Digby Manor, a country vast estate in Hastings.

CAPTION: FEBRUARY 1941

Dining room. Sir Michael Waterford sits alone at the head of a large table. His housekeeper, Mrs Roecastle, brings a teapot round to serve him.

Roecastle: Brought you a pot of fresh tea, Sir Michael. 

Sir Michael: Thank you, Mrs Roecastle. 

Roecastle: We got a couple of eggs from the chickens last night, sir. Do you fancy one? 

Sir Michael: No, I don't think so. Thank you. 

Roecastle: I'm sure it'll all be all right, sir. I'll still be looking after you. 

Sir Michael: I'm sure of it. I know I can depend on you. 

Roecastle: Oh, that you can, sir. 

Sir Michael: Better get moving, I suppose. 

Roecastle: Hmm.

Sir Michael: They'll be here any time now. Beddows ready with the car? 

Roecastle: He's waiting at the front, sir. 

Sir Michael: Tell him I'll be with him soon. 

Roecastle: Yes, sir. 

She leaves. He gazes around the room.

Later. A procession of military medical vehicles drive towards the manor house and park in the grounds.

Patrick Jamieson gets out of his car.

Jamieson: Well! Here we are, Brian, Digby Manor. What do you think? 

Doctor Brian Wrenn is looking around.

Wrenn: It's, er, it's big. 

Jamieson: It's perfect. Fresh air, plenty of room, sound plumbing. Not often in this bloody w*r you get exactly what you ask for. 

Wrenn: Yeah. If we can hang on to it. 

Jamieson: Well, that sounds a wee bit like doom and gloom, and I'm afraid that's not allowed. Now, here. You do the honours.

He hands Wrenn some paperwork, then starts directing the men unloading a nearby lorry.

Jamieson: Ah, baths, etc, into the long gallery, next to the boiler room, and Matron! Matron, nurses, let me show you the wards. They're going to be the finest you've ever seen. 

He chuckles as they enter the manor. Wrenn fixes a RAF requisition order to the outside of the building.

Inside. Jamieson walks through with the Matron, Grace Petrie, as nurses bustle about setting things up.

Jamieson: Nurses' quarters, this floor, Matron. Wards, downstairs, of course. 

Petrie: Mr Jamieson, this house is quite impossible. I mean, it's filthy. There must be at least ten years of accumulated dust. 

Jamieson: Oh, yes. Yes.

Petrie: And some of the corridors aren't wide enough for trolleys. You're going to have to knock down walls. 

Jamieson: Absolutely. 

Petrie: And what about the operating theatre? You're gonna have to start from scratch. 

Jamieson: Matron, we have a whole week before the first patients arrive. What are you worrying about? Eh?

There's the sound of a car horn outside. Jamieson and looks out of a window to see Group Captain Smythe getting out of his car outside.

Jamieson: Oh-ho, looks like the flyboys have arrived. 

Outside.

Smythe: I see you're moving in, then. 

Wrenn: Mr Jamieson didn't want to waste time. 

Jamieson comes out to meet them.

Smythe: Well, that's good. Any problems with the residents? 

Wrenn: The house was empty when we arrived. 

Jamieson shakes hands with Smythe.

Jamieson: Good morning, Group Captain! Good journey down from the Ministry? 

Smythe: Very good, thank you, Mr Jamieson. I see you're busy. 

Jamieson: Yes, yes. Yes, let me show you around. 

Smythe: Looks a little like organised chaos around here. 

Jamieson laughs.

Jamieson: Oh, not at all, not a- nothing organised about it. 

He shows Smythe around the inside.

Jamieson: Right. Now, this is going to be the main ward. 

Smythe: It's a good space. 

Jamieson: Yes, more or less perfect. A little bit of a journey to the baths, I'm afraid, but can't get around that. 

Smythe: You'll need to get this piano removed. 

Jamieson: Oh, I hardly think so. It's only just arrived! 

A workman wheels in a keg of beer.

Workman: Where d'you want this, sir? 

Jamieson: I don't know. Erm, just leave it there just now. Thanks.

Smythe: Beer? 

Jamieson: Wee bit early for me, Group Captain. You help yourself. 

A cottage on the grounds of the estate.

Roecastle (voiceover): Would you like me to unpack for you, Sir Michael? 

Inside. She sets a suitcase down.

Sir Michael: No. No, thank you, Mrs Roecastle. I can manage. 

Roecastle: Right. Well, I'll go back to the house, then, sir. 

Sir Michael: They're letting you stay there? 

Roecastle: I've offered to clean for them, sir. It, it seemed the best way. Wouldn't be right and proper to stay here. 

Sir Michael: No, of course not. 

Roecastle: I'll be back at lunchtime, sir, and, er, if there's anything else? 

Sir Michael: Thank you. 

She heads out. Sir Michael sets his bag down on a table. He pulls out a revolver and checks the chamber. Mrs Roecastle pauses in the doorway to watch him. He snaps the chamber back into place decisively.

OPENING CREDITS

Graveyard. Foyle stands by a grave with a bunch of flowers. The name on the gravestone is Rosalind Foyle. After a few moments he walks away.

Sam is waiting on a bench nearby. She stands up as he approaches.

Foyle: Thanks for waiting. 

Sam: That's all right, sir. When did she die? 

Foyle: Nine years ago today. 

Sam: That's a very long time. 

Foyle: Well... not very. I'm just gonna hang on a second or two longer. 

He turns back towards the grave.

Sam: What was she like? You never talk about her. D'you mind me asking? 

Foyle: No, no, no. Of course not. Well, she was, erm, she was highly thought of and, er, much loved, and, er, you'd have liked her. 

Sam: You must miss her terribly. 

Foyle: (Yeah.)

He turns away from her and takes a few steps back towards the grave, then checks his watch and turns back again.

Foyle: No, er, we should go. 

Airfield. A pair of Spitfires comes in to land. Andrew Foyle is in the cockpit of one. The engine stops and he tries to open the canopy, but finds it stuck.

One of the ground crew comes over to help.

Aircraftsman: Hang on a minute, sir. 

He slides the canopy back and Andrew gets out.

Andrew: Where's Drake? Gordon Drake. 

Andrew strides across the airfield towards mechanic Gordon Drake.

Andrew: Drake! 

Drake: Mr Foyle! Good to see you back safe and sound, sir. 

Andrew: No thanks to you, damn you. 

Drake: Oh, you're not still having trouble? 

Andrew: The slide is sticking. I reported it. You've done nothing. 

Drake: That's not true. I put a new seal on it, lubricated it... 

Andrew: You're lying. I'm expected to fly sortie after sortie and if I can't trust my own kite. 

Drake: Got a bit rattled, did you, sir? 

Andrew: I got nothing of the sort. How dare you speak to me like that. 

Drake: And how am I supposed to speak to you, Mr Foyle? 

Andrew: I don't know why we bother fighting the Germans when we've got you on our side.

Drake: I did the work, Mr Foyle. If you want to complain about me, talk to the Wing Co. 

Andrew: Maybe I will. 

Drake: Oh, fine! 

Andrew: Do you have any idea what's going on up there? No. You don't care, do you? This w*r - just a stroll in the park for you, isn't it? 

Another pilot, Greville Woods, steps up to intervene.

Greville: He's not worth it, Andrew. Come on, I'll buy you a pint. 

Andrew turns away.

Greville: See to the slide. 

Drake: All right, I'll do it again. Sir!

Police station. Rivers is reading a newspaper at the front desk as ARP warden Peter Preston walks through from the back.

Preston: I'm turning in, then. 

He stops to fill in some paperwork behind the desk.

Rivers: Busy night? 

Preston: Nope. Quiet, thank goodness. Even managed to get a few hours' kip. 

Rivers: You should keep quiet about that, Mr Preston. Jerry finds your sleeping on the job, he's sure come calling. 

Preston: Cheerio. 

Rivers: Bye.

Preston leaves the building just as Foyle is arriving.

Preston: Oh, morning, sir. 

Foyle: Morning. 

They shake hands.

Preston: Peter Preston. Thought I'd introduce myself. I'm gonna be based here for the time being, then I've got a post at the Kings Arms. 

Foyle: Right. Well, you'd much rather be at a pub than a police station, wouldn't you? 

Preston: Don't even drink, sir. 

He walks on and Foyle heads into the station.

Front desk. Doctor Wrenn approaches Rivers.

Rivers: Good morning, sir. 

Wrenn: Morning. Er, I wonder if there's somebody senior I could speak to. 

Rivers: Can you tell me what it's about? 

Wrenn: Well, it's rather complicated. See, we've-

Milner steps through from the back.

Milner: Doctor Wrenn? 

Wrenn: Yes. 

Milner: It's Milner. You operated on me last year. 

Wrenn: Oh, God, I'm sorry. 

Milner: St Luke's, er, after Trondheim. My leg. 

Wrenn: Left leg. An inch below the tibial tuberosity. Yes, of course. I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive me, I'm terrible at faces. 

Milner: Not at all. 

Wrenn: How is it? 

Milner: It healed very well, thank you. 

Wrenn: Well, it's good to see you, Mr Milner. 

Milner: And you. Erm, can I help? 

Wrenn: Well, it's, it's rather awkward. 

Milner: Why don't I introduce you to my senior officer, DCS Foyle?

Foyle's office. The three of them sit around Foyle's desk.

Wrenn: Mr Jamieson is a genius, there's no two ways about it. I mean, he studied with Archibald McIndoe. I'm sure you know who I mean. 

Foyle: I know of him, yeah. 

Wrenn: Between them, they have completely revolutionised reconstructive surgery and the treatment of burns. I mean, I don't need to tell you how many young pilots there are coming down horribly b*rned. 

Foyle: No, you don't. 

Wrenn: Well, it started about six months ago. Somebody noticed that, er, pilots who crashed into the Channel healed quicker. And nobody could understand why, but McIndoe worked it out. It was the salt in the water. That's all there was to it. So, he, he developed a treatment using saline baths, and that's what we're doing here in Hastings. 

Foyle: So, er, how can we help? 

Wrenn: Well, somebody's trying to sabotage us. We requisitioned an old house, Digby Manor. That was about two weeks ago. But since then, there's been this whole series of... accidents. That's what they look like. 

Milner: And what makes you think that they're not? 

Wrenn: Well, because I'm careful. And nobody could have as many accidents as that. I mean, we've had paperwork's gone missing. We've had disinfectant mixed in with the milk. I mean, sheets torn, I mean, oh, all sorts of petty little things. 

Foyle: Suspects? 

Wrenn: Yes, one. The chap who used to own the house, a Sir Michael Waterford. 

Foyle: He's sort of a local hero, isn't he? Injured in the last w*r? 

Wrenn: That may well be but we turfed him out of his house. And now he's living in a cottage on the estate. Now, I think you should talk to him. 

Foyle: It's a bit difficult. 

Wrenn: Why? 

Foyle: Well, it's a bit difficult to justify questioning a man like just that on the strength of your suspicions alone. 

Wrenn: Oh. Well, you, you're saying you don't believe me? 

Foyle: No, not at all. 

Wrenn: So, you're just going to wait until something worse happens, yeah? Maybe until somebody gets k*lled? Well, thank you very much. I'm sorry I've wasted your time. 

He storms out. Milner follows him out along the corridor.

Milner: Doctor Wrenn? I think you were a little unfair on us, sir. Obviously, we'll do what we can, but what you call sabotage could have been a series of practical jokes. 

Wrenn: Yes. I'm sorry, Milner. 

Milner: Well, next time something happens, put in an official report and we'll come down and see what we can do. 

Wrenn: Yes. Thank you, Milner. 

Airfield.

Turner (voiceover): What the hell was going on? 

Andrew stands before Wing Commander Turner in his office.

Turner: Foyle! 

Andrew: I'm not happy with some of the maintenance work being done on my Spit, sir. I had trouble with the coop. I asked for it to be seen to and it wasn't. 

Turner: Aircraftsman Gordon Drake? 

Andrew: Yes, sir. 

Turner: Well, do you want him put on a charge? 

Andrew: No, sir. 

Turner: Then leave him alone, Foyle. What do you think it will do for morale, seeing you of all people rowing with the maintenance crew? I run this squadron, so in future, if you've got any problems, you come to me. 

Andrew: Whatever you say, sir. 

Turner: How many ops have you flown this week? 

Andrew: I don't know, sir, about twelve. Or fifteen. 

Turner: Right. You need a rest. Take the weekend, go home, try and get some decent shuteye. You off drinking tonight? 

Andrew: Yes, sir. Heading off with Woods and some of the other chaps. 

Turner: Good. Well, don't come back. Not until Monday. You know, Woods admires you a great deal. All of the younger pilots do. So, don't let them down. 

Andrew: Sir. 

He goes to leave.

Turner: Don't let yourself down. 

Police station, evening. Sam is just heading out, dressed up in civilian clothes and wearing lipstick. Foyle comes out of his office behind her.

Foyle: You out tonight? 

Sam: Yes, sir. 

Foyle: You're looking very, erm... 

Sam: Thank you, sir. You won't be needing me any more tonight, sir? 

Foyle: No, I'll walk.

Sam: You sure? 

Foyle: Yes, of course. Have a good time. 

She leaves and he watches her go.

A street in Hastings, night. Gordon Drake knocks on a door. It's opened by Mary Wrenn.

Drake: You called and here I am. Help is at hand. 

Mary: Come in. 

He goes in. Further up the street, Peter Preston watches him go in.

Inside. Drake is looking at the fuses while Mary holds a candle up for him.

Drake: Ah. There's your trouble. Someone fused the ring main with a three-amp fuse. All blew when the bulb went. 

Mary: It was my last bulb. 

Drake: Well, I'll if I can get you a couple, then. 

Mary: Is there anything you can't get hold of, Gordon? 

Drake: That's the sort of man I am. Get my hands on anything. 

Mary: I'm sure. 

Drake: Shame your husband's not up to it. 

Mary: He's not up to anything much. 

Drake: Now, now. 

Mary: He's never here. 

Drake: Well, if I was a man with a wife like you, I wouldn't leave her on her own. 

Mary: All he ever thinks about is his work. 

He fixes the fuse and the lights come on.

Drake: There we are. 

Mary: Wonderful. 

Drake: Here. Got something for you. 

He shows her a package of stockings.

Drake: They're from France, pure silk. 

Mary: I couldn't! 

Drake: Yeah, course you could. Why not? 

Mary: What will I say if he sees me with them on? 

Drake: Hmm. Tell him you got 'em from a friend. 

Mary: He wouldn't believe me. 

Drake: Only wear them for me, then. 

As he goes to kiss her, there's a thump on the door.

Preston (offscreen): Put that light out! 

Drake: Bloody hell! 

Mary: It's the ARP. 

Drake: No, worse than that. Listen, I'd better not be found here. Is there a back way? 

Preston keeps knocking.

Mary: You know there is. Through the kitchen. 

They kiss passionately, then Drake moves to leave.

Drake: I'll be seeing you. 

He kisses her again, then heads off through the kitchen.

Preston (offscreen): Open up, please. 

Mary wipes her mouth.

Preston (offscreen): Open up! 

Mary: I'm coming. 

Outside. Preston is still knocking. She opens the door for him.

Preston: You're showing a light. 

Mary: I've done the blackout. 

Preston: Must be a crack. 

He walks past her into the house.

Preston: You realise you can see it all down the street. 

Mary: I'm sorry. 

She adjusts the curtains.

Preston: You on your own here? 

Mary: Yes. 

Preston: Oh. I just saw a man come in. 

Mary: He left. 

Preston: Who, your husband? 

Mary: None of your business. Yes, all right, it was my husband. 

Preston: Are you on the household register, then? 

Mary: No, we haven't been here long. 

He takes a notebook out of his pocket.

Preston: I'll need to ask you some questions, starting with your name, how many people there are resident here, where they sleep, next of kin and so on. Do you mind if I...?

Mary: Do what you have to do. 

Preston: Thank you. 

They sit down together.

A busy club, packed with RAF officers. Greville Woods sits at a table with his girlfriend, Anne Bolton.

Wood: Here, I've, um, I've got something for you. 

He opens his hands to reveal an orange.

Anne: An orange! Where did you get it? There aren't any in the shops. 

Greville: I'll fly to Seville and get you a whole crate. 

Anne: You can get me some apples while you're at it. A shilling a pound! The whole world's going mad. 

Sam and Andrew sit at the bar behind them.

Andrew: Look at them. She works in an aircraft factory. 

Sam: I know. She told me. I like her. 

Andrew: Greville's talking about getting married when the w*r's over. 

Sam: What's so wrong with that? 

Andrew: Making plans? Nothing, I suppose. 

Sam: Oh, I hate it when you're in this sort of mood, Andrew. 

Andrew: You're right, I'm bloody awful company. I'm pushing off. 

Sam: Home? 

Andrew: Wing Co wants me to take a long weekend. Thinks I've got battle fatigue. 

Sam: Maybe you have. 

Andrew: I'm sorry, Sam. 

Sam: D'you want me to drive you? 

Andrew: No, best not.

He stands up to get his coat.

Andrew: God, I feel quite drunk. The amount of water they put in the beer, must have got through plenty. I'll see you, Sam. 

He kisses her on the cheek.

Sam: Tomorrow. 

Foyle house. Foyle is sitting up by the f*re as Andrew comes in.

Foyle: Andrew? 

Andrew: Are you still up? 

Foyle: This is unexpected. 

Andrew: Weekend pass. 

He has a lipstick mark on his cheek.

Foyle: Well, good to see you. 

Andrew: You're up very late. 

Foyle: Yep. 

He takes a drink.

Andrew: Oh, God. Dad, I'm so sorry. I should have been there with you. 

Foyle: No, not at all. Wasn't expecting you. 

Andrew: I've let you down, haven't I?

Foyle: No, you've not let me down. 

Andrew: I seem to be letting everyone down at the moment. The, the thing is, Dad, I forgot. I just forgot. 

Foyle: Andrew, doesn't matter. 

Andrew: No. Nothing much matters any more. Better be...

He moves to go upstairs.

Foyle: Is that lipstick? On your cheek? 

Andrew rubs his check and looks at his hand.

Andrew: Is it? Evening out. 

Foyle: Oh. Colour suits you. 

Operating theatre. Jamieson and a nurse are preparing to remove a dressing from a patient's hand.

Jamieson: Good. Now, this shouldn't hurt too much, Mr Hayden. Well, actually, it'll hurt like blazes, but we've pumped you so full of morphine, we hope you won't notice. Now, what I'm going to do here is I'm just going to remove this flavine pad and then we can have a butcher's at what's happening with this Thiersch graft. That's it. We'll see how it's coming along. 

He removes the dressing to reveal the grafted skin.

Jamieson: I think we can say it's taking very well. Yeah. I would say that that was 80%, hmm? 

Doctor Wrenn, watching, nods.

Jamieson: Which is excellent. 

Wrenn: You'll soon be playing the piano. 

Jamieson: That's all the more remarkable, since you couldn't play it before. 

The lights in the room go out and the group sigh in annoyance.

Jamieson: Good God and Highlanders. 

Wrenn: Not again! 

Jamieson: This is beyond a joke here, Brian. Nurse, forget the forceps. Let's get out the torches and the candles. 

Later. Jamieson is just changing back into his suit when Wrenn comes in.

Jamieson: Was it a fuse? 

Wrenn: No, somebody turned off the mains. 

Jamieson: What is going on here, Brian? I have a feeling somebody has it in for us here. 

Wrenn: Oh, that reminds me, I've got some more bad news. Smythe wants to see you. 

Jamieson: Oh, yes. It was only a matter of time. Where is he? 

Wrenn: Oh, I dunno, probably on patrol. 

Hospital ward. One of the patients pours himself a beer from a keg. Smythe walks through, looking at the patient charts. One of the patients, Johnny Bridges, speaks to Matron Petrie.

Bridges: Another week and I'll be out of here. 

Petrie: We'll be glad to see the back of you. 

Bridges: You're looking at the back of me right now. That butcher you call a surgeon used it to rebuild my face. 

Petrie: I'm sure it's an improvement on what was there before. 

Bridges chuckles. Smythe takes his patient chart from Petrie.

Smythe: Flight Lieutenant Bridges? 

Bridges: Sir? 

Smythe: I think you might sit to attention when I'm in the room. 

Bridges: I'm, I'm awfully sorry, sir. 

He sits up.

Smythe: Thank you. And Matron, with the greatest respect, would you please get rid of those? 

Petrie: The beer barrels, sir? Sure, they're not empty yet. 

Smythe: Whether or not they are empty is beside the point. They shouldn't be there. 

Manor estate. Gordon Drake makes his way across the grounds to Sir Michael's cottage. He knocks and enters the room where Sir Michael is having breakfast.

Drake: Good morning, sir. How are you today? 

Sir Michael: Morning, Drake. 

Drake: Your leg not causing you too much bother with this damp weather, sir? 

Sir Michael: No. Thank you. 

Drake: I'm afraid I've come to see you about the rent, sir. 

Sir Michael: It doesn't matter about the rent. 

Drake: That's good, because I'm afraid we're not gonna be able to manage it again. In fact, I need a bit of money from you. 

Sir Michael: How much this time? 

Drake: 50 bob should cover it. Ah, it's the roof, sir. Lost a lot of tiles last month with the bad weather. 

Sir Michael: I don't have the money, Drake. 

Drake: I, I don't mean right now. Any time to suit you. 

Sir Michael: Right. 

Jamieson's office. He and Smythe enter.

Smythe: I feel a discussion between the two of us is long overdue. 

Jamieson: If this is about tomorrow night's show, I'm afraid the clog-dancing troupe is full up. 

Smythe: It has nothing to do with your review. 

Jamieson: Ah, well, f*re away. 

Smythe: Well, I want to start by saying that my admiration for your work comes second to none. 

Jamieson: Thank you. 

Smythe: However, I do find some of your methods highly unorthodox. 

Jamieson: Such as? 

Smythe: Well, ignoring the shenanigans tomorrow night, let's start with the dispensation of alcoholic beverages in the wards. 

Jamieson: Beer? You mean I let the men drink beer? 

Smythe: On duty. 

Jamieson: You don't think these men have done their duty? You don't think you can let them relax a little? 

Smythe: Not while they are part of the RAF, no, and I don't need you to give me lectures about duty, sir. Why are the men not properly dressed? 

Jamieson: The conscious ones, you're talking about? 

Smythe: Again, you are being facetious. I met a flight lieutenant just now, half in uniform, half out of it. He was a disgrace. 

Jamieson: I wonder who you mean. 

Smythe: Bridges. 

Jamieson: Oh, yes, Bridges, yes. Yes, his Wellington was sh*t to pieces over Gelsenkirchen. They were b*mb German oil installations. He managed to fly back, saving his entire crew before crash-landing. He was b*rned from head to toe, and this is the man you're saying was a disgrace? 

Smythe: Not the man, Jamieson, his lack of correct hospital uniform. 

Jamieson: He can't wear correct hospital uniform, Group Captain, because I destroyed them all. 

Smythe: What? 

Jamieson: The uniforms were horrible. Blue overalls with red ties. They made the men look like prisoners. They made them feel like prisoners, too. 

Smythe: You destroyed them? 

Jamieson: Whatever genius thought them up had forgotten that a lot of these men don't have the use of their fingers.  They can't even do up their bloody fly buttons. Yes, I destroyed them. Now, what are you gonna do about that? 

Smythe: I'm going to make a report. 

Jamieson: Right. You do just that. 

Smythe leaves the office. Mrs Roecastle is vacuuming at the foot of the staircase outside.

Outdoors. Petrie watches from an upper window as Smythe leaves the building. He passes an RAF officer on guard at the front door.

Smythe: Tell the drivers' pool I need a car at once. 

Guard: Sir! 

Elsewhere in the grounds. Sir Michael makes his way to a gate marked 'private'.

A car arrives in front of the building for Smythe. He checks his watch.

Smythe: Thank you. Er, take me to Hastings, please. 

Up above, a stone statue of a lion tumbles from the battlements of the manor.

Driver: Look out! 

The statue crashes onto the bonnet of the car, narrowly missing Smythe and the guard.

Airfield, Turner's office. Andrew takes a seat in front of his desk.

Turner: I wanted a word with you. I have an op line here straight down from Air Officer Commanding. 

Andrew: AOC? 

Turner: Yes. They're in a hell of a flap. They've got the German U-boat fleet sinking around 40,000 tons of our shipping a month. 

Andrew: I didn't know it was as bad as that, sir. 

Turner: You're not meant to know. Top brass are keeping it under their hats. The thing is, the Admiralty suspect that the U-boats are operating out of a new facility at Le Havre. They want someone to take a shufty... tonight. 

Andrew: A night op, sir? 

Turner: The Air Ministry has a newfangled camera that photographs heat, but they need a very slow pass. 

Andrew: It's a bit risky, sir. The Spit's Merlin will be lit up like a Christmas tree. 

Turner: Yes, I know. What do you think of Greville Woods for the job? 

Andrew: Sir, I'm capable of flying this op. 

Turner: I don't want an argument, Foyle, I just want an opinion. Do you think he's up to it? 

Andrew: Well, there's no doubt he's a good flyer, sir. But his Spit's in dock. 

Turner: Well, he can take yours. 

Digby Manor. Foyle is up on the roof with Doctor Wrenn.

Foyle: So, apart from Sir Michael, who I assume had a key to the roof, who else might have had one? 

Wrenn: Well, then there's his housekeeper, Mrs Roecastle. Er, she still lives in the manor. She helps with the laundry and the cleaning. 

Foyle: Mm-hmm. Anyone else? 

Milner is up on the roof with them too, inspecting the point where the statue fell from.

Wrenn: Well, I have a full set. Er, I imagine that's about it. 

Milner: A lion and a unicorn? 

Wrenn: Yes. It appears on the old boy's coat of arms. I told you. His family have owned this place since the Magna Carta. 

Milner: Sir, this stone's almost completely corroded. 

Foyle: So, it, er, could just have been an accident. 

Wrenn scoffs.

Wrenn: This was no accident.

Milner: Wouldn't take a great deal to push this one over the edge. 

Foyle: More sabotage, then, you think? 

Wrenn: Well, what else could it be? 

Foyle: Well, it seems, erm, Smythe isn't the most popular of people. Er, attempted m*rder? 

Jamieson's office. Foyle and Wrenn are both there.

Jamieson: For heaven's sake, don't put that thought into his head, Mr Foyle.

Foyle and Wrenn are both there.

Jamieson: He's self-important enough as it is. God knows what it'll do to him if he starts thinking that he's actually worth assassinating. 

Foyle: It seems he, er, has the authority to get you out of here, and you'd argued with him just before the incident. Is that right:

Jamieson: You're not saying you suspect me? I'm a surgeon! I save lives, I don't take them. Mind you, in Smythe's case, I might make an exception.

Wrenn: Patrick.

Jamieson: It was an accident! Just another accident. God knows we've had enough of them lately. And let me ask you this one thing, Mr Foyle - whose side are you on? 

Foyle: Well, nobody's. 

Jamieson: Yeah, well, it may well be that there's somebody has it in their mind to close this place down, and with this latest incident and a police investigation and someone like yourself with your suspicions, well, it might be enough to help them succeed. 

Sir Michael's cottage.

Milner (voiceover): Sir Michael, you were at the manor house this morning. 

The two of them are sitting in the living room.

Sir Michael: Who told you that? 

Milner: One of the nurses saw you go in just before the statue fell. 

Sir Michael: I go in and out all the time, keep an eye on things. Are you accusing me? 

Milner: No, sir. Certainly not. 

Sir Michael: You think I ran up the stairs and onto the roof? These days I can barely walk. 

Milner: Were you injured in the last w*r? 

Sir Michael: June 1917, the Messines Ridge, 11th Kent Fusiliers. 

Milner: It must be very difficult for you, sir, losing your home like this. 

Sir Michael: Well, I thought I'd be left in peace. That was all I wanted. You wouldn't think it was too much to ask, would you? 

There's the sound of the front door and Mrs Roecastle comes in.

Roecastle: I brought you lunch, Sir Michael. Oh, I am sorry, sir. I didn't realise you had company. 

Sir Michael: Oh, no, no. This gentleman's a police officer. Er, Mrs Roecastle, my housekeeper. When I had a house. 

Milner: Good afternoon, Mrs Roecastle. Were you at the manor this morning? 

Roecastle: I was. But I was cleaning on the first floor, sir. Er, I didn't see anything. But I heard the crash and I looked out of the window and there was Group Captain Smythe. Then I heard Doctor Wrenn come running downstairs. 

Milner: Downstairs? 

Roecastle: I think so, sir. Maybe I'm wrong. He'd certainly run from somewhere. 

Manor grounds. Sam stands waiting by the car. Bridges approaches her.

Bridges: Hello. Don't tell me you're with the rozzers, you're far too pretty. 

Sam: I'm afraid I am. Sort of. 

Bridges: I'm Johnny Bridges. 

Sam: Sam Stewart. 

Bridges: Well, then, Sam Stewart, you wouldn't have a cigarette, would you? I'm dying for a smoke.

She gets her cigarette case out of her pocket.

Bridges: It's the one thing Grace Petrie won't allow. The Matron. She thinks it's a f*re risk, and, what with one thing and another, that's a little ironic, don't you think? 

Sam: Here you are. 

He takes the cigarette from her.

Bridges: Thanks. I'm afraid you're gonna have to light it for me. Jamieson's done wonders but there's not a lot he can do about these. 

He holds up his bent fingers. Sam lights the cigarette for him.

Sam: You a pilot? 

Bridges: Was, I think you should say. Definitely past tense. I don't know what I'm going to do now. I think modelling and film work are definitely out of the question. 

Sam: You shouldn't joke like that. 

Bridges: Whyever not? As a matter of fact, we're putting on a show tomorrow night. You should come along. 

Sam: I don't think they'd let me. 

Bridges: Of course, the, er, investigation. Did somebody really try and k*ll Group Captain Smythe? 

Sam: I don't know. 

Bridges: Well, it certainly wasn't me. Wouldn't have missed.

Sam chuckles.

Bridges: Thanks for the cigarette. 

He walks away.

Airfield, evening.

Greville (voiceover): It's really good of you to let me fly your Spit, Andrew. 

Andrew (voiceover): Just make sure you bring it back in one piece, all right? 

Greville (voiceover): Yes.

The two of them are walking along together.

Greville: You know, I'm really grateful to you. I mean, I, I know without your say-so the Wing Co wouldn't have trusted me with this, and, well, I want you to know it means a lot to me. 

Andrew: You can outfly anyone in the squadron, Greville. I didn't do anything. 

Greville: And if anything does go wrong, you'll tell Anne I was thinking of her and all that? 

Andrew: Nothing will go wrong. 

Greville: I know. You're a decent sort, Andrew. A good friend. 

The two of them shake hands. Greville climbs into the Spitfire cockpit.

Andrew stands and watches him fly away.

Street outside the Wrenns' house. Doctor Wrenn is walking home. Preston stands waiting.

Preston: Doctor Wrenn? 

Wrenn: Yes? 

Preston: Sorry to bother you, sir. Do you live here? 

Wrenn: Yes. Is, is there a problem? 

Preston: No, not exactly, sir, but... Look, it's none of my business, but I wonder if you've got a couple of minutes? 

Wrenn: What? 

Preston: I think we should have a word. 

Drake's house. His wife Beryl brings him a plate where he sits at the dinner table. He grabs her by the arm as she moves to take her chair.

Drake: What's this, then? 

Beryl: Corned beef with cabbage. There was nothing else in the house. 

She sits down.

Drake: It's disgusting. You want to tune in to the Kitchen Front and buck up your ideas. 

Beryl: So, that's where you go out nights, is it, then? Found someone to cook for you? 

Drake: Turn it off, will you? 

Beryl: How d'you expect me to buy decent food with the amount of money you give me? 

Drake: Oh, here we go again. 

Beryl: Everything my dad gave me, you went through that fast enough. 

Drake: Pennies. 

Beryl: You never gave me anything, not since the day I married you. 

Drake: I got you this house, didn't I?

Beryl: I don't want to know about that. It makes me sick, you and Waterford. Don't think I don't know what's going on. 

Drake: Don't talk about Waterford. You don't meddle in things that have got nothing to do with you. 

Beryl: Yeah, well maybe I could tell a story or two. 

Drake: Yeah, maybe you could, but maybe you'd be wiser not to!

He punches her in the face and she falls to the floor. He takes his belt off.

Drake: I think it's about time I taught you a lesson, Beryl. 

Beryl: No, please. Don't! 

He starts to whip her with the belt.

Wrenn house. The two of them are eating dinner in silence.

Mary: You're very quiet. 

Wrenn: Tell me about Gordon Drake. 

Mary: Who? 

Wrenn: You know who I mean. He used to work at the garage. He's a mechanic, the RAF. Has he- has he been here? 

Mary: Yes. But he just... 

Wrenn: What? 

Mary: The lights were broken. He mended the fuse. 

Wrenn: If I thought... If I thought for one minute... 

She gets up.

Mary: What would you do, Brian? Stick one of your knives in him? 

As she comes round to his side of the table, he grabs her arm.

Wrenn: You don't know me. You don't understand my feelings. 

He kisses her, and she pulls away.

Mary: You don't have feelings. Not any more, not for me. 

She hurries out of the room.

Foyle house. He and Andrew are playing chess in front of the f*re.

Foyle: Check. 

Andrew makes a move.

Foyle: Well, if you do that, that's checkmate.

He makes his own countermove.

Foyle: You're not concentrating. 

Andrew sighs and tips over his king.

Andrew: You're too good for me. 

Foyle: Far from it. What's the problem? 

Andrew: Nothing. You know I'm not flying at the moment. 

Foyle: I can't say I'm sorry. It's good to have you home. 

Andrew: Well, that's just it. I've been top dog in the squadron for the last few months. But today, the Wing Co stood me down. It was a very important op. Six months ago, I'd have given anything to have done it. 

Foyle: A lot's happened in six months. 

Andrew: The truth is, Dad, I was actually relieved. I didn't want to fly. Didn't want to go anywhere near it. I even handed over my own plane. 

Foyle: And you feel guilty about that? 

Andrew: Yes, I suppose I do. And I wonder, what happens now? What happens next? 

Foyle: Well, personally speaking, I'd rather you never flew again, but both of us know that's not going to happen, 'cause you'll have to. So until we're on the other side of this, we're gonna have to live day-to-day and hope for the best. 

Andrew: The best? 

Foyle: That we at least get through it. 

A Spitfire descends towards the darkened airfield, trailing smoke. It crash lands on the grass and the nose of the plane bursts into flames. Trapped in the cockpit, Greville Woods bangs on the inside of the canopy.

Greville: I can't get out! Get me out! 

Aircraftsman: It's Greville Woods! 

Two of the ground crew run towards the burning plane.

Greville: Get me out of here!

Scottish Aircraftsman: Hey! Get him out.

Greville screams. The flames have reached the cockpit. The two men struggle to open the canopy as Greville keeps banging on the inside and screaming.

Man: The slide is stuck! Jesus! This whole thing is going to blow! 

Scottish Aircraftsman: Just do it! Give me a hand. Hurry up! Just do it.

They manage to haul Greville out of the burning plane. His clothes are on f*re.

Aircraftsman: Come out, get out. Move.

They roll him on the ground to try and extinguish the flames.

Aircraftsman: Turn him over.

The two of them b*at at the flames.

Aircraftsman: Get away! Get away from it, it's going to blow! 

More ground crew run over to help.

Scottish Aircraftsman: Get him up.

Aircraftsman: It's gonna go up! Get away!

They haul Greville, still screaming, further away from the plane. It explodes behind them and they huddle on the ground.

Aircraftsman: Bloody hell. 

Morning. Foyle is just arriving at the police station. Milner meets him as he heads through into the back.

Milner: Sir. I've found something that might be of interest. 

Foyle: What's that? 

Milner: Gordon Drake, posted here with the RAF. 

Foyle: What's he do? 

Milner: He's an erk. He's billeted on the drome, but he also rents a cottage on the estate at Digby Manor. Lives there with his wife.

They arrive at Foyle's office.

Milner: And he has a police record - demanding money with menaces, as*ault. He did eighteen months. And while I can't see he'd have any reason personally for sabotage, if Sir Michael wanted these people out of his house... 

Foyle: He might employ somebody like Drake. Eighteen months? 

Milner: With hard labour. 

Foyle: Right. 

Sir Michael's cottage. Foyle and Milner are both there.

Sir Michael: Drake? What is it you want to know about him? 

Foyle: Well, he rents a cottage here, is that right? 

Sir Michael: Yeah. I knew his father in the w*r. Martin Drake. As a matter of fact, he was my batman. Eighteen years old. 

Foyle: Was that in the, er, Fusiliers? 

Sir Michael: The 11th Kent Fusiliers, till I was wounded. 

Milner: At Messines. 

Sir Michael: Got a b*llet in the leg. Drake helped me. Got me out of there. Out of the bloody trench. 

Foyle: What happened to him? 

Sir Michael: Died. Car accident. Son turned up here, needed somewhere to live, it was the least I could do. 

Foyle: So, er, what, he, erm, lives here for nothing? 

Sir Michael: No, no, no. He pays his rent. Sometimes. 

Drake cottage. Foyle and Milner approach the front door. Beryl Drake answers it.

Foyle: Mrs Drake? 

Beryl: That's right. 

Her face is badly bruised.

Foyle: Oh, what's happened to you? 

Beryl: It's nothing, I... fell. 

Foyle: Er, is your husband in? 

Beryl: He won't be home until tonight. He only comes home when he has leave, and then I have to wait until the pubs are shut. 

Foyle: He's, er, in the Air Force, isn't he? 

Beryl: I'm not supposed to tell you. 

Foyle: Right. Erm, ground crew, is that right? 

She nods.

Foyle: Right. Thank you. Have you had somebody look at that? 

Beryl: It's all right, thank you. I don't need any help. 

Manor estate. Andrew rides his motorbike towards the hospital. Sam is talking to a nurse outside as he arrives.

Sam: Andrew! 

Andrew: Not now, Sam. 

He hurries past her into the building.

Patient: Thanks for everything.

Petrie: Thank you, nurse.

Andrew approaches Petrie.

Andrew: Excuse me. Er, you have a pilot here. His name is Greville Woods. 

Petrie: Yes. And who are you? 

Andrew: I'm a friend. 

Petrie: Well, I'm afraid he can't see you. 

Andrew: Well, I'm a close friend. Um, we're in the same squadron. 

Petrie: I'm sorry. 

Andrew: Please? 

Petrie: He can't see you. He can't see anyone. He's been very badly b*rned. His hands and his face. At the moment hiss eyes are bandaged and we don't yet know about his sight. 

Andrew: Well, erm, can I just look in for a minute? Please. I, I won't try to talk to him or anything. Look... he was flying my plane. 

Petrie: Well, just for a moment. 

She leads him through into the ward. Bridges is helping set up the gramophone for another patient.

Bridges: Wouldn't stay here too long if I were you, old chap. 

Andrew: What? 

Bridges: They'll have your arse off before you can blink and use it to patch up some other unfortunate blighter. 

The patient with him chuckles.

Petrie: That's enough, thank you, Mr Bridges. 

Bridges starts the gramophone playing The Sun Has Got His Hat On.

Hospital saline baths. Greville is in one of the baths with his eyes bandaged.

Jamieson: Are you happy with the saline level, doctor? 

Doctor: Yes, Mr Jamieson. 

Jamieson bends over Greville in the bath.

Jamieson: Good. Now... I'm gonna have a little butcher's here. I want to just- I'm gonna take that left hand, that's it, very gently. 

Andrew arrives in the doorway with Petrie.

Jamieson: I'm going to just immerse that very gently into the saline. And down, and down, and just you should feel a little touch, but that's it.

He looks up and sees Andrew.

Jamieson: Hey, what are you doing here? You shouldn't be here. Matron. Matron, will you- will you take this man away, please. 

Andrew and Petrie leave.

Jamieson: Sorry, Greville. We'll just dip that very gently into the saline. 

Outside the manor. Andrew emerges from the building and walks over to Sam.

Sam: Andrew, what's going on? 

Andrew: It's Woods. He's b*rned. He can't see. 

Sam: Oh, no. I'm so sorry. 

Andrew: It was in my Spit. The cockpit didn't open. 

Sam: Andrew. Look, your father's here. I don't know what to say.

Andrew: I'm going to find Drake. 

He heads back to his motorbike.

Sam: What? 

Andrew: Go and get Anne, will you? He's asking for her. Tell her what's happened. Tell her she needs to be here. 

He rides away.

Manor grounds.

Foyle (voiceover): It's quite a place. 

Milner (voiceover): Certainly is. 

Foyle (voiceover): Or rather, it has been. I can imagine how he feels. 

The two of them are walking through a hallway on one of the upper floors.

Milner: Sir Michael? 

Foyle: Mmm. And this is the only way up to the roof, is that right? 

They reach a narrow staircase leading up.

Milner: Er, yes, sir. 

Foyle: Right. Must remember to get my attic stairs carpeted. 

They pass the staircase and head back downstairs. Jamieson is coming out of his office as they pass.

Jamieson: Ah, Mr Foyle. Found anything yet? 

Foyle: Er, no. Anything else happened? 

Jamieson: No, thank God. Right now that's the last thing we need. Smythe is already started to write his report. He's decided the whole place is a death trap and the men would be safer in a g*n turret of a Wellington over Düsseldorf. And having you chaps here doesn't help, either. The police investigating the RAF, not the done thing, old bean. 

Foyle: Would you rather we left? 

Jamieson: No, absolutely not. Matter of fact, we're having our party tonight. It's a bit of concert party. I want you to be there. 

Foyle: Well... 

Jamieson: I'm sorry, refusals aren't allowed! And, er, you can bring that pretty driver of yours. Attractive women in uniform, that's what makes the w*r worth fighting, eh?

Aircraft factory.

Sam (voiceover): Anne, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to be the one to tell you. 

Anne (voiceover): How bad is it? 

The two of them walk through a factory constructing Spitfires.

Sam: I haven't seen him but I spoke to Andrew and one of the nurses. I'm afraid you're going to have to be very brave. 

Anne: Tell me.

Sam: His face has been b*rned. He's going to have to have surgery. And they don't yet know whether... 

Anne: Tell me. What? 

Sam: Whether he can see. 

Anne: Oh, don't. Oh, please, don't. Not Greville. He's nineteen years old. How did it happen? sh*t down? 

Sam: The canopy wouldn't open. 

Anne: What? 

Sam: Andrew told me. 

Anne: It's that mechanic, isn't it? Drake. 

Sam: I don't know. 

Anne: Yes, you do. Greville told me about him. Andrew had the same problem with his plane. It was Andrew's plane he was flying. 

Sam: Oh, Anne, I'm so sorry. 

Anne: It wasn't your fault. It wasn't Andrew's fault. It was Drake. 

Sam: Greville's been asking for you. I can drive you there if you like. 

Anne: No. I don't want to see him. Not yet. Please don't ask me. 

Sam: But you love him. 

Anne: I loved him the way that he was but I don't want to see him now, not how he is. I can't. 

She starts to cry.

Digby Manor, night. Energetic piano music is playing and the audience applauds. The concert is taking place in one of the wards where some of the patients can watch from their beds as well as the seated crowd. Sir Michael and Smythe are in the front row with Jamieson, with Foyle, Sam and Milner seated behind.

Out in front of the crowd, two patients are playing the roles of "Foyle", dressed up like Sherlock Holmes, and "Jamieson", a stereotypical kilted Scotsman.

Jamieson Actor: Mr Foyle, Mr Foyle! I need your help. I understand you're a bit of a sleuth. 

Foyle Actor: Which bit did you have in mind? 

The crowd laughs.

Jamieson Actor: My name is Jamieson and I need someone with a nose for crime. 

Foyle Actor: Well, I'm sorry, Mr Jamieson, my nose stays where it is. 

More laughter. Brian and Mary Wrenn are watching from the back row.

Jamieson Actor: Pity. Well, listen to me, something terrible has happened. Someone has dropped a statue on Group Captain Smythe. 

Foyle Actor: That is terrible. 

Jamieson Actor: You're telling me.  They missed! 

Smythe doesn't look amused. The rest of the crowd laugh and clap as the piano music starts up again. Wrenn leans over to speak to his wife.

Wrenn: I'll be right back. 

He gets up to leave.

Estate grounds. Gordon Drake is on his way home on a bicycle.

Drake cottage. Beryl sits at the table in the dark, looking grim.

Concert party. Petrie and Bridges are doing a routine to piano accompaniment. Bridges begins to sing:

♪ Paris without the Eiffel Tower ♪ 

♪ Spring without an April shower ♪ 

♪ Sherlock Holmes without a single clue ♪ 

♪ Imagine it, I just about can ♪ 

♪ I'll agree to Hirohito without Japan ♪ 

♪ I just can't imagine ♪ 

♪ What the world would be like without you ♪ 

Foyle turns to smile at Sam, and notices Wrenn's empty seat behind him.

Outside. Anne stands out in the grounds. The piano is audible from inside.

Concert party. Bridges and Petrie are dancing. Then Petrie begins to sing:

♪ London without Trafalgar Square ♪ 

♪ Ginger without Fred Astaire ♪ 

♪ A rainbow that's insane for it has no blue ♪ 

♪ Imagine it, I'd try if I could ♪ 

♪ I could see the trees but without the wood ♪ 

Drake cottage. Drake wheels his bike along the road. Beryl lifts her head at the sound of it.

♪ I simply can't imagine ♪ 

♪ What the world would be like without you ♪ 

Outside. Drake looks around for a few moments.

Drake: Is someone there? 

There's a rustling in the bushes. Then someone whacks him over the back of the head. He falls to the ground near a water trough.

Concert party. As Bridges and Petrie dance, Wrenn returns to his seat.

Wrenn: Sorry. 

Mary: You're muddy. 

Wrenn: Shh! 

Bridges and Petrie sing together: 

♪ Imagine it ♪

♪ I'll try if you ask me ♪ 

♪ But a world without you would be simply too ghastly ♪ 

♪ I could never do it ♪ 

♪ So don't put me through it ♪ 

♪ I just can't imagine ♪ 

♪ What the world would be like without you ♪ 

The crowd applauds and there are shouts of "Bravo!" as Bridges bows. Even Smythe is smiling slightly.

Estate grounds. Drake lies on the grass, eyes open, unmoving.

Concert party.

Jamieson: Bravo!

Morning. The police have arrived at the scene of Drake's death. A uniformed officer uncovers the body for Foyle and Milner to look at. Sam watches them from a distance.

Foyle: Who found him? 

Milner: His wife, sir. She's, she's inside. 

One of Drake's shoes has come off his foot.

Foyle: Anything in that? 

Milner: Yeah, possibly. 

Foyle: You spoken to her? 

Milner: Just briefly. 

Foyle: Um, upset? 

Milner: Not very, but you saw her bruises. 

Foyle: Could she have done this? What do you think?

Milner: It could have been her. 

Foyle: We'll have another word with her, then. 

Milner: There is one peculiarity, though, sir. Cause of death. The medical officer thinks he may have drowned. 

Beryl (voiceover): I'm not sad that he's d*ad. I'm not. 

She's seated in the living room inside.

Beryl: That's a wicked thing to say, isn't it? 

Foyle: D'you really get those injuries in a fall, Mrs Drake? 

Beryl: I said that but it wasn't true. He was a bully. All smiles when I first met him. But that's when I still had money. My dad had left me with some. 

Milner: Do you have any idea who might have wanted to k*ll your husband? 

Beryl: No one, apart from half the husbands in Hastings. And maybe you should talk to Sir Michael. 

Foyle: Oh, why? 

Beryl: Gordon was always getting money from him. A tenner here, a fiver there. And we got this house for nothing.

Foyle picks up a picture frame. 

Foyle: Who is this? Is this your father? 

She nods.

Beryl: It was taken the year before he died. 

Foyle: Oh, I'm sorry. Er, you got this house for nothing. Why was that, do you think? 

Beryl: He never told me. It was something to do with his dad. He served with Sir Michael in the w*r. 

Foyle: He was his batman. 

Beryl: I never met him. But if he was anything like his son... 

Foyle: Anyone, um, who can look after you, Mrs Drake? 

Beryl: I suppose I'll telephone Pip. 

Foyle: Who's Pip? 

Beryl: My brother, Pip. He's... in London. I haven't seen him for a while, but maybe he'll come down. 

Outside. Foyle and Milner walk back towards the car.

Milner: D'you think she k*lled him, sir? 

Foyle: No. Do you? 

Milner: No. Although God knows she'd have every reason to. How can any man treat a woman like that? 

Sam: Sir, that man, Gordon Drake. It's a bit embarrassing, but sort of I know who he is. 

Foyle: Yes? 

Sam: I believe he works at the same airfield as, as your son. I have a friend, Anne Bolton. She's walking out with a pilot, Greville Woods. 

Foyle: Yeah, he's a friend of Andrew's. 

Sam: He's staying here at Digby Manor. He's been hurt. But what happened to Woods may have been partly his fault. 

Foyle: What, so you mean Woods is in the burns unit? 

Digby Manor. Jamieson enters his office, where Foyle is waiting.

Foyle: I'm very sorry to trouble you again, Mr Jamieson. I-

Jamieson: Do me a favour, Mr Foyle, get this investigation over with as soon as possible and then get out of here. 

Foyle: There are still one or two questions to be asked, I'm afraid. 

Jamieson: I have a patient waiting through there, a young pilot. He has burns to his hands and face and he may lose the use of his eyes. Now, do you want me to stand here answering your questions or go through there and get on with his treatment? 

Foyle: Well, the young pilot you were talking about is a very close friend of my son, who is also a young pilot. I'm fully aware that the, er, work you're doing here is considerably more important than Drake's m*rder or who did it, and quite bloody frankly I'd much rather not be here either, but, erm, should Drake's life not matter because he was, er, less of a man than the, er, men you're treating? 

Jamieson: Well, I'm, I'm sorry. I will answer your questions, yes. 

Foyle: Thank you. Well, there aren't any. Not for you. I had one or two more for Doctor Wrenn, who's speaking with my sergeant now. I thought it only a courtesy, er, just to let you know that that was happening, and my apologies for keeping you from Greville Woods' treatment. 

Jamieson: Doctor Wrenn is a suspect? He was at the concert party with us last night. 

Foyle: Er, not all the time. 

Outside. Milner: and Wrenn walk through the grounds together.

Wrenn: Yes, I was feeling exhausted. I needed some air. So, er, I, I came out of that door there and, er, I strolled for a couple of minutes only. 

Milner: Forgive me, sir, but it was longer than that. 

Wrenn: Well, five minutes, tops. 

Milner: When you went back in, you had mud on your clothes. 

Wrenn: I slipped. I don't know how you can interrogate me this way, Milner. I helped you. You wouldn't even be working for the police if it wasn't for me. 

Milner: Did you notice anything when you came out here? 

Wrenn: Er, yes. Erm, well, not Drake. There was a girl. 

Milner: Can you describe her? 

Wrenn: Er, slim, no more than twenty years old, quite pretty. Er, she was over there. I hadn't seen her before. 

Police station. Foyle and Sam are walking in together.

Foyle: So, you've met Woods? 

Sam: Er, yes, sir. 

Foyle: How many times? 

Sam: Er, a few. 

Foyle: Well, if you've met him, then you must have seen Andrew? 

Sam: Yes, I've seen him there, once or twice. 

Foyle: There? Where's there? 

Sam: Wherever. 

Foyle: No idea you had such a wide social circle. 

Sam: Social circle? It, it was just drinks, really. 

Sergeant Rivers steps out as they pass the front desk.

Rivers: Excuse me, sir. There's an ARP warden, Peter Preston, I think you know him. 

Foyle: Yeah.

Sam leaves while they're talking.

Rivers: He'd like to have a word with you, sir. He says it's urgent. 

Foyle: Right.

He looks around and sees that Sam has gone.

Foyle's office.

Preston: It was stupid of me, sir. It was none of my business. 

Foyle: What were you doing there in the first place? 

Preston: Blackout infringement, sir. She was showing a light. 

Foyle: And why did you feel you needed to tell him? 

Preston: Just didn't seem right to me, sir, a woman having men in the house while her husband's at work.

Foyle: Did you know the man you saw there? 

Preston: I knew of him. Everyone knew Gordon Drake. Bit of a dodgy customer. 

Foyle: Make a practice of involving yourself in the private lives of the people on your rounds? 

Preston: No, sir. I've never done it before, and that's why I've come to you now. I feel awful. He's d*ad and I may be to blame. 

Wrenn house.

Mary: I knew him when he worked at the garage on Fawcett Road. He was always very polite, very friendly. 

Foyle: And was he here often? 

Mary: Yes. He cared. At least he paid me some attention. It's not too much to ask, is it? 

Foyle: And he was here the night the warden came round, is that right? 

Mary: He, er, came to fix the lights. There was a fuse or something. And of course, he stayed. He gave me stockings. Real ones. He made me feel good. Brian was never here. Someone told him and, of course, he h*t the roof. The usual dramatics. He even told me he'd k*ll Gordon Drake. But do you think he did it? I tell you, he didn't. I know Brian and he doesn't have it in him. 

Airfield. Wing Commander Turner comes out of his office building.

Turner: Any sign of Andrew Foyle yet? 

RAF Officer: No, sir. 

Digby Manor. Petrie walks past a medicine store, and then turns back and goes inside. A cabinet has been left open, the top shelf emptied. She looks around the rest of the room and then hurries back out. She spots Mrs Roecastle dusting a room nearby.

Petrie: Mrs Roecastle, have you seen anyone come this way? 

Roecastle: No, Matron. 

Petrie: How long have you been here? 

Roecastle: Just a few minutes. 

Petrie leaves and Roecastle goes on with her dusting.

Jamieson (voiceover): How much is missing? 

Petrie: All of it, Mr Jamieson. 

Smythe steps forward from where he's been listening.

Smythe: What are we talking about here? Several pounds of morphine? 

Petrie: Diamorphine hydrochloride in powder and in pills. Mrs Roecastle was right outside and she didn't see anything. 

Smythe: Has it occurred to any of you to keep the pharmacy locked? 

Jamieson: It was locked. 

Petrie: We have to order more supplies immediately. We have patients who need their evening doses. 

Smythe: It's another mess, Mr Jamieson. Another complete mess. 

A road in Hastings. Sam wheels her bicycle back towards her lodgings. Andrew is lurking behind a car outside the building.

Andrew: Sam.

Sam: Andrew! What on Earth are you doing here? 

Andrew: I have to see you. 

Sam: Shouldn't you be at...? You'd better come inside. 

Living room. Andrew sits warming his hands in front of the gas f*re. Sam brings him a cup of tea.

Sam: Here, have some tea. I wish I had some whiskey or something, but it's all I've got. 

Andrew: I had to see you. 

Sam: If my landlady comes in here and finds us, we're both for the high jump. I thought you were on duty. 

Andrew: Sam... I've gone AWOL. 

Sam: What? Why? 

Andrew: I can't go back. I don't care what happens to me. 

Sam: But you must. They'll come looking for you. Andrew, what is it? 

Andrew: I'm so tired. For weeks now. I don't sleep, I can't eat, I feel sick. Sometimes I can't stand it because you're not with me. But at other times, I don't care if I ever see you again. I know that's a horrible things to say. I don't want it to be true, but it's as if you don't exist for me. As if we never met. 

Sam: You're tired, that's all. 

Andrew: I'm not just tired, Sam! When I saw Greville and, and the others in that place... 

Sam: You don't need to think about them. Because it's not going to happen to you. 

Andrew: It will happen to me, I know. He was in my plane, Sam. He flew my op. It should have been me. 

Sam: You can't stay here, Andrew. You've got to go back. 

Andrew: I can't. 

Sam: They'll find you. You can't run away from them forever. 

He starts to cry, shaking his head.

Andrew: Don't make me go back. 

Sam: (Oh, darling.)

Andrew: Don't make me go back. 

She pulls him into a hug as he sobs.

River. Foyle is out fishing downstream from a bridge. He notices a number of d*ad fish floating in the water and sets his fishing rod aside to scoop one up in a net.

Foyle (voiceover): Medical officer in? 

He sets a basket full of fish on the front desk at the police station.

Rivers: He's downstairs, sir. Ooh, a very lucky morning for you, sir. 

Foyle: Yeah, if only. 

Rivers: Are these for lunch, then, sir? 

Foyle: Not this time, I'm afraid. Get him to take a look at them, would you?

Rivers: Why, what's the matter with them? 

Foyle: Well, hopefully, we'll find out. 

Milner leans in through the doorway.

Milner: Sir? Doctor Wrenn's here. 

Interview room.

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

Both Foyle and Milner are there to question him.

Foyle: And you've never met Gordon Drake, is that right? 

Wrenn: Yes, I've never met him. Er, well, I knew who he was. 

Foyle: Even though he was having an affair with your wife? 

Wrenn: I knew- I knew she was seeing someone. Drake! 

Foyle: Did you k*ll him? 

Wrenn: I'm a doctor! Milner, for heaven's sake. 

Milner: This is the shirt you were wearing on the night of the review. 

He drops it on the desk and slides it towards Wrenn. There's a bloodstain on the cuff.

Wrenn: Where did you get that? 

Milner: There's blood on the sleeve. Can you explain it? 

Wrenn: It's easy to explain. It's my work! One way or another, I'm in contact with blood almost every day of my life. 

Foyle's office. He and Milner walk in together.

Milner: I don't think he k*lled Drake, sir. 

Foyle: Oh, why's that? 

Milner: Because I know him and I don't think he's capable of m*rder. 

Foyle: Possible your relationship might be affecting your judgment? 

Milner: Yes, perhaps. He was a dedicated man and a brilliant doctor. When I came back to England, I wasn't good for anything much. 

Foyle: Yeah, I remember. 

Milner: It wasn't just that he helped patch me up. When you asked me to work with you, he helped persuade me. 

Foyle: I didn't know that. Well, if he didn't do it, somebody did. Spoken to Anne Bolton? 

Milner: No, she wasn't at work yesterday. 

Foyle: She might be today. 

There's a knock on the office door.

Foyle: Yeah? 

Rivers enters with a report.

Rivers: Compliments of the MO, sir. He says you should definitely change your fishing technique. 

Foyle: Oh, did he, really? 

He opens the report.

Digby Manor.

Foyle (voiceover): How much is missing? 

He's in the medicine store with Smythe and Jamieson.

Jamieson: Half a dozen bottles, large ones, and four bags of diamorphine hydrochloride, about this size. 

He holds his hands a little under a foot apart.

Foyle: You keep an inventory? 

Jamieson: Of course. 

Smythe: It seems impossible this could happen in broad daylight. 

Jamieson: Yes, the thief would have to have made several journeys, or else carry it out in one very large bag. 

Smythe: Through the middle of the hospital. 

Jamieson: Absolutely. Bound to have been seen. 

Smythe: What do you think, Mr Foyle? I imagine a haul like this would be worth a ransom to one of these London gangs. 

Foyle: Anybody in the corridor when this happened? 

Smythe: Only Mrs, um, Roecastle. She was cleaning. 

Jamieson: Well, she couldn't have taken it. She could hardly manage one of the bottles. 

Foyle: And, er, who found all this, then? 

Jamieson: Grace Petrie. 

Outside. Petrie is escorting Bridges, now in uniform, to a taxi.

Bridges: Well, goodbye, Matron. 

Petrie: Goodbye, Mr Bridges. I can't say I'll miss you. You've been one of my worst patients and a very bad influence on the ward. 

Bridges: And you've been a complete tyrant who's made my life almost unbearable. 

Petrie: Well, seems we understand each other perfectly. 

Bridges: I think we always did. 

He gets into the taxi and she watches it drive away. Then she turns and heads back in.

Aircraft factory.

Milner: Miss Bolton? Were you at Digby Manor the night before last? 

Anne: Do you think I k*lled Gordon Drake? 

Milner: Do you blame him for what happened to your fiancé? 

Anne: Yes. But I didn't k*ll him. I was there, though. I arrived at about nine o'clock. There was music coming from inside the hospital. But I didn't see anything. So there's nothing I can tell you. 

Milner: And why were you there? 

Anne: Sam told me Greville had been hurt. She told me I should visit him. But it was only when I was there, I realised I didn't want to. Does that sound very cruel to you, Sergeant Milner? I can't see him. I don't want to see him. I want the Greville Woods I was in love with, the Greville I was going to marry. I tried to make myself visit him. That's why I was there that night. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't face him. 

Milner: Thank you, Miss Bolton. 

He stands to leave.

Anne: You think I'm disgusting.

Milner: No. But I will speak out of turn, if you don't mind. 

He pats his left leg.

Milner: This is fake. It's aluminium. I lost most of my leg at Trondheim last year. I was a mess when they carried me home. Maybe not as bad as your fiancé, but there was massive scarring everywhere. 

Anne: I'm sorry. 

Milner: You shouldn't be. I'm the man I was before. I haven't changed. 

Anne: And what are you saying? That Greville is still the same? 

Milner: He won't be if you leave him. 

He walks away.

Sir Michael's cottage. Foyle is there, speaking with Sir Michael and Mrs Roecastle.

Foyle: And it's, er, been fairly obvious from the beginning that somebody has taken great exception to the manor's use as a burns centre and, er, has done everything to get Mr Jamieson and his team out. 

Sir Michael: Do you know who this person is, Mr Foyle? 

Foyle: Sir Michael, it is your house. It's you who's been turned out of it and forced to live here. 

Sir Michael: It's the w*r. 

Foyle: Which is why sabotage is a particularly serious crime and why with great regret, I now have to arrest you. 

Roecastle: No. No, no, no! You're wrong! 

Foyle: And with the, er, possible charge of attempted m*rder, I, er, feel it only fair to warn you a very long prison sentence may be involved. 

Roecastle: No! It wasn't him. 

Foyle: Who was it, then, Mrs Roecastle? 

Roecastle: It was me. 

Foyle: Thank you. Sorry to have put you through that, sir. 

Sir Michael: Mrs Roecastle, is this true? 

Roecastle: Yes, sir. I didn't mean to hurt anybody, but I had to get them out. 

Foyle: Perhaps, erm, the way you began, with, erm, stolen papers, torn sheets, er, was forgivable but not the degree to which it escalated. 

Sir Michael: How, escalated? 

Foyle: Well, you told us, for example, that, erm, you heard Doctor Wrenn coming down the stairs from the roof, when in fact nobody can hear anything on those carpeted stairs through that door. It was you, wasn't it, who pushed the statue? 

Flashback to Smythe getting into the car.

Driver: Look out! 

The lion statue crashes down onto the car bonnet, and Mrs Roecastle looks down from the battlements.

Cottage.

Sir Michael: And all those stolen drugs? Was that you? 

Flashback to Petrie finding the shelf empty.

Back at the cottage, Roecastle nods.

Foyle: You don't have the drugs, do you? You dumped them in the river. 

Flashback to Foyle scooping up the d*ad fish.

Foyle (voiceover): And the diamorphine k*lled the fish. 

Cottage. Mrs Roecastle sobs.

Sir Michael: How did you get them out of the house? 

Flashback to Mrs Roecastle doing her dusting, her vacuum cleaner next to her.

Foyle (voiceover): You, er, put them in the, erm, bag of the vacuum cleaner you were using outside the pharmacy, didn't you? 

Cottage. Mrs Roecastle nods.

Sir Michael: Those drugs were needed. Why did you do this? 

Roecastle: For you, sir. I knew they were breaking your heart, taking over the manor house. I, I could see what they were doing to you. 

Sir Michael: No, no, no! 

He stands up, banging his cane for emphasis.

Sir Michael: I don't mind. Those poor young men, so terribly hurt, I'm glad they're here. 

Roecastle: But you had a g*n, sir! You were going to use it on yourself. I know you were.

Sir Michael: Mrs Roecastle, you've done a terrible, wicked thing. And you haven't understood me at all. You've no idea. 

Roecastle: I did it for you, sir. 

Outside. Uniformed officers lead Mrs Roecastle away. She looks back at Sir Michael where he stands with Foyle. 

Sir Michael: Well, I did think sometimes... often... of taking my own life. 

Foyle: Why? 

Sir Michael: Because I know what I am. Because I know I'm a fake. Sometimes living with myself is hard. 

The two of them walk through the grounds together.

Sir Michael: I was at Messines Ridge in the summer of 1917, Battle of Ypres. For God's sake, I was their commanding officer. My batman was a man called Martin Drake, Gordon's father. 

Foyle: Yes, you told me. 

Sir Michael: What I didn't tell you was, it was hell. They were strafing us with gas shells. You could hear them whining as they came in overhead. Gas and the shrapnel and the shells, and, and the mud and the blood, and the r*fles and the machine g*n, the a*tillery, the noise! And the endlessness of it. I did think it would never end until I was d*ad, until I was ripped to pieces. Some of the wounds I saw, young men with their entrails hanging out.  I'd had enough. I took out my g*n and I sh*t myself in the leg. I had to get out of there, it was the only way. That's what I did. Drake saw. He carried me to the field hospital. And as far as I knew, he never told anyone. And he wrote about it to his son. Gordon turned up here and showed me the letter. He knew it would ruin me. He made me pay. I've been paying ever since. In the end, I expect he'd have taken everything I have. Except my self-respect. Lost that 25 years ago. 

Foyle: You could work in the hospital here, lots you could do there. 

Sir Michael: But these men are so... brave. We call them "the few" but who could have thought this country could have produced so many of them? 

Foyle: My son's one of them. 

Sir Michael: Then you're a very fortunate man. 

Foyle says nothing.

Hospital ward. Jamieson leans over Greville Woods in his hospital bed. His eyes are still bandaged.

Jamieson: Right. Let's have these off and we'll have a look at the damage. 

Petrie enters the room, followed by Anne.

Petrie: Now. 

Anne: I'd like to come in. I'm his fiancée. 

Greville: Anne? 

Jamieson: Absolutely, sit down. The first thing he should see when these things come off is a pretty face like yours. 

She sits down and takes Greville's hand.

Greville: I thought you weren't going to come. 

Anne: I'm here. I'll never leave you. 

Jamieson moves to start removing the bandages.

Greville: Will I see?

Jamieson: Well, let's find out. 

Greville: Where have you been? 

Anne: I should have come. But I couldn't bear it. I was afraid. 

Jamieson removes the gauze from over Greville's eyes. He blinks and looks at Anne.

Greville: I can see you. I'm so pleased you're here. 

Petrie and Jamieson share a smile.

Outside Drake's house. Foyle stands studying the water trough.

Police station. Wing Commander Turner is at the front desk. Rivers points towards the door.

Rivers: Oh, sir... 

Turner: Ah, Mr Foyle. 

He approaches Foyle as he and Sam enter.

Foyle: Wing Commander. 

Turner: I wonder if I might have a word. 

Foyle: Certainly. 

He leads the way to his office.

Turner: I shouldn't be here, Mr Foyle. It goes against every rule in the book. 

He closes the door behind him. The two of them sit down at the desk.

Foyle: What's the problem? 

Turner: I'm afraid that Andrew is absent without leave and I was hoping you might be able to help me find him. 

Foyle: So you can do what, exactly? 

Turner: For the moment, he's been gone less than 48 hours, but even so, I should have reported his absence to the RAF police. You know, too many of the top brass at Command and Group still think that human error and human weakness is all a question of morale. And they're too ready to throw the book at anyone who steps out of line. LMF, they call it. "Lack of moral fibre". 

Foyle: What do you call it? 

Turner: Well, I see the truth of it. These young men, we ask so much of them. It's not just the number of ops they fly and the mental strain, it's, it's lack of sleep. No wonder they get ill. Flying stress, combat fatigue, shell shock, even. There are many names, there just aren't enough of us prepared to recognise it. 

Foyle: Well, he's certainly not been himself recently but I've not seen him for a day or two. 

Turner: In that case, there's nothing I can do. He'll be charged with desertion. 

He stands up.

Foyle: Erm... how long has he got? 

Turner: I can give him until two o'clock this afternoon. No longer than that. 

He leaves the office, passing Sam standing outside. Foyle cocks an eyebrow at her expectantly.

Sam's lodgings. Foyle approaches the front door and knocks. Andrew answers it.

Andrew: Dad. 

Foyle: Andrew. 

Andrew: How did you know I was here? 

Foyle: How do you think? Get your coat. 

A quiet pub. Andrew sits at one of the tables as Foyle him a drink.

Foyle: Thank you. 

He brings it over to the table.

Andrew: Thanks. So, you know about me and Sam. 

Foyle: I do. 

Andrew: Sorry. 

Foyle: For what? 

Andrew: Well, she is your driver. 

Foyle: Well, yeah, she's my, erm, very attractive driver and it's perfectly understandable. 

Andrew: Anyway, I've let everyone down, haven't I? 

Foyle: No, not at all. That's not the case. Turner came to see me. 

Andrew: Did he? 

Foyle: He wants you back. 

Andrew: For the court martial. 

Foyle: Well, no. Well, as long as you're back by two, that is. No, he's, um... See, I met a man the other day who fought in the last w*r. He was in the thick of it and, erm, reached the point where rather than fight, he chose to sh**t himself in the leg. See, 25 years ago that was cowardice and he'd have been sh*t, er, if he'd been found out. But nowadays, see, men like Turner have a better understanding of the limit to how much you can ask of people, and he seems to think, er, you've got a kind of combat fatigue. Sort of like another way of getting b*rned. 

Andrew: So, so, he asked you to find me? 

Foyle: Well, no, but he gave me the opportunity. Sam helped. And, er, all three of us have your best interests at heart because we, er, care about you. 

Andrew: Dad, I know who, who k*lled Gordon Drake. 

Foyle: Yeah, so do I. 

Andrew: No, I was there when it happened. I was waiting for him at his house. 

Foyle: Well, what were you doing there? 

Andrew: I don't know. I, I was gonna confront him. It was his fault that Greville was b*rned. Maybe I'd have k*lled him myself. 

Flashback to Drake wheeling his bike back home. Andrew looks out from behind a tree. Drake stops and looks around.

Drake: Is someone there? 

Wrenn (offscreen): Drake! 

Drake: What? 

Wrenn: You leave my wife alone. 

He whacks Drake across the head, then hurries away.

Andrew (voiceover): It was Wrenn, one of the doctors at the hospital. 

Cut back to the pub.

Foyle: Yeah, well, he's, um, he's in custody, which is, er, where you're gonna be if you don't get back to the airfield. Sam will drive you. 

Andrew: Oh, it's all right, I'll, I'll go on my own. 

Foyle: No, Sam'll drive you. You haven't got time. She'll drop you outside the base, you can walk in on your own. 

Andrew nods and finishes his drink.

Digby Manor. Jamieson and Smythe emerge from the building together.

Jamieson: You're going straight back to the Ministry, then, Group Captain? 

Smythe: Yes, Mr Jamieson. Now that this business of the sabotage has been taken care of, there doesn't seem to be any reason for me to stay. 

Jamieson: And you'll be putting in your report? 

Smythe: I already have. 

Jamieson: And? 

Jamieson: I've pointed out that you are arrogant, ill-disciplined, disrespectful, that you run this place entirely as a law unto yourself. 

He goes over to his car and one of the RAF officers takes his suitcase for him.

RAF Officer: Sir.

Smythe: I have also made it clear that you get results and that the patients here have a great deal to be thankful for. I have therefore recommended that just you be allowed to get on with things without interference from people such as myself. 

Jamieson: Thank you. 

Smythe gets into his car.

Smythe: Good luck. 

Jamieson waves as the car drives away, then bounds back into the building.

Police station. Milner meets Foyle as he arrives in the reception area.

Milner: Sir, Doctor Wrenn has asked to see you. 

Foyle: Right. Sergeant.

Rivers: Sir?

Foyle: Have you seen Preston? 

Rivers: Preston? I think he's in the canteen, sir. 

Foyle: Have you got the household registry form he filled in for the Wrenns' place? 

Rivers: It'll be in the Wrenn file, sir. 

Foyle: Thank you. 

He comes around behind the front desk.

Foyle: It's, um, Peter Preston, isn't it? 

Rivers: Yes, sir. 

He hands Foyle the file.

Foyle: Yeah.

He opens the file and takes a brief look, then turns back to Rivers.

Foyle: Right. Ask him to, er, pop in if he's got a second, would you? 

Rivers: Sir. 

Interview room.

Wrenn: Mr Foyle, I haven't told you the truth. 

Foyle: Well, we, erm... we sort of spotted that. 

He sits down next to Milner opposite Wrenn.

Foyle: Will you be telling us the truth now? 

Wrenn: Yes. You were right. I k*lled Gordon Drake. I, I didn't plan to, not, not exactly. He was seeing my wife. He was a worthless piece of trash and I couldn't stand it any more. I slipped out of the concert. I was- I was just gonna confront him, that's all, but then I saw him and I just lost control. I picked up a stone. I never meant to k*ll him. I just- I just wanted to hurt him, just knock him down. 

Milner: And is that all that you did? 

Wrenn: Yes. But he was- he was still breathing, when- I could have sworn. But, I don't know. I was ashamed and I just ran off and left him. 

Foyle: Well, I'm glad you've, erm, chosen to tell us because, in fact, you were seen. 

Wrenn: Who? 

Foyle: Well, it seems half of Hastings had, er, decided to do away with him at more or less the same time. It just so happened that you managed to get there first. 

Wrenn starts to cry.

Wrenn: I'm so sorry. I st- I still can't believe it. It's madness. 

Foyle: How do you imagine he died? 

Wrenn: Er... well, I just assumed I'd fractured his skull. 

Foyle: He drowned. 

Wrenn: What? 

Milner: The blow to the head wasn't fatal. His lungs were full of water. 

Wrenn: Water? 

Milner: There's a trough beside the house. 

Wrenn: Yes. Is that, that, er- I remember it, but he was nowhere near it when he fell. I'm, I'm sure of it. Wh... If you're- if you're saying that he drowned in the trough, then that means... 

Foyle: You're off the hook! Well, you could still be charged with common as*ault or even attempted m*rder. 

Wrenn: Well, I never- I never intended to k*ll him. 

Foyle: Well, I believe you. I also believe that, er, I'm in your debt since it seems I wouldn't have Milner here if, er, if it hadn't been for you. 

Wrenn: You- you're gonna let me go? 

Foyle: See Doctor Wrenn out, will you? 

Milner: Yes, sir. I'd be glad to. 

Foyle leaves the two of them alone. Wrenn sits at the table sobbing.

Airfield.

Turner (voiceover): I'm very glad to see you, Foyle. 

Andrew stands to attention in his office.

Andrew: Thank you, sir. 

Turner: You'll be pleased to hear that I spoke to Greville Woods this morning. He's gonna be all right. 

Andrew: That is good news, sir. 

Turner: At least he still has his sight and they'll be able to patch him up again. His girl's standing by him, which is good. But as for you, Foyle, you've come to the end of the road. You're being posted to an OTU to instruct. You're gonna be giving the young blood some fresh ideas. Er, I'd already come to this decision before you took a couple of days' unofficial leave. You're no longer on ops, Foyle. You've done enough, more than enough. 

Andrew: Sir... 

Turner: I want you to know how happy I am for you. You were a cheeky young sod when you first came here, but you're a damn fine fighter pilot. And you've grown, and strengthened in stature, and I'm glad that you've made it through. I'll miss you. You've done a bloody good job. 

Andrew: Thank you, sir. 

Turner: You can fly up to Debden tomorrow morning, 605 Squadron. And you're also being promoted. Flight lieutenant. Good luck, Foyle. 

Andrew: Sir. 

He salutes.

Foyle's office. Peter Preston knocks on the door.

Foyle (offscreen): Yeah? 

He and Milner are both inside.

Preston: Sorry. Er, you asked to see me, sir. 

Foyle: Yes, have you got a moment? 

Preston: Yes, of course. 

Foyle: Come in. Sit down. 

Preston: Is this about Doctor Wrenn, sir? 

Foyle: Well, yes, in a way. 

Preston: Obviously, I should never have told Doctor Wrenn about Drake and his wife. 

Foyle: Well, yes, there's that, and, um, your involvement in the m*rder. 

Preston: m*rder? 

Foyle: Drake's m*rder. 

Preston: Sorry, beg your pardon? 

Foyle: You're responsible, correct? 

Preston: I... 

Foyle: Care to tell us why? 

Preston: I didn't even know the man. 

Foyle: Well, of course you did. 

Preston: Well, yes, I knew of him, but no, I'd never met him. 

Foyle: He's your brother-in-law. I mean, you're Pip, aren't you? 

Preston: My name's Peter. 

Foyle: Well, that's right. 

He picks the file with the details that Preston filled out on the Wrenns.

Foyle: Peter Ian Preston and known within your family, especially by Beryl, er, by your initials. I mean, she's your sister, correct? 

He shows Preston the form, headed with his full name.

Foyle: Her maiden name was Preston, both grew up in the Forest of Dean. Not much of your accent left but you're the spitting image of your father. 

Flashback to Foyle picking up the framed photo at Beryl's house.

Foyle: Who is this? Is this your father? 

Beryl: It was taken the year before he died. 

Foyle (voiceover): Your sister didn't land you in it, by the way.

Cut back to the office.

Foyle: Or rather, she didn't intentionally. However, she did mention a brother, Pip, but seemed nervous about it having done so and, er, made out he was living in London. 

Preston: She's my sister, yes. 

Milner: Tell us what happened the night of the concert. 

Preston: The night of the concert, I was going round to see her. I didn't know he'd be there. 

Flashback to Preston approaching the Drake house. He hears Drake crying out and groaning in pain, and finds him on the ground by the trough, clutching his head.

Drake: Ah! Help! 

Preston: What happened? 

Drake: Ah! Wrenn. Argh!

Preston looks around, then bends down to lift him up.

Preston: Come on, come on. 

He drags him backwards, Drake's shoe coming off.

Drake: Wrenn!

Preston abruptly turns him over and shoves his face into the water in the trough.

Milner (voiceover): It couldn't have worked out better for you. All you had to do was drag him to the trough and force his head into the water. You hoped, correctly, that Doctor Wrenn would take the blame.

Drake goes still.

Cut back to the office. 

Milner: As long as nobody knew the connection between you and Beryl, you'd be in the clear. 

Foyle: If you'd left him underwater and put his shoe back on, you might have got away with it. 

Preston: You should have seen the way he treated her. He was a bully, he was a wife-beater. I had to protect her. I had to... put him down. And I don't care what happens to me. I'm glad. I did it. 

Airfield. Foyle walks with Andrew towards a Spitfire.

Foyle: You'll write, then? 

Andrew: Of course I will. 

Foyle: I wonder. 

Andrew laughs.

Foyle: You got cash? 

Andrew: Yeah, I'm fine, Dad. 

Foyle: And how do you feel? 

Andrew: It's hard to say. I can't believe it's all over. I can't imagine there'll be anything like it in my life ever again. 

Foyle: Well, at least you've got the chance of a life now, assuming we get through all this. 

Sam is pacing by the Spitfire.

Foyle: Seems there's a queue to say goodbye to you. 

Andrew: See you, Dad. 

He hugs his father, then Foyle walks away. Andrew goes over to meet Sam.

Sam: I hate goodbyes. 

Andrew: Oh, come on, Sam. It's only Debden. It's not that far. 

Sam: I know. 

Andrew: We'll write.

Sam sniffles.

Andrew: And there are always weekends. 

Sam: Oh. Please don't try to cheer me up any more, Andrew. 

Andrew: Well, you look after Dad for me. 

Sam: We'll look after each other. 

Andrew: Good luck, Sam. 

Sam: And you. 

They kiss, and then Andrew climbs into the cockpit. He smiles down at her again, and then she goes back to join Foyle by the car, wiping her eyes. Behind her, a member of the ground crew finishes checking Andrew's plane over and walks away.

Aircraftsman: Good luck.

Foyle: You all right? 

Sam: Yes, sir. All present and correct. 

Foyle: Well, I'll miss him. Will you? 

Sam: Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I, I didn't mean to become involved. Well, I did, but... 

Foyle laughs.

Foyle: Well, the Foyles, you know, always have been hard to resist. 

Sam laughs.

Sam: Absolutely, sir. 

The Spitfire's engine starts, and they both stand and watch as Andrew flies away.
{"type": "series", "show": "Foyle's War", "episode": "03x02 - Enemy f*re"}