Clifftop.  An older German couple, Thomas and Elsie Kramer, are having a picnic.

Thomas: Don't move.

Elsie: What?

Thomas: Wait.

He brings out a camera.

Elsie: Oh, don't. I look terrible.

Thomas: You look... beautiful.

As he takes several photographs of her, a ship can be seen in the background. Passing by on his bicycle, ARP Warden Eric Stephens pauses to watch them for a moment, then moves on.

CAPTION: ENGLAND, MAY 1940

Kramer household. Thomas is listening to a young boy, William, play piano.

Thomas: That's much better, William. That was very good.

William: Thank you, Mr Kramer.

Thomas: Now I want you to practice this section down to G for next week. And the scales, yes?

William: Right.

Later. Outside the house, Elsie is hanging washing. Eric Stephens passes by on his bike again and stops to watch her. She goes back in to join Thomas where he's playing the piano.

Night. A group of men with torches approach the house. At a knock on the door, the Kramers both sit up in bed. Thomas gets up to answer it and a policeman shines a torch in his face.

Policeman: Thomas Kramer?

Thomas: Yes?

Policeman: I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to come with us.

Thomas: What? Where?

Elsie joins him at the door.

Elsie: Thomas, what is it?

Policeman: You're being interned as enemy aliens under the Defence Regulations and Aliens Order Act of 1920.

Cell block.  The Kramers are escorted in.

Interrogator 1 (voiceover): You came to England in 1938.  You have a B registration - restricted movement.

Elsie is separated from her husband and taken off in a different direction.

Elsie: Thomas!

Thomas: Elsie!

Interrogator 1 (voiceover): You have relatives in Germany.

Intercut between the Kramers being questioned in separate interrogation rooms.

Thomas: Yes.

Interrogator 1: You're aware, Mr Kramer, that B registration forbids the possession and use of a camera?

Elsie: It wasn't our camera. It belongs to my nephew. His name is Mark Andrews. He's in the army. He's stationed in Aldershot.

Interrogator 2: Where did you get that information?

Elsie: He told us.

Thomas: I was not photographing a ship. I was photographing my wife.

Interrogator 1: We have the film, Mr Kramer. There's definitely a ship.

Thomas: I didn't see it.

Interrogator 2:  When do you put out your washing, Mrs Kramer? Clothes on a washing line. The first sighting made by an enemy aircraft approaching from the south. Are you making a signal?

Interrogator 1: Can you explain this?

Thomas: I sent this to my friend in Boston in America. How did you get it?

Interrogator 1: What are those symbols?

Thomas: They're chess symbols. I play chess.

Elsie: I want to speak to my husband.

Thomas: I am a professor of music. I am not a spy. I was sponsored in this country by the Society for the Protection of Science and Learning. And now I want to go home.

Internment camp. A crowd of people are escorted out of a lorry and into a building by soldiers.

Guard (offscreen): Head to the left. Turn to the right.

The Kramers enter the building together.

Guard (offscreen): Come on, then. Move along!

Man: I didn't do anything.

A soldier separates Elsie from Thomas.  He tries to go after her and is restrained by guards.

Thomas: Elsie!

Elsie: Thomas!

Guard (offscreen): This way, please.

Thomas is forced to leave his wife behind and go on to the men's area. Elsie stumbles on a short way with the other women, then begins to gasp. She clutches her chest and collapses to the floor.

OPENING CREDITS

Foyle gets out of a taxi in front of an ornate building and pays the driver.

Driver: Thank you, sir.

Foyle enters the building and speaks to the man on the front desk before heading upstairs to the office of Assistant Commissioner R.F. Summers.

Summers: The answer is no, Foyle, and this time it's final. This is, what, your fourth request?

Foyle: I just feel that in the circumstances, I could be doing something a little more relevant to the w*r effort.

Summers: Yes, yes, very commendable.

Foyle: Not even as if I'm doing my actual job any more. Pen-pushing, blackouts, traffic patrols - you don't need me for that.

Summers: Look. I need you where you are, Foyle. You're a first-class police officer.

Foyle: Crime rate has just about halved.

Summers: That may be the case in Hastings, but per head of population, it's rising. Larceny, breaking and entering, civil offenses, and m*rder. Has it crossed your mind that we're training half the country how to k*ll? Huh? What's the effect of that gonna be?

Foyle: Warsaw, Prague - there are m*rder every day.

Summers: That doesn't concern you or me.

Foyle: Even if there was a m*rder to be investigated, I haven't got the men to cover it. Most of them have enlisted. My sergeant, for example, is somewhere in the North Sea.

Summers: It's the same for all of us. Last month alone, we lost three chief constables - all enlisted men.

Foyle: I'm wasting my time on the south coast. I want to be transferred.

Summers: Request refused.

He rubber-stamps a document.

Foyle: Thank you for seeing me.

He immediately gets up to leave.

Summers: Sit down, Foyle. I haven't finished yet. So, what are you working on at the moment?

Foyle: Something for the, er, Ministry of Labour.

Summers: Well, the only item of relevance that's come out of this conversation, as far as I can see, is that there's a shortage of personnel. We need to find you a new sergeant. I'll make that a priority. Oh, and I understand you don't drive. I've never heard of a Chief Superintendent who can't drive, but still, I've managed to arrange a personal driver for you. Name of Stewart. Pulled out of the MTC. It's a bit unorthodox, I know, but it's the best we could do.

Foyle: Thank you.

Summers: That's all. And I don't want to see any more of these requests. You know, Foyle, if you weren't so damned obstinate, you'd see that I'm actually on your side. You do a good job. No telling where you might be once the w*r's over.

Foyle: It'll depend on who wins, I suppose.

He leaves.

Beaumont family estate. Mark Andrews approaches the front door and rings the bell. A maid lets him in.

Cut to Andrews speaking with Henry Beaumont in the study.

Andrews: He's my uncle, sir. His name is Thomas Kramer. He come to this country two years ago. He was the leader of the philharmonic orchestra in Vienna.

Henry: Really?

Andrews: He had to leave because he spoke out against what they're doing over there, you know - the Jewish musicians and Jewish composers forced out of work and all that.

Henry: It's a very unfortunate situation, yes.

Andrews: They've put him in a camp. It's not even a camp. It's a converted factory. They've put him in with out-and-out n*zi, the very people he came to escape from.

Henry: Andrews, I'm not quite certain what you think I can do for you.

Andrews: Well, sir, seeing as how I worked for you, and you being the local magistrate, well... you must know people.

Henry: No, I'm afraid not. There are proper authorities, you see, to deal with this sort of thing, and I have nothing to do with them. Your uncle and aunt have been categorised as enemy aliens, and that's how it has to be. On the other hand, I'm sure they'll be very well-treated.

Andrews: My aunt is d*ad, sir. She was 63, and she had a heart att*ck. They let her die.

Henry: I'm so sorry, but as I've already explained, there's nothing I can do.

Andrews: Nothing?

Henry: I'm afraid not. I'm sorry.

Andrews: But your wife is German.

Henry looks up sharply.

Henry: What?

Andrews: It's true, isn't it?

Henry: My wife is from the Sudetenland, but that has got nothing to do with you.

Andrews: And why wasn't she interned?

Henry: I'll thank you to leave my wife out of this. How dare you come here and put these questions to me in this fashion?

Andrews: I just want to get my uncle home.

Henry: There's nothing I can do, and that's all there is to it. Now I think you'd better go.

As Andrews leaves the house, he passes Greta Beaumont arranging flowers and gives her a hard stare.

A car approaches the house, driving past Sarah Beaumont where she's out pruning flowers. As the horn honks she looks up and smiles, then stands up.

The car stops in front of the house as Andrews is walking away. Sarah comes round the corner and greets Michael Turner as he gets out of the car.

Sarah: Michael.

Turner: Hello, darling.

They share a kiss.

Sarah: Mmm.

Turner: Mmm. How's my gorgeous girl?

Sarah: Oh, much better now you're here. How was the drive?

Turner: Oh, long. But worth it. How are M and P?

Sarah: Oh, pretty grisly. Have you checked into the Bell?

Turner: No, not yet. I don't suppose there's any chance...?

Sarah: You know what Daddy's like.

Henry's study. He looks up as Greta enters.

Greta: Who was that?

Henry: What?

Greta: The young soldier I saw just now.

Henry: That was Mark Andrews. Underkeeper here, or used to be.

Greta: He looked angry.

Henry: Yes. I wasn't able to help him.

Greta: Help him what?

Henry: Oh, it doesn't matter. Did I hear someone arrive?

Greta: Michael's here.

Henry: Good. Then we can have lunch.

The family at lunch in the dining room.

Turner: Mmm. It's hell in London. Everyone's blaming everyone else about Norway. They say Churchill misjudged the whole thing.

Henry: Oh, do they? Tell me, how long are you able to stay down here?

Turner: They've given me a couple of days.

Henry: Oh, good, good.

Greta: Are you staying at the Bell?

Turner: Yeah.

Sarah: Does he really have to, Daddy?

Henry: Oh, Sarah, don't start that again.

Turner: I'm perfectly happy at the Bell. Really, I am.

Greta: So... What have you been doing in London, Michael? In your free time?

Turner: Well, I don't get a lot of free time, Greta.

Greta: No?

Sarah: Why are you always picking on him? Michael's working as hard as anybody.

Greta: I wasn't picking on him.

Sarah: Well, you're always insinuating something.

Greta: Sarah!

Sarah: At least someone in this house is doing something for the w*r effort.

Greta: What did I say? Did I say anything?

Turner: It's all right.

Henry: No. It's not all right. I won't have you talking to Greta like that.

Sarah: Well, I just wish if she had something against Michael, she could come out and say it. Or is this about the money again?

Henry: That's enough!

Sarah: You always take her side.

Henry: I'm not taking sides. I just expect a little civilised behaviour. When this is your house, you may do as you like, but until then... Oh, circulate the wine, will you?

Foyle's office. Foyle is working at his typewriter. There's a knock at the door.

Foyle: Come in.

Sam Stewart enters in her MTC uniform.

Sam: Chief Superintendent Foyle?

Foyle: Yes.

She steps up to the desk and salutes.

Sam: I've been assigned to you as your new driver.

Foyle looks taken aback.

Foyle: Oh. Er, S- Stewart?

Sam: Samantha Stewart, sir. You can call me Sam.

They leave the office and walk through the police station.

Sam: Erm, I, I was hoping to get into the WAAF, but I ended up in the MTC.

Foyle: Ah.

Sam: The Mechanised Transport Corps. I was assigned to the Ministry of Aircraft Production, but then they said they were looking for someone with a knowledge of the South Downs.

Foyle: Hmm. I see. And, er, you, you have a knowledge of the, er, South Downs?

Sam: Oh, yes. Yes. Um, I was born in Lyminster, just outside Arundel. My father is actually the vicar at St. Stephen's. Do you know it?

Foyle: Er, no. No.

Sam: No, I don't suppose there's any reason why you should. Anyway, it's not much fun being the vicar's daughter - on your best behavior all the time. Personally, I couldn't wait for the w*r to come along. Chance to get out.

Foyle signs out at the front desk.

Foyle: It's, er... very unusual for, um, a ranking officer to be assigned a, a driver outside the force.

Sam: Yes. Yes. That's what I said when they told me, but they said they couldn't get anyone else, so...

Desk Sergeant: Thank you, sir.

Sam: Here I am.

Foyle: Right.

Sam drives Foyle through Hastings.

Sam: So what are you investigating? I hope it's something juicy - a spy ring or a nice grisly m*rder.

Foyle: I think we should get something straight right from the very beginning. You don't ask me what I'm doing. You don't ask me what I'm investigating. You simply take me to where I want to go. Is that understood?

Sam: Whatever you say.

Foyle: Good.

They arrive at some dilapidated wooden buildings close to the seafront.

Foyle: If you just wait here. Thank you.

Sam: How long will you be? Are you meeting someone?

Foyle: Excuse me. Did you not understand what I've just been, er...

Sam: What?

Foyle: Never mind. Just, er, wait here, will you?

He gets out of the car and walks around behind the buildings, where Bob Keegan is waiting.

Keegan: Mr Foyle?

Foyle: That's right.

Keegan: Do you have the money?

Foyle: £150.

Keegan: You know, I should have thought you were a bit old to worry about being called up.

Foyle: Well, it's not me. It's my son.

Keegan:  Ah.

Foyle: He's, er, 23. I don't want him to go.

Keegan: He doesn't have to.

Foyle: Good. Er, so... how does it work?

Keegan: You give me his particulars, and his call-up papers get mislaid. After that, he doesn't exist. There's no comeback. That's the way the system works.

Foyle: I see. And, um, I understand you're a civil servant?

Keegan: Perhaps I am.

Foyle: And I, er, I don't know your name.

Keegan: Why do you want to know?

Foyle: Well, £150 is a lot of money. Um, how do I know I'm ever gonna see you again?

Keegan: My name's Keegan. You can check me out at the Brighton office, all right?

Foyle: Yeah. Well, um, my name's Foyle, Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle, and I'm placing you under arrest for, uh-

Keegan: Hell!

Keegan shoves at Foyle and runs.  Foyle chases after him, some distance behind.

Keegan: Aah!

Keegan is struck in the face and falls backwards.  Foyle arrives to see Sam standing over him with a metal dustbin lid.  She drops it to the ground next to Keegan.

Foyle: Sam?

Sam: Yes, sir.

Foyle adjusts his tie.

Foyle: Thank you.

Sam smiles to herself a little.

Foyle house.  Piano music is playing inside as a taxi arrives and Andrew gets out and goes to unlock the door.

Inside, Foyle is working on making a fishing fly with the aid of a magnifying lens.  He's too focused to notice Andrew's arrival.

Andrew: A black gnat.

Foyle looks up, surprised, and Andrew raises his eyebrows.

Foyle: Not even close. It's a classic iron blue. It was a complete waste of time teaching you any of this, wasn't it, really?

Andrew: How are you, Dad?

Kitchen. Andrew opens the larder to have a look inside.

Andrew: Ah. There's bugger all in the larder.

Foyle: Well, there was bugger all indication, Andrew, that you were coming home. How long are you gonna be here?

Andrew: A couple of days. Eurgh! When did you get this?

He picks up a loaf of bread to inspect.

Foyle: Andrew, don't- look. We can eat out if you want.

Andrew: No. I've been stuck on buses and trains all day. It's good to be home.

Foyle: Good.

Later. The two of them are sitting down to dinner.

Foyle: And how's Oxford?

Andrew: Mmm. It's not the same. The town's crawling with refugees, evacuees, and all the rest of it. And the colleges are empty. They're dumping a maternity hospital in Ruskin. Now, that's something to look forward to - lots of pretty nurses. At least... it would be if I was still there.

Foyle: You've left? You're not going back?

Andrew: I've had my orders.

Foyle: Ah.

Andrew: You know I've been flying weekends with the volunteer reserve. Pretty old crates, but... it's been fun. Well, now it's the real thing.

Foyle: I see. Right.

Andrew: I should have told you. I was going to write. Then I was going to call. In the end, I came down to tell you myself.

Foyle: And where are you gonna be based?

Andrew: I'm not allowed to tell you.

Foyle gives him a look.

Andrew: It's a drome just outside some godawful place you never heard of up in Russia.

Foyle: Scotland.

Andrew: Three months' training. Then I suppose I'll be flying ops. I'm sorry, Dad.

Foyle: No, no. I, er... you shouldn't be. I'm proud of you, I really am, but, um... So when do you have to leave?

Andrew: Saturday. There's a two o'clock train.

Foyle: Oh, that's all right, then. Then we can, er, go down to the river, then, eh?

He gets up to start clearing the table.

Andrew: Ha. You and the iron blue?

Foyle: Absolutely.

Andrew: I'd like that.

Foyle: Well, you're a bloody liar, but you'll come anyway.

Foyle picks up a tray and starts to head back to the kitchen.

Andrew: Dad.

Foyle: Yeah?

Andrew: Good to see you.

Foyle smiles a little and looks down.

Foyle: Mmm.

Police interview room. Foyle walks in and sits down across from Keegan.

Foyle: Right. I want a complete list of everyone you had dealings with, all the papers you managed to mislay, and since you obviously weren't working alone, a list of all the people who were working with you.

Keegan remains silent, head turned away.

Foyle: Well, I take it you weren't advertising in the local Gazette. So, er, how did you find your clients, Mr Keegan? (pause) Well, how did people find out about you and about what you could do for anyone who didn't want to be called up?

Keegan still remains silent, breathing heavily.

Foyle: Right, you don't want to say anything? That's absolutely fine. Now I just hand your file over to the military police. They can deal with you. Treason in a time of w*r. They'll hang you.

He goes to leave the room.

Keegan: There's a man called Judd. Ian Judd.

The Bell pub. Michael Turner's car pulls up outside.

Cut to Judd behind the bar inside.

Man on radio: I have had German friends in the past, and I hope that I may live to have a German friend or two again one day.

Mark Andrews is sitting at the bar alongside Ray Pritchard.  Barmaid Tracey Stephens brings some glasses back to the bar, and Judd hands her a sandwich on a plate.

Judd: Over there, Tracey.

Tracey: Right, Mr Judd.

Radio: And I hate to have to say it, but say it I will. Be careful at this moment how you put complete trust in any person of German or Austrian connections. If you should know any people of this kind who are still at large...

Andrews: Oh, turn it off! 

Radio: Keep your eye on them.

Andrews: They don't know what they're talking about, the bastards. They don't know a bloody thing!

Tracey: Language.

Judd: They've got it right, if you ask me. We don't want that lot over here.

Andrews: What?

Judd: Germans. Fifth column - that's what they call them.

Ray: That's just what happened in Norway, innit?

Judd: That's right. They sit here all nice and quiet, pretending to be our friends, but when their real mates march in...

Andrews: So if a German walked in here, you wouldn't serve them?

Tracey: I'd show them the door.

Andrews: And what if it was Mrs Beaumont... From the manor?

Tracey: She's different.

Andrews: Well, she's German.

Judd: What point you trying to make?

Andrews: She's German, but no one complains about her. If she come in here, you'd serve her a drink and kowtow like the rest of them. But for all you know, she could be signalling her friends in Berlin right now.

Ray: She's Mr Beaumont's wife.

Andrews: She's still a bloody German! I'll have another one.

Tracey: I think you've had enough.

Judd: Go on. Better get home.

Andrews gets up.

Andrews: You wait and see. When the b*mb start falling, we'll see who the real enemy is.

He leaves the pub.

Tracey: Don't forget I've got to go home early today, Mr Judd.

Judd: Do the blackout first. I don't want your dad giving us a fight.

Michael Turner walks in and Judd goes over to meet him.

Judd: Nice to see you again, Mr Turner. Room for the night, is it?

Turner: Two nights.

Judd: Same room as usual?

Turner: Any room will do.

Judd: That's, er, seven shillings a night. Plus you owe me for a couple of weeks.

Turner hands him the money.

Turner: You know, Judd, one day you're gonna push me too far.

Judd: Oh, just rendering a service, Mr Turner.

Turner: Thank you.

Outside, Tracey starts wheeling her bike away from the pub. Ray intercepts her.

Ray: Terry.

Tracey: Ray!

Ray: Um... Can I- can I walk you home?

Tracey: Yeah. If you want. All right.

They start walking together.

Ray: I'm thinking about joining up.

Tracey: Are you?

Ray: Mmm. Dad doesn't want me to. He says he needs me in the shop.

Tracey: You'll get called up anyway.

Ray: Ah. I want to join now. Look. Would you miss me? You know, if I went?

Tracey: Course I would. What sort of question is that?

Ray: Terry, would you miss me?

Tracey: You know I would.

Ray: Ha ha ha! I'd miss you.

Tracey: Ray, what you going on about?

Ray: You know how I feel about you.

Tracey: Oh. I've got to go.

Ray: No. Wait.

He's about to kiss here when Eric Stephens interrupts.

Stephens: What's going on here?

Tracey: It's all right, dad. It's only Ray.

Stephens: What about my tea, then?

Tracey: All right. I'll see you tomorrow, then.

Ray: Right.

Stephens: Come on.

Ray smiles after her before turning to walk away.

Beaumont estate. A groom helps Greta climb onto a horse in front of the house while Henry watches.

Greta: I'll be back in one hour.

Henry: You be careful.

Greta giggles.

Greta: Tell that to the horse.

As Greta rides away, a car is pulling up.

Greta: Good morning, doctor.

Henry waits to meet Doctor Groves as he gets out of the car.

Henry: Groves?

Groves: Do you think that's wise?

Henry: What?

Groves: Her riding round the country like that. She's supposed to be ill.

Henry: I think Greta can look after herself.

Groves: That wasn't what you said to me once, and it wasn't just me. I wasn't the only one to stick my neck out.

Greta rides her horse through the countryside.  Mark Andrews stops behind a fallen tree to watch, then moves to follow.

The Bell pub. Sam and Foyle arrive in the car and park in front.

Sam: Er, may I come in?

Foyle looks incredulous.

Sam: I need to... powder my nose.

She gets out of the car.

Foyle enters the pub and approaches the bar.

Foyle: Afternoon. Mr Judd?

Judd: Who wants to know?

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

Judd: Oh, yeah?

Foyle: I wouldn't mind a word if you've got a minute.

Judd: Hold on. Tracey, we're out of the mild.

Tracey: Yes, Mr Judd.

She goes off to the pub's back room.

Foyle: I understand you know a man called Robert Keegan?

Judd: Bob. Yeah, met him once or twice. What about him?

Foyle: Er, you're in business together?

Judd: No. He drinks here. I've pulled him a pint. That's the only business we've ever had.

Foyle: Oh. That's not quite what he says.

An air-raid siren sounds and everybody in the pub looks up. Sam comes rushing up to the bar.

Sam: Sir! It's got to be a false alarm. Hasn't it?

Outside in the village people stop to look up, including Eric Stephens riding along on his bike. Ray emerges from the shop to look. A plane is visible in the sky.

Stephens: German! Get under cover! Can't you hear?

People start to scream.

Ray: Come on.

He beckons a man into the shop. Overhead, the plane is seen to drop a b*mb.

Man (offscreen): There's a b*mb!

Ray retreats into the shop.

Inside the pub, the sound of the falling b*mb can be heard.

Foyle: Get down!

He starts to duck down himself and grabs Sam to pull her with him. The b*mb hits the roof on one side of the Bell the expl*si*n engulfing a car outside and blasting debris through the pub.

Inside, Foyle and Sam lay sprawled face-down in the dust. Foyle pushes himself up.

Foyle: Ohh. Oh, God.

He surveys the wrecked interior where several people lie unmoving in the dust.

Foyle: Ohh. Argh. Ah.

Later. Firemen rush about to contain the ongoing blaze outside and help people out of the pub. There are indistinct shouts in the background.

Inside. Tracey Stephens lies d*ad on a stretcher on the pub floor. Foyle covers her face.

Foyle: Poor girl. All right.

She's carried away on the stretcher. Behind the bar, Judd knocks back a gulp of a drink. Doctor Groves, tending to one of the people on the ground, watches Tracey being carried out.

Judd: I hope you're pleased with yourself. If you hadn't come here asking bloody questions, I wouldn't have needed to send Tracey outside.

Foyle: Can I take that? Thank you.

Foyle takes the glass from him without waiting for permission and hands it to an old woman.

Foyle: Here we are, look. Have a sip of that.

The woman nods. Sam is kneeling beside her, having bandaged up her leg.

Sam: It's all right. It's not broken. This will just stop the bleeding.

Foyle: That's a very good job.

Sam: They taught us basic first aid in the MTC. My instructor always said he'd rather bleed to death than be bandaged by me.

Foyle: Oh.

He smiles.

Sam: Was it a raid?

Foyle: No, a single plane, evidently, maybe lost on its way home.

Ray rushes into the pub.

Ray: Where is she?

Judd: Ray! Ray, you can't come in here. Not now.

Judd hurries to intercept him and tries to steer him back out. Ray struggles against him.

Ray: Where is she?

Judd: Not now.

Ray: I want to see her! Where is she?

Groves: Stop it. Ray, stop it! Stop it. Ray, she's not here. I'm afraid she's d*ad.

Ray: What?

Groves: She was k*lled by the b*mb.

Ray: Terry?

Judd: Sorry, Ray.

Ray: Oh, don't you give me that. She shouldn't even have been here, and you knew! You bloody knew that!

He grabs hold of Judd.

Judd: Ray!

Ray: The loss is on you, Mr Judd. I know all about you, and I told her. I told her.

Foyle moves to break them up.

Foyle: All right. That's enough. That's enough. It's okay.

Ray: She's my best girl.

Foyle: Yeah. We're very sorry. Where do you live?

Ray: In the village.

Foyle: Well, I think you should be at home. Take him home, Sam. I think that's the best place for you right now.

Sam: Come on.

Stephens household. People have gathered around Eric Stephens where he sits at the table.

Stephens: I don't understand it. I just don't understand it. If they're gonna drop a b*mb, I mean, why here? And my Tracey...

Ray: I'm sorry, Mr Stephens. I'm so sorry. They said it was just one plane - just one plane.

Stephens: Those Germans. Those bloody, bloody Germans.

Ray: I hate them, too.

Stephens: If I could get my hands on them, if I could get my hands on just one of them...

Greta Beaumont walks through the village with a shopping basket over her arm. The people in the street all give her dirty looks.

Internment camp. Mark Andrews is let in to see Thomas.

Andrews: I went to see Beaumont. Henry Beaumont. I used to work for him and I thought he would help.

Thomas: Why would he help?

Andrews: His wife is German.

Thomas: I haven't seen her here.

Andrews: She wasn't interned.

Thomas: They've interned everyone between the ages of sixteen and 60 living within a five-mile radius of the coast. Is she... 61?

Andrews: I don't think so.

Thomas: Elsie was 63.

Andrews: I shouldn't have left my camera.

Thomas: We weren't allowed to have a camera.

He chuckles bitterly.

Andrews: I'm sorry.

Thomas: They say that I can petition the appeals tribunal and they may release me, but they also say there's a long waiting list, five or six months.

Andrews: They're bastards! It makes me wonder which side I'm fighting for.

Thomas: Mark, Mark, Mark! You're fighting for the right side. All this - it's because of the w*r. It's not their fault.

Andrews: And Elsie?

Thomas: It happened. And worse things will happen. This is only the very start.

Andrews: Are you gonna be all right?

Thomas: They're treating me well. The food is good. We have a chess club, our own newspaper. You have no idea how many intellectuals they have locked up here. Poets, writers, artists.

Andrews: And n*zi.

Thomas: And those, too.

Andrews: It's still not right. Well, you've done nothing wrong. You shouldn't be here.

Thomas: Mark, there's nothing you can do.

Andrews: We'll see about that.

Foyle household. Foyle joins Andrew in the front room with a bottle of alcohol.

Foyle: I wouldn't be doing this for just anybody, you know?

Andrew: What is it?

Foyle: Glenlivet. The last bottle. I mean, you can still get it in shops, but it's very expensive now.

Andrew: What will you do, Dad?

Foyle: What will I do?

Andrew: Well, I was just thinking about you on your own in this place. It's a pretty big house to be rattling around in.

Foyle: No, I'll be all right. I mean, the way things are, they'll probably send me a family. They can have your room.

Andrew: Yeah, but I'll be home on leave.

Foyle: Well, you can share.

Andrew: Ha.

Foyle: A pilot, eh? Your mum would be proud.

Andrew: She'd have been worried sick.

Foyle: And I won't be?

Andrew: You're not serious.

Foyle: Well, you're right. I don't see why I should worry about you. It was me that got b*mb.

Andrew: Hmm.

Foyle: A reminder, I suppose, if I needed reminding, of how important this is, what you're doing. I mean, this w*r, it- 

Andrew: Well, it'll be over by Christmas.

Foyle: Well, maybe once they know you're in the air, h*tler'll run for cover.

Andrew: Hmm.

Foyle: Saturday? Still on for Saturday?

Andrew: The river.

Foyle: The river. Well, you complained about the larder. You can help me fill it.

Beaumont house. The family are sitting down to dinner. A maid sets a plate in front of Henry.

Henry: Thank you.

Greta: Thank you, Natalie.

The maid leaves the room.

Greta: She has asked to leave.

Henry: Oh, no. Why?

Greta: She didn't say. She just doesn't want to work here anymore.

Turner: She joining up?

Greta: I don't think so.

Henry: This is very good. What- what is it?

Greta: Turbot.

Henry: Rather exotic.

Greta: Yes, but you try to get cod or haddock. There is nothing in the shops, and if there is, twelve ounces of sugar, four ounces of butter.

Henry: You've done very well.

Greta: I went into the village, but it was as if nobody wanted to serve me at all.

Sarah: No. Well, they wouldn't, would they?

There's an awkward moment of silence.

Turner: Er, there's a rumour they're putting up petrol again another penny, ha'penny. Bad enough with beer and cigarettes. It looks like we're all gonna have to start tightening our belts.

Greta: What did you mean by that, Sarah?

Sarah: Nothing.

Greta: Tell me.

Sarah: Well, the village was b*mb today, or didn't anyone tell you?

Greta: They told me. Of course I know, but that has nothing to do for me.

Sarah: "With" me. Nothing to do with me.

Henry: Hold on, hold on.

Greta: Why do you always have to fight with me, always?

Sarah: Why do I fight with you? Well, Greta, haven't you noticed we all are? You're the enemy.

Greta storms out and Henry stands up.

Henry: You go and apologise. Damn you. Do it now.

Greta is sitting on the sofa, sniffling, when Sarah comes in.

Sarah: I'm sorry.

Greta: You don't understand me. Why have you never understood me? Is it because I am not English?

Sarah: No.

Greta: Or because I married your father? I care for him, Sarah. I care for both of you.

Sarah: Then why are you doing everything you can to spoil my happiness?

Greta: I have done nothing.

Sarah: What about Michael?

Greta: Oh.

Sarah: If you do have something against him, I just wish you'd tell me what it is.

Greta: I... don't trust him. I don't think he's right for you.

Sarah: You think he's after my money?

Greta: Yes.

Sarah: Well, perhaps that makes two of you.

Greta scoffs.

Sarah: In three weeks, the two of us are getting married, and that's an end of it.

Greta: No, Sarah. That will not happen, I promise you.

The door opens and Turner enters.

Greta: I will not let you marry that man.

Foyle house. Foyle is reading the Daily Herald in the kitchen. The doorbell rings and he goes to answer it, setting the newspaper down. There's an article on the pub b*mb, and one titled OUR TRONDHEIM HERO RETURNS with a photo of Sergeant Paul Milner in military uniform.

Foyle opens the door, revealing Sam outside.

Foyle: Sam, come in. I'll get my coat.

Sam steps into the hallway and admires a pair of landscape paintings on the wall while he fetches his coat.

Foyle: Right.

Sam: These are very good, sir. They yours?

Foyle: No. My, er, my wife painted them. Ready?

Sam: Present and correct. Where to?

Foyle: The hospital.

St Mary's Hospital. Foyle walks through the corridors with a doctor.

Doctor: Paul Milner. He was corporal with the Terriers at Trondheim.

Foyle: He was a detective sergeant when I knew him.

Doctor: In peacetime, you mean?

Foyle: Mm. How bad is he?

Doctor: He more or less took a direct h*t, lost the lower part of his left leg, and there were other complications.

Foyle: I was hoping to talk to him.

Doctor: I'm afraid that may not be possible. It's not just his physical injuries that are the problem.

They enter the ward where Milner is lying asleep.

Doctor: Corporal Milner. Corporal?

The doctor goes to try and wake him.

Foyle: No. Just, um... Just let me know when he's ready.

They leave.

Countryside. Greta Beaumont is out riding on her horse. She approaches a pair of trees where someone in gloves is in the process of tying a length of piano wire. She rides right into it and the wire cuts across her neck, knocking her from the horse.

Beaumont estate. The riderless horse returns to the house, its back covered in blood. As a groom hurries to catch it, a woman scrubbing the front step sees the blood and begins to scream.

Back in the woods, Greta lies bleeding, eyes staring up at the sky.

Henry Beaumont's study.

Henry: Foyle, Christopher Foyle. Yes, the name's familiar to me.

Foyle: Well, we met once or twice in court.

Henry: Oh, yes, of course. It's very good of you to take charge of this.

Foyle: Well, you telephoned the Assistant Commissioner-

Henry: Oh, Summers. Yes. He's an old friend.

Foyle: And, er, he telephoned me.

Henry: It's just an accident, I'm sure. It's got to be. And, and the blood, I mean, we don't know that it's hers.

Foyle: Well, we, we are looking for her.

Henry: Yes.

Foyle: Mrs Beaumont is your second wife?

Henry: Yes. My first wife Claire died in a motor accident twelve years ago. I met Greta on a tour of Czechoslovakia in, er, '38, just a couple of months before Munich. She was at Prague University working in the archives.

Foyle: Yes. And, er, her, her maiden name?

Henry: Why on Earth do you want to know?

Foyle: Well, there are always forms, I'm afraid, to fill in.

Henry: Oh. Greta Anna Hauptmann. Not the sort of name one wants to bandy about the British countryside just at the moment.

Foyle: No. I was in the village the other day. I imagine feelings are running very high.

Henry: Yes. That was very unfortunate. Of course, I heard about the girl who got k*lled, but that has nothing to do with Greta. Nobody in their right mind could possibly imagine... What, what I'm trying to say is that if anybody has a grudge against Greta, they, they simply don't know her. Greta never had any time for h*tler or the n*zi.

Foyle: And her classification?

Henry: Why do you ask?

Foyle: Well, same reason. Forms.

Henry: She went before a tribunal in February. It was an extremely unpleasant experience for both of us. Not, of course, that there was anything to worry about. They quite rightly gave her C status, which means, as you're probably well aware, that she was not considered dangerous to anyone. They, practically speaking, left her alone. She was also, incidentally, classified as a refugee from n*zi oppression, in case you have any doubts about her right to be in this country.

Foyle: Well, even so, living as close to the coast as you do, I'm surprised she wasn't moved earlier this month.

Henry: Moved?

Foyle: Well, the Security Executive moved all non-interned enemy aliens from coastal areas, the only exemptions being for those under sixteen and over 60.

Henry: Yes. I am aware of the home office directives, Foyle. My wife was exempted because she is ill.

Foyle: Ah. Right.

Henry: She has, er, severe angina, heart disease, you know.

Foyle: Ah. Not the, um- not the wisest thing for her to be out riding then, I wouldn't have thought.

Henry: No. Perhaps not, but she has an extremely strong will. She never listens to me or her doctor.

Foyle: Mm-hmm.

There's a knock on the door.

Henry: Yes?

A policeman enters, looking solemn.

Policeman: Sir.

Countryside. Foyle walks up to where a police constable is standing over Greta's body.

Foyle: Who found her?

Policeman: Constable Meadows, sir. Spewed his guts out.

Foyle uncovers the body, then looks around. He sees a swastika has been carved into the tree the piano wire was strung from.

Beaumont house. Foyle is standing in the front room and turns at the sound of a door opening behind him. Sarah Beaumont enters.

Foyle: How is he?

Sarah: Well, he's very shocked. He's lying down. I've asked Natalie to take up some tea for him.

Foyle: And how are you?

Sarah: I'm fine. And, of course, I'm very upset. God. I can't imagine why anyone would want to do such a terrible thing. Poor Greta.

Foyle: Did you see her leave?

Sarah: No. I went out quite early walking the dog, and I'm afraid I went quite the other way. I didn't go anywhere near Park Bottom.

Foyle: And, um, how do you know where it happened?

Sarah: Well, I assumed. I mean, Greta always rode the same bridle paths. She went over through the copse and down past the old barn. All I meant was that I didn't go that way. You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?

Foyle: Do you mind if I sit down?

Sarah: Look. It's no secret that Greta and I didn't get on. Anyone will tell you that.

Foyle: Oh. Why was that?

Sarah: I didn't like her. And she didn't like me. 

Michael Turner bursts into the room.

Turner: Sarah, is it true?

Sarah: Michael, this is Detective Chief Superintendent Foyle.

Turner: My God! Then it is. Natalie told me. It's unbelievable. Are you all right?

Sarah: Yes, except that Mr Foyle here has as good as accused me of having had a hand in it, ha.

Turner: That's absurd!

Foyle: Well, I'm accusing no one of anything. I'm sorry. You're, um...?

Sarah: This is Michael Turner. Michael used to be the family solicitor. He and I are engaged to be married.

Foyle: Ah, and what do you do now?

Turner: I joined OIC, Operational Intelligence Centre at the Admiralty. I'm in London.

Foyle: Oh, and what sort of work is that?

Turner: I'm sorry. It's classified.

Foyle: Ah. Are you, er- you staying here?

Turner: No. Mr Beaumont doesn't approve of my being under the same roof as Sarah before wedlock.

Sarah: My father's a very old-fashioned man.

Turner: I'm staying at the Bell, or what's left of it. I was there this morning. All morning, in case you're wondering.

Foyle: On your own?

Sarah: Oh, what do you need, Mr Foyle, a signed witness statement?

Foyle: Well, your stepmother was k*lled in a particularly cruel way, Miss Beaumont. Her head was almost completely taken off by a piano wire which stretched across the route which somebody obviously knew she was going to take. Er, she was alive when she h*t the ground, but then she bled to death, so forgive me if I don't treat this in quite the flippant sort of manner that you seem to want to. Were you on your own?

Turner: I went out for a short stroll about nine o'clock. Nobody saw me. Then I went back to my room, and I did some work.

Foyle: Um, did you and Mrs Beaumont get along?

Turner: Not well.

Sarah: That wasn't your fault.

Turner: I don't know why, but she seemed to take against me from the moment that Sarah and I got engaged.

Foyle: And how did you meet?

Sarah: Funnily enough, Greta introduced us.

Turner: Mrs Beaumont came to London. She was interested in the family trust. This house and quite a large sum of money are entrusted to Sarah until she marries. She didn't like that.

Sarah: You see, it would have cut her out.

Turner: She asked me to look into it, and that was when I met Sarah. It was love at first sight.

Sarah: Look. This has got nothing to do with the trust. There was nothing Greta could do about it anyway. If you ask me, it's absolutely obvious, it's the b*mb.  I mean, it's someone from the village. It's got to be revenge.

Turner: What about that chap who was here earlier? Er, from the village. I don't know his name. He was a soldier.

Sarah: Oh. That was Mark Andrews. He used to be underkeeper on the estate before he enlisted.

Sam drives Foyle along a country lane. They stop outside the Kramer house where Mark Andrews is chopping wood.

Foyle: I'll be a couple of minutes.

Sam: Can I come in?

He gives her a look.

Foyle: No.

He gets out and approaches Andrews.

Foyle: Mark Andrews?

Andrews: Are you the police?

Foyle: Yes.

Andrews: This is about her, isn't it, the woman who was k*lled?

Foyle: Yes.

Andrews: You'd better come in.

Cut to the two of them inside.

Andrews: My uncle and aunt were living here in this house. Elsie wasn't even German. She was a nurse. She went to Wiesbaden back in 1918 helping out after the blockade, and now she's d*ad. And my uncle, they're gonna send him to the bloody Isle of Man, which I'd say is the next best thing. And do you know why?

Foyle: They were interned.

Andrews: One law for the rich and one for the poor. Nothing ever changes, does it? My people are jailed. Greta Beaumont just swans around horseriding and all the rest of it. C registration. Wonder how much that cost.

Foyle: Well, she was seen by a tribunal like everyone else.

Andrews: But Henry Beaumont was a magistrate, wasn't he? Not like everyone else. Friends in high places.

Foyle: She was allowed to stay at the manor because she was very ill.

Andrews: Says who?

Foyle: Did you go to see him, er, to ask for his help?

Andrews: Yeah. And he told me to sod off. "There's nothing I can do." So I left, and I didn't go back. Been here all day packing up. I've got to go back to Aldershot, to my unit.

Foyle: Might not be possible.

Andrews: Well, I don't think you can stop me. Now, if you don't mind, I've got to finish my work.

Sam and Foyle are driving along another lane.

Sam: Sir, can I ask you something? Do you think she was k*ll because of what happened in the village? You know, the b*mb? The swastika, carved into the tree?

Foyle: Well, that could have been done on purpose as a distraction, or indeed, someone could have come upon the body and done it afterwards.

Sam: What a dreadful way to k*ll someone.

Foyle: Yes. Piano wire across the road is something they teach the local defence volunteers if the Germans ever inv*de.

They pull up outside the village shop.

Sam: The girl who was k*lled, isn't her father in the ARP?

Foyle: Yes, and according to the files, he's the same one, it seems, who first reported Elsie and Thomas Kramer to the authorities. Small world.

Foyle gets out.

Inside the shop Ray is at work. He approaches Foyle as he enters.

Ray: Yes?

Foyle: Afternoon. I'm a police officer. The name's Foyle. I was in the pub the other day when it was b*mb. I'm very sorry about your friend.

Ray: So what you gonna do, arrest the Luftwaffe?

Foyle: Oh. Well, I'm not here about her. I'm, um, investigating the m*rder of, um, Mrs Greta Beaumont.

Ray: Yes?

Foyle: I was, first of all, wondering if, um, you'd seen her this morning?

Ray: No. No, I've been working here all day. I'm sorry. I can't help you.

Foyle: And, er, also, there was something you said in the pub the other day to the landlord. Um, er, "I know all about you. I know what goes on here." 

Ray: Ian Judd.

Foyle: What's all that about?

Ray: Terry was seventeen, underage. She shouldn't have been working for him. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. He's a crook. Everyone knows. And while you're at it, you ask him why he was getting all that money from that chap up at the manor.

Foyle: Henry Beaumont?

Ray: Er, no. Michael Turner. The la-di-da solicitor from London. I saw it with my own eyes, a great pile of cash. That was never bed and breakfast.

Foyle: Hmm. Well, again, I'm very sorry about Terry.

Ray: Why are you wasting your time on this investigation? Greta Beaumont was a German woman who got k*lled. One more d*ad German. Who gives a damn?

Beaumont house. Henry drains a glass of alcohol where he's lying back on a sofa.

Henry: Thank you. What's happened to the world? Eh? h*tler. If only we'd stood firm back in '38, this w*r would never have happened.

It's revealed that he's talking to Doctor Groves.

Groves: Henry, I have to talk to you about her. About Greta.

Henry: Who would do that to her? Who would do it? She never hurt anybody. She wasn't-

Groves: Listen to me, Henry. I have a friend at county police HQ. He's a doctor. I was talking to him just now, and he told me that Foyle has ordered a full postmortem on Greta.

Henry: Well, what do you want me to do?

Groves: You know what you have to do. We cannot afford to have this man breathing down our necks. Henry?

Henry: I don't know. I don't know. Just leave me alone.

Outside the Bell. Michael Turner goes out to his car just as Foyle and Sam pull up outside.

Turner: Good afternoon, Detective Chief Superintendent.

Foyle: Good afternoon. You off back to London then?

Turner: Yup. Got to get to it.

Foyle: Well, not quite yet. Can I have a word?

Turner: Certainly.

Working on repairs outside, Judd watches the two of them head inside.

Pub interior.

Turner: All right. I'll tell you the truth, but I'd be grateful if it didn't go any further. I was seeing someone, here. A lady. I must have been out of my mind. I'm in love with Sarah, head over heels, madly in love. She's- she's beautiful. She's rich. She's perfect, but the thing is, Foyle, I'm a man like any other, and being banned from the house...

Foyle: You brought her here?

Turner: Mm. Eh, not her. That's the hell of it. It was the girl behind the bar. Tracey Stephens.

Foyle: The, er, the girl who was k*lled?

Turner: Yeah. Yeah. It was awful. But, yeah, she and I were... That was nothing serious. I gave her ten bob every now and again, and she seemed to like me, but- oh! I know this sounds bad, but Trace and me, we were happy with the arrangement.

Foyle: And, er, how long had this been going on for?

Turner: Oh, er, since the start of the year. February, March? It was just casual. It wasn't regular.

Foyle: And Judd found out?

Turner: Mm. Mm.

Foyle: And he was blackmailing you?

Turner: No. I wouldn't go as far as that. He didn't thr*at to tell anyone, Sarah or Henry.

Foyle: But, er, what were you paying him money for, then?

Turner: Yeah. I, I'm just saying that, that it wasn't blackmail. Look. I paid him for a double room, all right? Double room, no questions asked. That's all I'm saying is, is that when he found out about Tracey, the price went up.

Outside the pub, Foyle watches Turner drive away. Judd approaches him.

Judd: Foyle. About Bob Keegan, I, er, just want to set the record straight.

Foyle: No, no, no, no, er, tell me about Tracey Stephens.

Judd: What you want to know? She was a nice girl. Very honest, reliable.

Foyle: And underage?

Judd: There's girls of sixteen or seventeen working in bars up and down this country. These days, you just turn a blind eye.

Foyle: Michael Turner?

Judd: Well. If she was earning a few extra bob, where's the harm in it? Of course, he should be ashamed of himself, but it's none of my business.

Foyle: Well, I thought that's exactly what it was.

Judd: I've done nothing wrong.

Foyle: So how did you find out about them?

Judd: Saw the two of them one evening. Must have been, ooh, start of March. He'd be hanging around outside the pub in his car, and that, well, sort of puzzled me, so I started to keep an eye out. And then one night about, oh, ten o'clock, I saw her get in with him. Our Tracey. She got in with him, in the back seat.

Foyle's office. He sits contemplating. There's a knock.

Foyle: Yes?

Sam: It's, er, 6:30, sir. Do you mind if I go home?

Foyle: No, no, no, no.

Sam: You all right to get back?

Foyle: Yes. I'll walk.

Sam: Good night, sir.

Foyle: Good night.

Sam leaves, and Foyle picks up the phone to make a call.

Foyle: Whitehall 2127. Richard, Christopher. Yeah, fine. Um, need a favour. Your files on enemy aliens. Do you have anything on a Greta Anna Hauptmann? Two ns. Yes, um, from the Sudetenland. No. Well, I'd do the same for you. Yeah. Thank you.

He hangs up the phone and inserts a fresh sheet of paper into his typewriter, starting to type out 'Greta Anna Hauptmann.'

St Mary's Hospital. A nurse adjusts Milner's pillow for him.

Nurse: There you are. Comfortable?

Milner: I think.

She moves on and Foyle approaches, clearing his throat.

Foyle: Sergeant Milner.

Milner: Detective Superintendent Foyle. You asked me to work with you once.

Foyle: Yeah.

Milner: I said no.

Foyle: Yes. How are you?

Milner: Been better. It still itches. My leg. I get this itching in my foot, and I reach down to scratch it, and, of course, it's not there.

Foyle: You've been through a lot. I'm sorry.

Milner: You've no idea. 13,000 of us. Just 2,000 of them. We thought it was gonna be a pushover. Then they started the b*mb. We weren't trained. We had no supplies. The only support we were getting - biplanes. Gloster Gladiator fighters. Old bangers that looked like they'd been left over from the Great w*r. The last thing I remember... Well, I don't remember much any more.

Foyle: Well, the doctors seem to think you're doing very well.

Milner: They're getting me a prosthetic. It's like getting measured for a suit. Savile Row.

Foyle: Well, I'm here to... ask you again if you'd work for me.

Milner: Me?

Foyle: I need an assistant.

Milner: I'm sorry, sir. I'm not quite myself any more. I don't think I'd be of much good to you.

Foyle: Well, I think I should be the judge of that. Unless, of course, you've got other plans. I mean, if you intend to spend the rest of the w*r in bed weaving raffia baskets, it's-

Milner: I haven't thought about the rest of the w*r.

Foyle: I think you should. I want you to take a look at this.

He hands over a file.

Milner: What is it?

Foyle: Case notes for something I'm working on. I'd appreciate another point of view. A wealthy woman, m*rder, and those are photographs of the scene of the crime.

Milner: A swastika.

Foyle: Yes. She was German. Er, the village she lived in was b*mb. Um, it may, of course, just be revenge, but I'm not so sure. There are many other reasons, family, marriage, money, and, er, these. I've typed up the interviews so far. I'd like you to look at them and let me know what you think.

Milner: You typed these yourself?

Foyle: Well, as I said, I'm short-staffed.

Milner: Well, I've nothing else to do.

Foyle: Good.

Outside the Bell pub, night. Judd leaves and starts walking along the road. A car engine starts up and the headlights appear. Judd sees it coming up behind him and begins to run. He's struck from behind and falls to the ground. As he lies groaning, the car stops and footsteps approach him.

The river. Foyle casts a fishing line while Andrew stands in the water nearby with a net.

Andrew: You know, never did quite work out the attraction of spending half the day, ankle-deep in mud, in pursuit of a fish too stupid to even come near us.

Foyle: Andrew, just never underestimate the intelligence of a trout, and they can hear you from 40 feet away, so do be quiet.

Andrew: They must have heard me coming because I've been here two hours and haven't seen a thing.

Something tugs on the line.

Foyle: Oh!

Andrew: Oh, at last.

Foyle: Whoa. What did I tell you? See? What have we got here? Whoa! Here we go.

He reels his catch in and Andrew scoops it up in the net.

Foyle: Got that?

Andrew: What is it, Dad? A starter?

Foyle: You're very difficult to please, Andrew. It's a main course. It's perfect.

He takes hold of the fish, but it wriggles out of his hand and falls back into the net.

Foyle: Where did it go?

They both laugh.

Foyle house. A taxi waits outside. Andrew walks into the front room and Foyle turns to look at him.

Foyle: Oh, right. Erm, got everything?

Andrew: Yes. I think so.

Foyle: Good. Well, then, you'd better not keep the taxi waiting.

Andrew: I'll write.

Foyle: Well, you said that when you went off to Oxford.

Andrew: This time, I mean it.

Foyle hands him a wad of notes.

Foyle: Look. Bit of spending money.

Andrew: Dad.

Foyle: No. A round in the officer's mess.

Andrew: I'll miss you.

Foyle: Yeah. Look after yourself.

Andrew gets in the taxi and waves to Foyle on the doorstep as it drives away. Foyle is just about to go inside as Sam comes driving up.

Sam: Sir. There's been another m*rder.

The village. Sam and Foyle are standing over Judd's covered body. Foyle crouches down to pull back the blanket.

Sam: It's Judd. How was he k*lled?

Foyle: He's been h*t by something. A rock, a car?

He covers the body back up and they walk towards the pub.

Sam: He lived over the pub. He had rooms. These are his keys.

She holds out a set of keys.

Foyle: Where'd you get those?

Sam: Out of his pocket.

Foyle: Oh, well done.

He takes the keys from her.

Judd's rooms. Sam looks around while Foyle searches the place.

Sam: He didn't have much of a life, by the look of it- no wife, no children, no photographs. What are we looking for?

Foyle: We're looking for the reason he was k*lled.

Sam: Well, he was blackmailing Michael Turner.

Foyle: Well, no. I mean, blackmailers get k*ll when the people they're blackmailing either can't or won't pay, but Turner was happy to pay, so he says. Maybe it was a business arrangement.

Sam: Well, maybe he was lying.

Foyle: Well, maybe he was. Maybe he hated Judd. The point is, we knew all about this affair with Tracey Stephens. It was no secret. So why k*ll him now?

Sam: But if it wasn't him, who was it?

Foyle: Well, the man was a crook. Got to assume he had enemies. He was working with Keegan, was extorting money from Turner. He was profiteering. He was in ration book fraud, underage drinking.

Foyle reaches up into the fireplace and finds a tin concealed inside.

Foyle: Uh-oh.

Sam: What is it?

She turns to look as Foyle opens the tin.

Sam: Money?

Foyle: Over £200 here.

Outside the Bell. Foyle and Sam are walking back towards the car.

Sam: How could he have earned as much as that?

Foyle: Well, certainly not by ration book fraud, that's for sure.

As she gets into the car, Sam spots an envelope on the dashboard.

Sam: Oh, Lord.

Foyle: What? 

Sam: I forgot to give you this.

Foyle: Sam!

He takes the envelope and opens it.

Sam: I'm sorry, sir. My dad always said I had a memory like a sieve.

Foyle: Don't sigh, you get- Look, this is important.

Sam: Sorry.

Beaumont estate. Sam and Foyle drive up just as Groves is coming out of the house.

Foyle: Doctor Groves.

Groves: I'm afraid I'm just leaving. They're burying the Stephens girl. I thought I ought to be there.

Foyle: Well, I won't keep you a minute. Er, you were Greta Beaumont's doctor?

Groves: Yes.

Foyle: She was registered with the local police, C registration, virtually unrestricted. Even so, she should have been moved when the home office started the rearrest of aliens in all coastal districts earlier this month, and yet she wasn't, was she? She was exempted. Apparently, she had a heart condition?

Groves: I can't comment on that.

Foyle: Oh, it wasn't you who diagnosed severe angina in Mrs Beaumont? The, er, postmortem has shown that she was as healthy as you and me. She didn't have angina at all, which means the medical report was false, er, but it wasn't you who wrote the report?

Groves: I think you're trespassing on doctor/patient confidentiality.

Foyle: Ah. Well, I can have a copy of the report with the name of the doctor who signed it in 24 hours.

Groves: Then that's what you'll have to do. I have nothing to say.

Churchyard. Tracey Stephens' funeral procession.

Vicar: "He that believeth in me, though he were d*ad, yet shall he live, and whosoever..."

Sam (voiceover): It could have been us. That's her father.

Eric Stephens follows the pallbearers, along with other mourners including Ray, Groves and Mark Andrews.

Sam: You don't think...

Sam and Foyle are revealed to be watching from a short distance away.

Sam: Well, if there was anyone in the village with a grudge against the Germans...

Vicar: "We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we shall carry nothing out. The lord gave, and the lord hath taken away."

Wake. Stephens is talking with the vicar among the crowd of mourners. Foyle approaches him, Sam hanging back behind him.

Foyle: Mr Stephens, er, forgive me. I'm a police officer and was in the pub the other day when it was h*t. I met your daughter very briefly. I'm very sorry.

Stephens: Seventeen years old.

Foyle: Yes.

Stephens: You're gonna tell me she shouldn't have been working there. I know that. She was saving up the money, her and Ray. They'd have been married within a year...

Foyle: Oh, no.

Stephens: And now? I hate the Germans. I hate the bloody Germans. That's why you're here, isn't it? You're looking into the death of that German woman. Well, she got what's coming to her. She didn't belong here and out flouting the law as much as she liked. Riding, driving her car, doing as she pleased. You saw what they did to my Tracey. I'm glad someone did for her.

He moves off, and Foyle walks back over to Sam.

Foyle: She drove.

Beaumont estate. Foyle approaches the house and heads into the garage. He walks around a car parked inside to see that there's a noticeable dent in the front.

Sarah Beaumont walks in.

Sarah: What are you doing? Oh, it's you, Mr Foyle.

Foyle: Was this, this your stepmother's?

Sarah: No, actually. It's daddy's.

Foyle: Ah.

Sarah: Not that we ever use it anymore. It hasn't been out of the garage for about three months.

Foyle points out tyre tracks on the floor.

Foyle: Oh, these look a little more recent than that, don't you think?

Sarah: Oh, it's the gardener. He takes it out to clean it.

Foyle: Ah.

Sarah: Why are you here?

Cut to the pair of them in house's front room.

Foyle: You mentioned a family trust.

Sarah: Yes. It's very simple. This house, the land, and all the money that goes with it passes down to the first in line on their marriage. Been that way for centuries.

Foyle: And the first in line is...?

Sarah: Me. So when Michael and I get married, it's all ours.

Foyle: So what would have happened to your father and, er, and Greta?

Sarah: We hadn't really talked about it. They could've stayed here, or there are plenty of cottages on the estate. Greta wasn't at all happy with the arrangements, so last year, she went up to London to the solicitor's, and funnily enough, that's how I met Michael because she brought him down here working on the entails and the codicils and all that sort of stuff.

Foyle: Ah. So you first, um, started going out together in-

Sarah: In spring.

Foyle: In the spring.

Sarah: Greta was horrified, but of course she knew she'd lose control of the manor as soon as I was married. Obviously, that's what she had against him.

Foyle: Love at first sight?

Sarah: That's what Michael said, and he's right. We're perfectly suited.

Henry Beaumont walks into the room with some paperwork.

Henry: Er...

He spots Foyle.

Henry: What are you doing here? Do you know who k*lled her?

Foyle: Not yet, no. Er, but I'm afraid there was, er, another death in the village last night, a h*t-and-run victim, it seems. Ian Judd?

Henry: Judd?

Sarah: He was the landlord at the Bell.

Henry: Greta knew him. Couldn't stand the man.

Sarah: Was he m*rder?

Foyle: I'm afraid so. Thank you for your time.

He turns and leaves.

Henry: Useless.

Sarah: I think he's doing his best.

Henry: He doesn't know anything. Time he moved on.

Foyle's kitchen. Foyle is frying his fish and just about to serve it up when the telephone rings.

AC Summers' office. Summers is pouring himself a drink as Foyle takes a seat.

Summers: You don't give up, do you, Foyle? Despite what I told you, you still persist in these transfer requests. Half a dozen more the very day you left this office. I saw you posting them from the window. Well, it looks as if, on this occasion, you may, in fact, have got your own way. You still want to be involved in the w*r effort? Well, I don't like losing you, but after due reflection, I've decided that if you're so damn determined, as it happens, something that's come up might just suit you. It's a senior position in the cabinet office reporting directly to General Ismay.

Foyle: You've put me forward?

Summers: Ismay wants you to report to him in Whitehall at 0900 hours tomorrow morning.

Foyle: I can't do that.

Summers: What?

Foyle: I can't start yet.

Summers: Foyle, am I getting through to you? This is the cabinet office. They won't shilly-shally around just to suit you.

Foyle: Well, I'm investigating a m*rder.

Summers: The German woman? Just get your case notes typed up and send them to me.

Foyle: No. I'm sorry. I can't stop now.

Summers: What are you talking about? I'm offering you exactly what you requested here in this office and in almost a dozen letters. You said it yourself. What does it matter, one m*rder?

Foyle: Two, actually, almost certainly connected.

Summers: You want me to tell General Ismay you're busy?

Foyle: I'd like you to ask him to wait.

Summers: I doubt that is a possibility.

Foyle: Then I'm sorry.

He gets up to leave.

Summers: Foyle, if you walk out of that door, you will remain a policeman not just for the duration of the w*r, but until the day you retire. You won't get a second chance.

Foyle: The German woman was protected by, er, influential friends, and it's still possible that it was those friends who wanted her d*ad. She was as fit as, er, you or me, and yet the family doctor lied about an angina condition on her medical report to prevent her from being interned.

Summers: So have you arrested him, this doctor?

Foyle: No, because he was only part of it.

Summers: Are you suggesting there was a conspiracy?

Foyle: I'm suggesting that Henry Beaumont, her husband, is rich and influential and would, I imagine, find it very easy to expect favours. Greta Beaumont went before a tribunal last February. She was given C registration and was classified as a refugee from n*zi oppression. Greta Anna Hauptmann, her maiden name, isn't exactly your classic refugee. For a start, she has two brothers still in Germany. One of them served under Von Falkenhorst in Norway, and the other is a ranking officer in the Abwehr in Berlin, which should have led to her being interned immediately, and the committee that gave her C registration must have been blind, idiotic, corrupt, or all three. But, of course, you know all of this, don't you? Because you were the chairman of the committee.

Summers: Foyle, we can work this out.

Foyle: Well, I don't think so.

He leaves and closes the door behind him.

Internment camp. Sam and Foyle arrive and Foyle gets out of the car.

Foyle: Wait here, will you?

Thomas is brought to a meeting arena by guards, where Foyle is waiting for him.

Foyle: Mr Kramer.

Thomas: I don't know you.

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

Thomas: You have no uniform?

Foyle: I'm a detective. Would you like to sit down?

Thomas sits.

Foyle: I, er, met your nephew Mark.

Thomas: Is he in trouble?

Foyle: No, but he brought my attention to what's happened to you, and I'm here to help.

Thomas: How?

Foyle: I've arranged a special dispensation for you. You don't have to stay here any longer. You can go home.

Thomas: Why do you want to do this for me, Mr Foyle?

Foyle: Well, what happened to you and to your wife was wrong, and I'm very sorry.

Thomas: You don't think that it's, perhaps, too late?

Foyle: Well, Mr Kramer, we're at w*r, and, er, there are going to be casualties, and some of them are going to be innocent like your wife. I couldn't do anything to help her, but I can do something to help you. Do you want to leave, or don't you?

Thomas: I want to leave.

Sam and Foyle are driving along a country lane.

Foyle: Do you know, Sam, I think we got it wrong.

Sam: The case?

Foyle: No. Enemy aliens.

Sam: I was reading the Mail. They were saying that Norway would never have fallen if it hadn't been for the Germans and their friends inside the country. Quisling and people like that.

Foyle: The Mail. Hmph.

Sam: It makes you think, doesn't it?

Foyle: Well, Fleet Street would rather you didn't think. That's the whole point. I mean, these people have fled their own country, a step ahead of concentration camps and God knows what. They've had to give up everything, their homes, their possessions, and if getting out of a country is hard enough, getting into another one is even worse. They have to be sponsored. There's the British Consul, port immigration, tribunals, the local police. And when they finally do settle down, what do we do? We arrest them and lock them up again.

Sam: Would you have helped Greta Beaumont?

Foyle: Well, I wouldn't have broken the law.

St Mary's Hospital. Sam and Foyle arrive outside.

Hospital ward. Milner is reading a copy of Tappan's Burro. Foyle eyes it as he arrives and Milner huffs out a laugh.

Milner: There's not a lot of choice in the hospital library.

Foyle: Oh, I see. Have you tried, um, Graham Greene? Brighton Rock's very good. You'd like that. I'd bring it in.

Milner: Thank you. My wife said she'd bring something in. She came yesterday, but she forgot the book. Today she forgot to come at all.

Foyle: Oh. Did you read the notes?

Milner: Yes. I read those.

Foyle: And?

Milner: I prefer your prose style.

Foyle: Oh, right. Well, anything occur to you?

Milner: Why are you doing this, sir? Do you really need my help, or do you just feel sorry for me?

Foyle: Well, I'm trying to find a k*ller, Milner. I don't have time for charity. I've explained to you why I'm here. You either want to help or you don't.

Milner: What I don't understand is, what did Mrs Beaumont have against Michael Turner? If there was something she didn't like about him, why didn't she come out and say what it was?

Foyle: Good question.

Milner: Or was it all about money, the family trust? Sarah gets married, Henry and Greta lose. But that doesn't add up. From what you say, Henry Beaumont was the one that ruled the roost, and he was happy for the wedding to go ahead, anyway. No. The key to this is Greta and Michael Turner. What did she know that she wasn't saying? What was it that made her afraid?

Foyle: Any ideas?

Milner: Er, just one. Ian Judd.

Foyle: Yes. Greta had something against him, too, according to Henry.

Milner: How did she even know him? Judd saw Turner with Tracey Stephens. That was when he started blackmailing him. Maybe Judd went to Greta with what he knew, what he'd seen outside the pub. By the way, was there a moon that night?

Foyle: Another good question. Well done. Thank you.

Beaumont estate. Sam waits outside with the car.

Henry (voiceover): Why are you back here again? Do you know who k*lled my wife?

He and Foyle are talking in the study.

Foyle: I, I'd just like, er, one or two more details about the family trust.

Henry: What about it?

Foyle: It's the reason your wife went to London.

Sarah: She couldn't bear the idea of my inheriting.

Henry: That's not true. She was meddling, yes, but I knew she wouldn't get anywhere. These things are written in stone.

Foyle: And when did she start, um, making these inquiries?

Henry: About, oh, um, October, November last year.

Foyle: Would you say she, er, became obsessive about it?

Henry: I would say that she spent a devil of a lot of time on it.

Foyle: Mm-hmm. And Michael Turner was the solicitor responsible for answering her questions.

Sarah: Until he joined the Admiralty.

Henry: Yes.

Foyle: Er, did your wife, um, and yourself have separate banking arrangements?

Henry: I don't see what damn business that is of yours.

Sarah: Daddy, I-

Foyle: Did you give her an allowance?

Henry: She had a personal allowance and a separate allowance for the housekeeping, yes.

Foyle: And did she ask for any money in excess of that?

Henry: When?

Foyle: Recently, in the weeks before her death.

Henry: Once or twice, a few times, but prices now, food, petrol, you have to pay.

Foyle: Right. Thank you.

Henry: Uh-huh.

Foyle goes as if to leave, and then turns back.

Foyle: How did you get Doctor Groves to lie about your wife?

Henry: I paid him, pure and simple.

Foyle: And Summers?

Henry: Oh, we go back a long way.

Foyle: And did you know about Greta's family?

Henry: The brothers?

Foyle: Yes.

Henry: Yes. Of course I knew, but that's not the point. I knew her. That's why I was prepared to lie for her, to break the law for her. She wasn't the enemy. I loved her, Detective Chief Superintendent. I'd do it again.

Foyle approaches the building where he met with Summers.

Later. Foyle sits waiting on a sofa in the lobby. Michael Turner comes out to meet him in his Admiralty uniform.

Turner: Mr Foyle.

Foyle: Ah.

Turner: Good to see you. Sorry to have kept you waiting.

Foyle: Not at all. Perfectly all right.

Turner: How can I help?

Foyle: Is there somewhere we can speak?

They enter an office and Foyle closes the door behind them.

Turner: So, what can I do for you?

Foyle: Um... Well, you could tell me the truth.

Turner: I thought I already had.

Foyle: No. You were lying.

Turner: Well... Yes. All right. I'll come clean. Judd was blackmailing me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Yeah. I was willing to pay. I mean, he wasn't asking that much, but now that he's d*ad, well, might as well call a spade a spade.

Foyle: How did you know he was d*ad?

Turner: Sarah told me.

Foyle: Oh. No. You're, you're still lying. Um... Judd saw you and Tracey Stephens together, and you paid him to keep silent isn't true.

Turner: That is true. He told you himself.

Foyle: Oh, well, he was lying as well.

We see a flashback to outside the Bell pub at night. Judd is looking out of a window at Turner's car.

Judd (voiceover): Saw the two of them one evening. Must have been, oh, start of March. He'd been hanging around outside the pub in his car.

A woman in heels approaches the car.

Judd (voiceover): That, well, sort of puzzled me, so I started to keep an eye out, and then one night about, oh, ten o'clock, I saw her get in with him, our Tracey. That's who he'd been waiting for. She got in with him, the back seat.

The woman gets in and Turner follows her into the back seat.

Foyle (voiceover): It was pitch-black.

Cut back to Foyle and Turner in the office.

Foyle: There was a blackout. There wasn't a moon. He wasn't able to see you and Tracey Stephens.

Turner: Of course he saw us. How else would he have known about it?

Foyle: It wasn't even Tracey Stephens you were with. You didn't even know her. All you knew was that she'd been k*lled by the b*mb and couldn't answer for herself, and you used her. 

A flashback shows Tracey in the pub and with Ray.

Foyle (voiceover): She wasn't the sort of girl who'd leap into bed with just anybody for ten bob. She was saving up to get married. She was going to marry her sweetheart from the greengrocer's. I met her parents. They weren't the sort of people who'd let their daughter behave like that. Everything you said about her was a desecration.

The office.

Turner: Judd saw us.

Foyle: No. You told Judd to say he'd seen her, and he agreed to keep you on the hook because after you'd married Sarah Beaumont, you'd be very wealthy, and then he'd really start making you pay because he knew who you'd really met in the car park...

A flashback to the Turner and the woman in the car reveals her to be Greta.

Foyle (voiceover): Greta.

Turner (voiceover): My mother-in-law?

The office.

Foyle: Well, she wasn't your prospective mother-in-law when you first met in October, five whole months before you met Sarah, which is why you were so very keen to interrupt her when she tried to tell me about it.

Flashback to the earlier scene of Foyle questioning Sarah and Turner.

Sarah: Funnily enough, Greta introduced us-

Turner: Mrs Beaumont came to London. She was interested in the family trust.

The office.

Foyle: You didn't want me to know it was Greta who'd introduced you, and no wonder she didn't want the marriage to go ahead, and of course she couldn't tell her husband why not. She knew you for the, er- for the sort of person that you really are. You start coming to the house. You're still seeing Greta at the Bell, but the next thing she knows, you've dumped her. You've taken the money, the stepdaughter, the lot.

Flashback to the piano wire trap being set and Greta riding into it.

Foyle (voiceover): And in the end, you had to k*ll her because she thr*at you once too often. Maybe she cared more for Sarah than anybody thought. Maybe she was prepared to destroy her own marriage to keep Sarah from you. So, you got rid of her.

This time we see that it's Turner behind the tree. He carves a swastika into the wood.

Foyle (voiceover): Leaving the swastika behind as a diversion.

Flashback switches to Judd being pursued by the car.

Foyle (voiceover): And Judd was blackmailing Greta as well as you, but of course you weren't going to spend the rest of your life paying him off. So, he had to go, too.

The office. Turner is silent a few moments, then takes a breath.

Turner: All right.

Foyle: Is that a confession?

Turner: Why not? You seem to have it all worked out. But listen to me, Foyle. There are 36 of us working here at OIC. Right now we're putting together a cryptanalysis service for the royal Navy. Do you have any idea how vital it may be? Right now we have no cryptanalysis. We're using antiquated manual cipher tables. We have no air reconnaissance and no RDF. We failed in Norway because we had no advance warning of German fleet movements. Even worse, now they can knock our ships out one by one. There's nothing we can do about it because although they're intercepting all our operational and administrative ciphers, we haven't the faintest idea where they are.

Foyle: What's this got to do with Greta Beaumont?

Turner: Everything.

He's silent for a few moments as he approaches Foyle.

Turner: Yes, I admit I k*lled her. It was just like you said. I fell for her. We began an affair. Then I met Sarah. But have you any idea how important I am to the work we're doing here? Six months' work. I'm actually leading the team here. Ask Rear Admiral Clayton. Ask Sir Norman Denning. What good is it gonna do, taking me out of here and throwing me in prison? What good is it gonna do hanging me? It would set back our work here months. And that could cost us another ship. Hundreds of lives. Are you ready to have that on your conscience, Detective Chief Superintendent? Is it really worth the price? She was only a German woman. She was the enemy.

Foyle: Judd?

Turner: Blackmailer, just like you said. So, you have to take the wider view. This is w*r.

St Mary's Hospital. Sam and Foyle are approaching in the car.

Sam: Are they gonna hang him?

Foyle: Probably.

Sam: Do you mind if I ask you a question? Weren't you tempted to let him go?

Foyle: Yes. Yes, I was. Hanging him is, is not gonna do anybody much good, and he had a point, I suppose, but, um... I'm a policeman. I'm here to do a job. Simple as that. If I start bending the rules, I might as well pack it in.

He gets out of the car, and Sam follows.

Sam: Yes, but she was a German.

Foyle: Well, the w*r doesn't make any difference at all. She's a human being. She was m*rder. m*rder is m*rder. You stop believing that, and we might as well not be fighting a w*r because you end up like the n*zi.

Milner emerges from the hospital on crutches and in his military uniform. Sam nods Foyle in his direction.

Sam: Sir.

Foyle: Morning, sergeant.

Milner: Sir.

Foyle: Thought you might like a lift.

The three of them head towards the car together and get in.
{"type": "series", "show": "Foyle's War", "episode": "01x01 - The German Woman"}