights came back on, I looked in my case and the g*n wasn't there. I swear to you that's the truth. 

Foyle: Why did you want to k*ll Spencer? 

Wolf: Come upstairs. 

Upstairs room. An older woman is tending to the badly injured Isaac Wolf.

Wolf: It's all right. Get some rest. 

Woman: Thank you. 

She leaves.

Wolf: This is my nephew. His name is Isaac Wolf. Isaac, this man's a police officer. 

Isaac groans.

Isaac: He's come a little late. 

Wolf: He isn't interested in you. Nobody was interested in what happened to him. 

Foyle: What has happened to him? 

Wolf: He was beaten up by members of the Friday Club. He almost died. He still can't walk. They left him in the street. 

Isaac: I can feel my legs. It's an improvement. 

Foyle: Isaac's family is still in Germany. They're in a concentration camp. If I had sh*t Spencer, I wouldn't have done it in the dark. I would have wanted to see his eyes. 

Hotel lounge.

Spencer: It's quite a coincidence, you and I meeting again like this, wouldn't you say, Milner? 

Milner is sitting opposite him with a notebook out.

Milner: Yes, I suppose it is. 

Spencer: Did you manage to read any of that material I gave you? 

Milner: Some of it. 

Spencer: And? 

Milner: I don't know what to think. 

Spencer: You have to think for yourself, sergeant. That's the whole point. That's why you need the facts. This is another book I was going to lend you. Here. Protocols of the Elders of Zion. It traces the Jewish conspiracy all the way back to the time of Solomon. I think you'll find it interesting. 

Milner: I don't know. 

Spencer: Hmm, have a read of it. And if you can't manage to give it back to me personally, then you can pop it in the post. Is that it? 

Milner: Yes, sir. 

Spencer: Mm. You're a good chap, Milner. This business here, it's an embarrassment, of course, but we'll get through it. And when the w*r's over, which could be soon, believe me, it's going to be very important to have the right friends. 

He gets up to leave and Milner watches him go.

Outside Wolf Electrical. As Foyle leaves the shop the car that was parked opposite pulls up in front and Tom Baddeley gets out.

Baddeley: Mr Foyle... I wonder if you'd mind coming with me, sir. 

He takes out an ID and shows it to Foyle.

Foyle: Where's my driver? 

Baddeley: Please, sir. 

The car drives up to a building with military guards outside. Foyle gets out of the car and Baddeley comes round to meet him.

Baddeley: This way, sir. 

They enter the building and Baddeley shows his ID to the guard on the desk.

A large conference room. Lawson is waiting inside for the two men.

Lawson: Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle, do come in. Take a pew. Tea? 

Foyle: Er, no, thank you. 

Lawson: My name is Lawson. Military Intelligence. You've already met my colleague, Tom Baddeley. 

Baddeley: I do hope you'll forgive the slightly rough ride, sir. 

Lawson: Yes, I'm sorry to drag you here like this, but you see, this investigation of yours, this m*rder, I'm afraid it's got tangled up with one of our own operations. 

Foyle: Oh, dear. I am sorry. 

Lawson: Are you sure you won't have tea? 

Foyle: Perfectly. 

Lawson: Well, I will. Would you mind, Tom?

He and Foyle sit down while Baddeley pours the tea.

Foyle: One of your operations being, er, the Friday Club? 

Lawson: Yes, the Friday Club. British Vigil, the British Union of Fascists - they're all much of a muchness. Antisemites and aristocrats. Guy Spencer, though, is a bit more of a nuisance. He's more active than the rest of them, and he's certainly more persuasive. 

Foyle: Why hasn't he been arrested? 

Lawson: He soon might be. You know, of course, that we arrested Mosley. 

Baddeley: And Ramsay. 

Lawson: But sometimes it's better to keep these people at-large, provided we can keep an eye on them. 

Baddeley hands him his tea.

Lawson: Mm. Thank you. We have an undercover agent in the Friday Club. He rang us yesterday. That's how we knew about you. 

Foyle: Alan Fleming? 

Baddeley: How did you know? 

Foyle: Well, perhaps a little too helpful. 

I'd prefer it if his cover wasn't blown. 

Lawson: That's why we had to get you up here so quickly.

Foyle: Does he, er, know anything about the death of Margaret Ellis? 

Lawson: Oh, I doubt it. To be honest, the sh**ting of that woman was both annoying and irrelevant. 

Foyle: To you, perhaps. 

Lawson: We need your help, Mr Foyle. It goes without saying that all this is extremely confidential. Five days ago, a letter went missing from the Foreign Office. The letter was written by a senior member of Lord Halifax's staff and was addressed to Giuseppe Bastianini, the Italian ambassador here in London. In very broad terms, the letter was examining the possibility of the Italian government mediating between us and h*tler; in other words, coming to a negotiated peace. The position of the government, of course, is that we fight on. So I'm sure I don't need to tell you what a catastrophic effect on morale it could have if it was believed that any minister at any level was seeking a way out of this w*r. 

Foyle: Rosemary Harwood works in Lord Halifax's office. 

Lawson stands up.

Lawson: We believe that she may have taken the letter. She's been active with the Friday Club for a while now. We think she took it down to the White Feather to pass it on to Guy Spencer, who has all the right connections to make sure it reaches the German authorities. 

Foyle: And, er, why haven't you arrested her? 

Lawson: Maybe we should have, but we can't now, not without the letter. 

Foyle: Oh. 

We couldn't go in and search the hotel without compromising our man, which we'd rather not do. 

Lawson: But you and your officers, you have every reason to go over the place. 

Foyle: Well, we've already done that and found, er, the g*n that we were looking for. 

Lawson: I'm sure you could find a reason to do it again. 

Hotel grounds. A police vehicle drives past where Sam and and Foyle are standing next to the car.

Sam: I thought we'd already searched this place once. 

Foyle: Yes, we have.

They start walking towards the hotel.

Sam: What are you looking for now? 

Foyle: A letter. 

Sam: To whom? 

Foyle: To Giuseppe Bastianini. 

Sam: Who's he? 

Foyle: He's the Italian ambassador. 

Sam: Is he a suspect? 

Foyle gives her a look.

Sam: I only asked.

The Bannermans' room. A pair of policemen are searching.

Ernest: This is an outrage. I'm warning you. I have powerful friends in London. You'll hear more of this.

Hotel corridors. Stanley walks through into the back office while more policemen move around.

Miss Harwood's room. Foyle is in the room along with the office searching.

Harwood: You're going through a lady's room. No gentleman would behave this way. 

Foyle: No, you're right. But then again, m*rder isn't a very gentlemanly business, Miss Harwood. 

Harwood: I can't imagine what you hope to find. 

Foyle: It seems on the night of the m*rder, you left the room before the sh*ts were fired. 

Harwood: Who told you that? I have nothing to hide. I hate the dark, I always have. It's like claustrophobia. As soon as the lights went out, I had to get back here. 

Foyle: In the dark? 

Harwood: I told you. I wasn't thinking. I just had to get out. 

Spencer's room. Spencer stops one of the policemen.

Spencer: Just a minute. 

Then he spots Foyle coming through the door. Fleming walks up to join them.

Spencer: Foyle, is this the way your men amuse themselves? 

Fleming: I've had enough of this. I'm not gonna be pushed around by some bloody stuffed shirt. I want to leave. 

Foyle: Still not possible, I'm afraid. 

Fleming: I said, I want to go!

He grabs Foyle by the front of his jacket.

Foyle: Officer, arrest this man. Thank you. 

Fleming: What?

Spencer watches as Fleming is led out.

Police station. Foyle and Fleming are walking down a staircase together.

Fleming: Thank you for that. I take it you didn't find anything. 

Foyle: No sign of it, I'm afraid. She might, of course, have panicked and got rid of it. 

Fleming: Oh, I doubt it. It's too valuable, and taking the letter in the first place was too much of a risk. 

Foyle: I'm surprised Spencer hasn't, um - let's go in here - hasn't mentioned it to you. He still trusts you, doesn't he?

They walk into an interview room together.

Fleming: Well, he's told me he's got it. He's just not saying what he's done with it. He likes to play these things close to his chest. 

Foyle: Well, it's certainly not in the hotel. 

Fleming: We'll just have to keep looking. So, what about the sh**ting? You think Margaret Ellis was the target? 

Foyle: Do you? 

Fleming: There was nobody in the room who had any reason to k*ll her. Except Arthur Ellis, perhaps. He didn't have it in him. 

Foyle: The son? 

Fleming: Perhaps. He could have opened the door. But how would he have been able to see to take aim? I'll tell you one thing, though. I happen to know for a fact that Mrs Ellis changed her will hours before she died. She added a codicil leaving half her money, and that includes half the hotel, to the Friday Club. All for the cause. 

Foyle: Spencer persuaded her, do you think? 

Fleming: He's good at that sort of thing. It's not the first time either. He was arrested five years ago. Intimidation, embezzlement. He's got his hooks into your sergeant, too, for that matter. I'd watch out, if I were you. 

Foyle: Well, they certainly met in London. 

Fleming: Rather more than that. They had dinner together after the meeting. Spencer's taken him very much under his wing. 

The wall telephone rings.

Foyle: Excuse me. 

He picks it up to answer it.

Hastings beach. Ian Lane is standing on the beach near the pier. Foyle walks down to meet him.

Foyle: Mr Lane. 

Ian: You've got my boy locked up. 

Foyle: Well, he ran away. He was off to London. 

Ian: He was afraid of you! He's no criminal. 

Foyle: Well, as*ault, drunk and disorderly, skipped bail, did Borstal August-November last year. 

Ian: That was then. It hasn't been easy for him living on his own with me. He lost his mother when he was nine. She ran off. It's just been two of us. And yes, he mixed with the wrong set and came a cropper with the law. You people never forget. Won't let him forget neither. 

Foyle: Well, it's a bit more than that, isn't it? I mean, he was seen at the hotel on the night of the m*rder, which means he could easily have been the one who took the g*n and sh*t Mrs Ellis. 

Ian: He never sh*t anyone. All right, he shouldn't have gone up there. He hasn't got it in him. You take it from me. I want him back. 

Foyle: Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to wait. 

Ian: No, you don't understand. I need him now. They're asking for boats. Fishing boats, ferries, clippers, you name it. We're going across where the army's stuck with the Germans b*mb them and t*nk moving in and God knows what. They've put together a whole fleet of boats. And we're going over there, and we're going to bring back our boys. It's already g*n. They say there were nearly 30,000 of them saved yesterday, and there's going to be 30,000 more today. I can pick up twenty men in my boat. Drop in the ocean, you'd say? But there's hundreds of boats all along the coast doing the same. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Only I can't do it without David. Lady Rose is too much for me to handle on my own. So you have to let him go so we can leave together. You let my boy out, and I promise you, I swear on everything I hold sacred I'll bring him back to you. I won't let him run away. We'll do this journey. We'll go there, we'll come back, and then you can keep him for as long as you need. As long as it takes you to realise that he's innocent. As innocent as you or me. 

Later. Men are heaving the Lady Rose into the sea. Milner, Sam and Foyle stand watching as the boat heads out.

Sam: Dunkirk. Do you think you'll ever see him again? 

Foyle: Yes. He'll be back. 

He turns and walks away. Sam and Milner watch a while longer. Sam salutes the boat as a foghorn blows. It makes its way over the choppy sea.

Hotel dining room. The Bannermans sit around a card table with Miss Harwood and John Mowbray. Spencer is reading a newspaper in a chair behind them.

Caroline: Two diamonds. 

Harwood: Two, no trumps. 

Ernest: Three spades. 

Mowbray: Pass. 

Caroline: Pass. 

Harwood: Pass. 

Ernest: Three spades it is, then. 

Caroline: I can't help you much, I'm afraid. 

Caroline: For God's sake. How much longer can they keep us here? 

Spencer stands up from his chair.

Spencer: Till after tea, anyway. 

Arthur and Stanley Ellis are setting things out for tea.

Spencer: Arthur, do you think you should be working after everything that's happened? 

Arthur: No, no. I have to keep busy. 

Spencer: Yes, of course. You and I have business to discuss about your late wife's affairs. 

Arthur: What?

Behind them, Stanley straightens up to listen.

Spencer: Seems we're going to be in partnership. 

Arthur: That's not-

Spencer: Oh, when the Germans arrive, the High Command, we'll be able to put them up here at the hotel. We're near enough to the coast. 

Stanley: They won't arrive. I don't know why you're kidding yourselves. The Jewish plot? Everyone knows it's not true. 

Arthur: Stanley. 

Stanley: No, Dad. I'm fed up with it. I'm fed up with the lot of them. If the Germans were going to inv*de, they'd have been here days ago. 

Spencer: You do know that the Belgians have capitulated? 

Stanley: Yes. But we'll fight on. That's what Mr Churchill says, and I believe him. I think you must be insane, Father, if you believe what these people say. They're sick. And they don't know a thing.

He storms out and slams the door.

Milner's office. Foyle is reading a file.

Foyle: These, um, notes are very good. Very thorough, Milner. 

Milner: Thank you, sir. I'm afraid they don't tell us the one thing that we need to know. Who fired the sh*ts? 

Foyle: Or why they were fired in the dark. And if Spencer was the actual target... 

Milner: That's very likely. 

Foyle: Why wait for an after-dinner meeting when everyone's around? Easier, less risky to wait until he's left or leaving the hotel or even go up to his room and sh**t him while he's asleep. 

Milner: Yes, I know. I wondered about that. 

Foyle: Why wait for the exact moment when the lights go out? 

Milner: Because you can't be seen. 

Foyle: Well, you can't see either. How do you know you're hitting the right target? 

Milner: You spoke to Woolton? 

Foyle: Yes. It was his g*n, but I don't believe for a second he fired it. I mean, it was thrown away, wasn't it? He'd have taken it with him. 

Milner: How about David Lane, sir? He could have taken the g*n, made his way through the hotel. Maybe the lights went out just as he was about to f*re. 

Foyle: They were all in the room. The room was blacked out, the door was closed. Stanley was sitting right outside. 

Milner: Then he'd have seen him. 

Foyle: Exactly. 

Milner: What about Stanley Ellis? He wasn't exactly fond of his mother. 

Foyle: What's the opposite of an Oedipus complex, do you think? 

Milner: Sir? 

Foyle: He was reading Freud, who said the aim of all life is death. Matricide. Could he really have k*lled his mother? These, um, background notes on Spencer. Well-connected, journalism, treasurer for the Friends of National Spain. No criminal convictions? 

Milner: No. None that I could find. 

Foyle: What do you make of him? 

Milner: I'm not sure. I'd say a man has to be quite brave to hold the opinions he does, especially at a time like this. 

Foyle: You admire him? 

Milner: I don't think he's a fool. 

Foyle: I mean, you read the medical report of, er, Isaac Wolf, the man who got beaten up? 

Milner: I don't think you can blame Spencer for that, sir. He knew nothing about it. 

Foyle: How do you know? 

Milner: He told me, and I believe him. 

Foyle: Margaret Ellis's will - he had the most to gain from it. 

Milner: I still think that Spencer was the likely target, sir.

He moves a file, revealing the book that Spencer gave him underneath. Foyle looks down at it and Milner follows his gaze. There's a moment of silence as Foyle looks at Milner.

Foyle: Right.

He turns to leave.

Ellis bedroom. Stanley throws the curtains open. Looking back towards the bed, he warily approaches his father where he's lying fully dressed atop the covers. There's an empty glass close to his hand.

Sam and Foyle are driving along.

Sam: Arthur Ellis. Who'd want to k*ll him? 

Foyle: I don't know, but you probably do. 

Sam: My guess is, he probably saw something. That's what always happens. He sees something, then the k*ller has to silence him before he can say what he knows.

They arrive in front of the hotel. Arthur is being carried out to an ambulance on a stretcher. Foyle approaches the doctor on scene.

Foyle: How is he? 

Doctor: His heart had stopped. It was touch and go for a while, but we managed to revive him. We're just getting him to hospital. 

Foyle: And what was it? 

Doctor: Veronal, I'd say. Some sort of sleeping draught, anyway, in his whiskey. 

Foyle: Who found him? 

Doctor: His son. 

Foyle: Right. 

Ellis bedroom.

Stanley: My father was late coming down to breakfast, so I went to call him. I found him lying on the bed fully dressed, and at first, I thought he must have had some sort of heart att*ck. I don't know. 

Foyle: Did he, er, often have whiskey before bedtime? 

Stanley: I don't know. 

Foyle: This your dad's? 

Foyle picks up a pipe and sniffs the bowl.

Stanley: Yes. He didn't smoke it much. 

Foyle: And, um... And you say you haven't touched anything? 

Foyle goes over to the dresser and lays his hand on a stack of hotel notepaper with a pen lying atop it.

Stanley: No. I thought he was d*ad. I called the police. 

Foyle: Well, for someone whose mother's been m*rder and father's been poisoned, you seem remarkably unaffected. 

Stanley: What would you like me to do, cry? I never liked my parents. My mother was cruel and stupid. What she said about the n*zi and the rest made me sick. My father was scared of her, totally under her thumb. It's her place, you see. No, you have no idea what it was like living here. It's always the same. If you had read Freud, you'd know how much damage your parents do to you. It starts even before you're born. 

Foyle: Ah, yes, you read, er... 

Stanley: Yes. I wanted to study psychoanalysis. I wanted to go to university. They wouldn't let me. 

Foyle: Well, Stanley, lying is, is never very clever, but lying to a police officer is a very serious offense. 

Stanley: I'm not lying. Everything I've told you is the truth. 

Hospital. Foyle walks into a ward where Arthur Ellis is lying on one of the beds and speaks to a nurse.

Foyle: Mr Ellis? 

Nurse: Yes.

She points towards the right bed and Foyle approaches.

Foyle: How are you feeling, Mr Ellis? Can you tell me what happened? 

Arthur: You don't know? 

Foyle: Well, you didn't leave a note. 

Arthur: No. 

Foyle: I mean, whiskey and a sleeping draught - it's fairly evident you tried to take your own life. Why was that? 

Arthur: Isn't it obvious? 

Foyle: Not to me. 

Arthur: People had the wrong impression about Peggy. She was a strong woman, opinionated. But they don't understand. I'd been married to her for 22 years. She was everything to me. Everything. 

Foyle: Stanley's 22.

Arthur: Yes. We were courting when Peggy found she was expecting, so, yes, I did the decent thing. But that doesn't change anything. I'd have married her anyway. I loved her, always did. 

Foyle: Were you aware of the changes your wife made to her will? 

Arthur: Spencer's a swine. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen to me, and so now... Half the hotel. How do you expect me to go on living when everything I care about has been taken away from me? 

Foyle turns as if to go, then turns back.

Foyle: Do you, er, cure your own meat at the hotel? 

Arthur: What's that got to do with anything? 

Foyle: Er, would I be right in thinking that? 

Arthur: I don't know. Yes. Margaret was in charge of the kitchen. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

He leaves.

Police station. Hugh Reid is just coming out of the records room when he spots Foyle.

Hugh: Ah, Christopher. I'm afraid I've got some bad news. Sir Ernest Bannerman, the MP at the White Feather, he's managed to pull rank. He's made some phone calls, and the long and the short of it is I had to release the lot. 

Foyle: Right. Okay. They've all gone? 

Hugh: Yes, they went this morning. Er, except Spencer. He's here, and he wants to talk to you. 

Foyle: Right.

Interview room. Spencer is pacing as Foyle enters.

Foyle: How can I help you, Mr Spencer? 

Spencer: You're holding my assistant, and unless you're going to charge him, I'd like to have him back.

Milner enters the room and stands beside Foyle.

Foyle: You're very welcome to him.

He turns to leave.

Spencer: Just a minute. I haven't finished yet. Are you any closer to finding out who k*lled Margaret Ellis, or, for that matter, who tried to k*ll her husband, Arthur? I want you to know that I shall be making an official complaint. Arresting Fleming, keeping me detained for three full days. I think you've acted well beyond your authority, Mr Foyle. 

Milner: Sorry, sir. It was normal procedure. 

Spencer: Normal or not, it was unnecessary. And inconvenient. 

Foyle: Have you finished now, Mr Spencer? 

Spencer: I'm a politician, Mr Foyle. And the way you've treated me, I think you've forgotten that I am the leader of a legitimate organization with legitimate views, even if you don't agree with them. But I'd like you to know that I am just as much a patriot as you are. I love our country. But it is possible to believe that this w*r with h*tler is misguided. Poles and Czechs, they're Jewish interests, not British. 

Foyle: I know what you believe. 

Spencer: I don't think you do. I doubt that you know, for example, that the first two British pilots sh*t down over Germany were blackshirts. The Kiel raid at the end of last year, they were both Mosley's men. Sir Ernest Bannerman, MP. I suppose you would call him a crank and a traitor. Well, he served in the first w*r. He was a member of the North Russian relief force in 1919. Right now, he has a son serving in northern France. You have a son serving with the RAF. Are you prepared to lose him? To see him slaughtered simply because h*tler inv*de Poland? 

Milner: I'll take you to Mr Fleming.

Spencer: Thank you, Milner. 

He steps closer to Foyle.

Spencer: You see, we're not so different, you and I. We would both welcome an end to this w*r.

He speaks to Milner on his way out.

Spencer: By the way, you will let me have that book back if you've finished with it, won't you? 

As the two men leave, Sam enters the room.

Sam: Sir?

He follows her out.

Hastings beach. Ian Lane stares into the distance, hearing sounds of g*n and shouts. The beach is full of injured soldiers, with nurses helping them. An army officer with a clipboard takes down men's details.

Officer: Take your unit number? 

More injured are being helped down from the boat. Covered bodies are carried off on stretchers and laid down on the beach.

Officer: I need your name, rank, and regiment.

Sam and Foyle drive up and park near the beach. They both get out of the car.

Sam: I'll see if I can help, sir, if that's all right. 

Foyle: Go ahead.

Sam heads towards a tent where men are being given instructors. A nurse stops her and gives her directions and she kneels down to speak to man with a bandaged head.

Ian Lane is climbing down from his boat as another body is carried off. Foyle makes his way over to him.

Ian: I didn't expect to see you here. 

Foyle: Well, they told me you were back. 

Ian: And you thought you'd come for David before he scarpered. 

Foyle: No, I've come to tell you that I know he had nothing to do with the m*rder. 

Ian: We picked up fifteen of our boys. Fifteen. And there were thousands of them there. You've never seen anything like it. White sands stretching out for miles. Ships everywhere. Hundreds of them. Motorboats, trawlers. Picking up fifteen here and fifteen there. You know, we're gonna get the army out of there. We're gonna do it. There were bodies. You saw them on the beaches. And as we went in there, the Germans were coming after us. Stukas, Dorniers. I was lucky, though. There was some sort of refinery burning and the smoke, it protected us for a while. 

Foyle: Where is David?

Ian: I told you I'd bring him back to you. 

He walks over to lift the covering blanket from one of the bodies, revealing it's his son. Foyle closes his eyes.

Ian: Here he is. He waded in the water to help someone out.

Sam arrives and stands by silently.

Ian: He was helping them onto the boat. They're here. They made it home. But he took a b*llet. It came out of I don't know where, and... He was as near to me as you are, and I saw the light go out of his eyes. But I said I'd bring him back, and I brought him back, even though it meant taking up space that could have been used by someone else. Here he is. 

He breaks down crying. Watching him, Sam sheds a tear of her own.

Police interview room.

Edith: d*ad? 

Foyle: Yes. I'm very sorry. 

Edith: But why? He weren't a soldier. The w*r was nothing to do with him. Why did he have to go? 

Foyle: Well, he believed it was right. Edith, whatever Margaret Ellis has told you, there isn't going to be a German invasion now. Not today, not tomorrow, perhaps not ever. How did she frighten you into cutting the wires? 

Edith: She didn't. 

Foyle: What did she say was going to happen to you when the Germans came? 

Edith: Nothing. 

Foyle: She knew, didn't she? She knew that your grandmother is Jewish? 

Edith sits down.

Edith: She said I wouldn't be allowed to work anymore. She said I'd be put in a camp.

She starts to sob.

Edith: That she wanted to look after me, but first, I'd have to prove myself. Do something to show I was on her side. I didn't think it'd matter that much. I knew it was wrong. I thought someone would find them and mend them. I didn't think I was being a traitor. I was just so scared. What will happen to me? Will they hang me? Will I go to prison? 

Foyle: No. Don't have a case to answer. You're free to go. 

She stands up to walk out, but stops beside him.

Edith: Well, thank you. 

Foyle: It's okay. You're not going to forget David, are you? 

Edith: No. 

Foyle: 'Cause he was right, wasn't he? 

Edith: Yep.

She leaves.

Hotel dining room.

Foyle: Well, you should understand, Stanley, that you could go to prison. 

Stanley: But I haven't done anything. 

Foyle: Well, yes, you have. You've lied to me, a police officer, and obstructed the course of justice. 

Stanley: No, I didn't. 

Foyle: You told me you hadn't touched anything when you went into your father's room, which isn't true, is it? You took your father's su1c1de note. 

Stanley: No. 

Foyle: There was pen and paper up there on the desk. And when I visited him in hospital, he was as surprised as I was that the note hadn't been found. What did you do with it? 

Stanley: I destroyed it. 

Foyle: Why? 

Stanley: Um, to, to protect him. Er, su1c1de's against the law. 

Foyle: Well, that's another lie, isn't it? I mean, what did it say? 

Stanley: I won't tell you. I can't. 

Hospital. Arthur is sitting up in bed doing a newspaper crossword as Foyle arrives.

Foyle: Arthur. You feeling any better? 

Arthur: Yes. Thanks. 

Foyle: Arthur, I'm sorry to have to tell you that I'm here to arrest you for the m*rder of your wife. 

Arthur: That's absurd! 

Foyle: Well, the husband who, er, loves his wife so much that he'd rather k*ll himself than live without her is a little way off the truth, isn't it? 

Arthur: It's true! Peggy was the backbone of my life. 

Foyle: Arthur. Arthur, you hated her. Your son knew it. Everyone knew it. Probably often dreamed of k*ll her, didn't you? But you never had the nerve, because everyone also knew that you were terrified of her. And, er, as the coward at the White Feather, you rather resented being something of a local joke until, of course, you began to believe that the world was about to change. 

Arthur: What do you mean? 

Foyle: That a n*zi invasion of England would cause so very much disruption that there'd be no effective police force and no law, as such. There'd be no reason and nobody to investigate a, an insignificant little m*rder at a countryside hotel. Spencer believed in the invasion, your wife believed in the invasion, and, ironically, as it turned out, she convinced you. And, um, it was the, er, night of Spencer's talk, wasn't it, that Stanley told you about the g*n, didn't he?

Flashback to their earlier conversation.

Stanley: I was in room six just now, Mr Woolton's room. 

Arthur: What were you doing there? 

Stanley: Guess what I found. 

Arthur: What? What did you find? Tell me. 

Foyle: You thought you could make it look as if Spencer was the actual target, and your wife had been h*t accidentally, which is why you arranged for it to happen in the dark, by leaving all the lights on in all the rooms as you turned down the beds, which overloaded the fuse box. But then you had to be sure that you could actually h*t your wife and not Spencer.

Flashback to Spencer making his speech.

Spencer: I take no pleasure in so many young lives being sacrificed... 

Foyle (voiceover): Spencer said that during his speech, you were fiddling with your pipe, but, you see, um, Stanley told me that you hardly ever smoked. 

Flashback to Foyle sniffing the pipe.

Foyle: It was, er, potassium nitrate that you used in the pipe, saltpetre, which is used, of course, in g*n, but it's also used to cure meat, which is why you had a supply of it in the hotel. And it acted as an oxidizing agent, and it added to the tobacco and made it glow.

Flashback to Arthur striking a match to light his pipe.

Foyle (voiceover): You lit the pipe while Spencer was making his speech. 

Spencer: I take no pleasure in so many young lives being sacrificed on the altar of politics. The British government has misled us long enough.

The fuse blows and the lights go out.

Spencer: What's going on? 

Margaret: Oh, I'm so sorry, everyone. It's a fuse. Do sit down. Arthur?

Arthur places his pipe in the ashtray. The bowl is glowing faintly.

Foyle (voiceover): And when the lights went out, you put it directly in front of Margaret so you could use the glow as the target. 

Arthur sh**t Margaret as the group scream.

Foyle (voiceover): You got rid of the g*n as quickly as you could. It wasn't yours anyway. And after that, you were biding your time until... 

Arthur: The invasion. But it never came.

Flashback to Stanley in the dining room.

Stanley: I don't know why you're kidding yourselves. The Jewish plot? Everyone knows it's not true. 

Arthur: Stanley. 

Stanley: No, Dad. I'm fed up with it. I'm fed up with the lot of them. If the Germans were going to inv*de, they'd have been here days ago. 

Foyle: No invasion, and you panicked. You were going to be found out after all, and you decided to take the easy way out. 

Arthur: Yes. I wanted to k*ll myself. 

Foyle: And Stanley destroyed your su1c1de note, understandably. Fascist for a mother, k*ller for a father. Not shining examples of parental guidance. No wonder he was reading Freud. 

Arthur: What will happen to me? 

Foyle: You'll be tried for m*rder, Arthur. 

He stands up to leave.

Arthur: I loathed her, you know. And the scum she brought to the hotel. 

Foyle: Didn't give you the right to k*ll her. 

Arthur: Please tell Stanley I'm sorry. Tell him... I wish I'd been a better father. 

Foyle: I think he knows.

Outside Foyle's office. Milner knocks on the door.

Foyle (through the door): Yes.

Milner enters the room.

Foyle: Milner, sit down. 

Milner: Congratulations on the arrest. Ellis has signed a full confession, so I suppose that's that. 

Foyle: Why didn't you, er, tell me about your association with Spencer? 

Milner: I told you we'd met. 

Foyle: Well, you told me you'd wandered into one of his meetings. You didn't tell me you then went and had dinner with him. 

Milner: I didn't think it was relevant. 

Foyle: Principal suspect in a m*rder inquiry, of course it was relevant. 

Milner: He didn't commit the m*rder. 

Foyle: Well, we didn't know that then. In your notes about him, there's no mention of his arrest for embezzlement. Was that irrelevant, too? 

Milner: He was acquitted. 

Foyle: That's by the way. But more than this, more even than your apology to him in front of me, and something that I take to be a personal betrayal, is that you talked to him about me. He knew I had a son in the RAF, and he could have only got that from you, isn't that right? 

Milner: I did speak to him, yes. And I'm sorry if I betrayed any confidences. But I never said anything lacking in respect. 

Foyle: Well, speaking to him at all, Milner, was a lack of respect and a lack of judgment. I'm astonished you can't see beyond the front of these people. Do you really believe what these people, Spencer and the Friday Club, have to say? 

Milner: No! You don't have any idea what's it's been like since Norway, how I feel. I'm not asking for any special favours, and I, I don't want your sympathy. But I don't understand why it happened, and I don't understand what it was for. At least Spencer made me feel like he was on my side and that I'm not to blame for it all. 

Foyle: He had a reason. There was a reason, Milner. 

Milner: What do you mean? I don't agree with his views, but Guy Spencer is a good man. 

Foyle: Milner, I'm sorry to have to disillusion you, but...

He holds up the book Spencer gave Milner.

Foyle: This the book he lent you? "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion. How the Jews plan to overthrow Christianity and conquer the world." Have you read it? 

Milner: No. 

Foyle: Are you antisemitic? 

Milner: No! 

Foyle: Is h*tler right doing what he's doing to the Jews? 

Milner: No! You don't understand. I just wanted the facts. 

Foyle: Spencer gave them to you? 

There's a moment of silence, then Foyle sits forward.

Foyle: While he was at the hotel, Spencer took possession of a letter smuggled out of Whitehall and given to him by a traitor, Rosemary Harwood, and given to him in the hope that he'd pass it on to the enemy. After the m*rder, Spencer was trapped. He had the letter, but he didn't know what to do with it.

Foyle opens the book, revealing a slit in the endpaper where the letter has been tucked in to conceal it.

Foyle: He gave it to you because you were the one person at the hotel we wouldn't dream of searching. After the investigation, you'd send it back to him, and he'd pass it on to the Germans. 

Milner: Do you want my resignation? 

Foyle: No, I don't want your resignation. That's the last thing I want. I can't do this bloody godforsaken job on my own. What I want is to forget all of this happened and, more importantly, for you, starting now, to be with me one hundred percent. In spite of whatever problems you're going through, it's important that you and me, and Sam, are able to trust each other and we're on the same side. Is that understood? 

Milner: Yes, sir. Understood. 

Foyle: Good. 

He shakes hands with Milner.

Foyle: That's all. 

Government building. Rosemary Harwood is being escorted by a pair of military police.

London street. Guy Spencer is being taken out of a building handcuffs. Foyle watches as he's loaded into the back of a police van.

Foyle house. The radio is on in the background as Foyle pours himself a cup of tea.

Radio: We've known them and laughed at them, these fussy little steamers, all our lives. We've called them the "shilling sicks." We've watched them load and unload their crowds of holiday passengers, the gents full of high spirits and bottled beer, the ladies eating pork pies, the children sticky with peppermint rock.

Foyle turns his wireless set up and sits down to listen.

Radio: But now, look. This little steamer, like all her brave and battered sisters, is immortal.

A steamer sets off out to sea.

Radio (voiceover): She'll go sailing proudly down the years in the epic of Dunkirk.

Sam arrives outside Foyle's house to collect him.

Radio (voiceover): And our great grandchildren, when they learn how we began this w*r by snatching glory out of defeat and then swept on to victory...

Funeral. Ian Lane stands by as the pallbearers carry David's coffin into the church.

Radio (voiceover): ...may also learn how the little holiday steamers made an excursion to hell and came back glorious. 

Foyle approaches.

Vicar (offscreen): I know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth, and though after my skin, worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh, shall I see God. And I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold... 

Ian notices Foyle and steps towards him.

Foyle: I've got a son the same age.

Ian nods. Foyle takes his hat off and joins the mourners heading into the church.
{"type": "series", "show": "Foyle's War", "episode": "01x02 - The White Feather"}