- I don't believe in war.

I don't believe it solves anything.

War is evil.

It's irrational.

And if history has taught us anything, it's that war only leads to more war, more killing, bigger armies.

And you want me to join up?

What you're asking me to do is to take a lesson in murder.

That's really all it is.

And I stand here today because that is a lesson I refuse to take.

- Thank you very much, Mr. Beale.

Very eloquently put.

I understand you have quite a reputation as a writer.

- Yes.

- Unfortunately, it is not your literary abilities that we are here to examine.

If you came upon a child injured in an air raid, what would you do?

- Sorry?

- Well, it's a fairly simple question.

You come upon a young girl injured in an air raid.

Would you help her?

- Yes, of course.

- Even though that could be construed as helping the war effort?

- No, that's not the same thing.

- Do you obey the black-out regulations?

- Yes.

- You have no moral objections?

- No, why, why should I?

- Because you claim to object to the war.

Although it would now seem that you object to only some aspects of it.

- That's not true.

- One moment, Mr. Beale.

(whispers) (somber music) We are not satisfied that there is a conscientious objection within the meaning of the act in this case.

- Wait a minute.

- Your application is therefore refused.

- You haven't listened to a word I've said.

- Mr. Beale.

- You'd made up your mind before I even arrived here.

I mean, this is a travesty.

- Will you be quiet?

- No!

I came here because I want to be heard!

- That is enough!

- I do not recognize the authority of this tribunal.

- Restrain him.

- Can't you see, this is exactly what I'm trying to say.

- [Officer] Come on, you.

- Even if a country is at war, an individual still has a right to choose!

- Officers, will you please arrest this man?

- Come on!

I have a right to be heard!

(thuds) - David!

- [Officer] Who is this?

- Conscientious objector, sir, Beale.

Arrested for breach of the peace and causing an affray.

(slams) - A conchie, eh?

Well, we have a special welcome for people like you.

(hose sprays) (ominous music) (whimpers) - I had a brother wounded at Dunkirk.

A lot of his mates didn't make it.

Of course, if they was all like you, Hitler would already be here.

(cackles) (typewriter keys clack) - I'd like to see my husband.

- Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs., um?

- Beale, Sir.

- You have him in your cells.

- Yes.

I'm sure that's the case, but there are official visiting hours.

Look, I'm just on my way home, or I'd take you down to see him myself, but he will be all right.

Why don't you come back in the morning?

(ominous music) (rope squeaks) (ominous music intensifies) - Bloody hell.

(metal tray clatters) Sergeant, Sergeant Ferris!

("Foyle's War" theme song) (sander grinds) (moving, melodic orchestral music) (distant hammering) (car engine runs) - This may take a while, Sam.

Wait for me back at the station, hmm?

- Right, sir.

(door opens) - Lawrence, I've got an exercise planned for the defense volunteers.

We'll be doing it out here.

- [Lawrence] Well, keep it short.

- Wait for me here.

- Afternoon, Foyle.

- Afternoon.

- No, Mr. Foyle, I'm sorry, but I don't agree.

As I understand it, Hastings has been designated a nodal point class A.

Now, that means that we're expected to hold out for a full 7 days in the event of a German invasion.

- Yes, that's right.

- All right.

Now, I have 200 men under my command in the local defense volunteers.

Are you saying I shouldn't let them know what's expected of them?

- No, Mr. Brooks.

I'm saying that we needn't be too specific about what may or may not happen.

We can prepare for the worst without painting too vivid a picture of it.

- Well, I'm sorry, but I disagree.

- Preventing panic is a large part of our job.

The railway stations, tank traps, road signs coming down, people are obviously aware that something is happening.

- But we don't have to lay it on the line, I agree with Foyle.

It's also getting rather late, and I think we've covered everything exhaustively.

- Whatever you say.

- Liven up!

Come on, lie down!

Lie down, you people over there!

(mumbles) - All right, let's see what you've got.

- Raymond Brooks is a good man, but he feels left out this time round.

He was in France last time, won the DSO at Ypres.

That's the trouble with these war heroes.

They want to win this war, too.

- Excellent work.

Well done.

Um, I think you better move.

(car engine starts) - Huh, what's going on here?

- That's Brooks for you.

Gas attack rehearsal.

(chuckles) - Well, I daresay I'll see you in court.

Good day.

(typewriter keys clack) - I say, Milner, how much longer do you think he's going to be?

- I don't know, but I'm going home.

- It's only an invasion committee.

What have they got to talk about?

- The invasion.

- I wish the Germans would invade.

At least I'd get some tea.

- Good evening, sir, I was just on my way home.

- That's fine, Milner, good night.

You're still here?

- You asked me to wait for you, sir.

- Oh, did I?

I need something out of the office, and we'll be off.

- Christopher, we still on for tomorrow?

- [Foyle] Yes, 11:30.

- Good.

- [Sam] Another committee?

- Golf.

- Oh.

Am I driving you home?

- Uh, no, I can't bear the thought of cooking for myself again.

I'm going to go to Carlo's, just around the corner from me.

- Oh, I've driven past there a couple of times.

I've often thought I might give it a try.

- Well.

(footsteps clomp) (relaxed music) (car engine runs) - Where I'm staying, the landlady doesn't allow cooking after 6:00.

- Oh, doesn't she?

What is the time, sir?

- It's half past seven.

- Is it really, Sir?

Here we are.

(gear shifts) - Come on.

(door opens) - Thank you very much, Sir.

That's very kind of you.

(door closes) - [Foyle] Carlo?

- Christopher.

How are you?

- I'm fine, thank you.

- It's good to see you.

- And you.

- Thank you.

You're not eating alone tonight?

- Uh, apparently not.

No, shis is my driver, Sam Stewart.

- Hello.

- Hello.

So they finally got you one, huh?

- [Foyle] Yeah, finally.

- Now, you look after him.

He works too hard.

- Okay.

- What do you want to eat?

- I'll have the lasagna.

- [Carlo] Ah, no, not the lasagna.

- Not the lasagna?

- No, meat supplies aren't so good, and I know what went into it.

- Oh, right.

- I have some very nice pork arrostita with herbs and vegetables.

- Fine.

- I'll have the same.

- Good choice.

I'll get Tony to bring some Chianti.

Excuse me.

Ah, follow me.

(footsteps clomp) - Carlo, good job.

- Please.

Sit down.

- Thank you.

(chair slides) - I haven't seen Andrew for quite a while.

What have you done with him?

- I haven't done anything with him.

He's with the RAF.

- A pilot?

- Training.

- [Carlo] Did he tell you?

- Well, no, not until after he'd joined.

- These young people.

Where they are, what they're doing, they never tell you anything.

- You must be very proud of him.

- Of Andrew?

Yes.

- I think it's jolly good that everyone does their bit.

- Yes, I do, too.

- Where's he based?

- Scotland.

- Oh, poor him.

I went to Edinburgh.

Nearly died of cold.

My father took me on an ecumenical tour.

All I remember is lots of drunken old men drinking too much whiskey and arguing about the Book of Revelations.

- Buona sera, signor Foyle.

- Buona sera, Tony.

- Que bella, signora.

(speaking foreign language) - (chuckles) I'm sorry?

- Tony, what the hell do you think you're doing?

Ignore him.

It's the only Italian he speaks, and he uses it on all the girls.

- Dad.

- [Carlo] Eh?

- This is Sam Stewart, my driver.

- I haven't seen you here before.

- I haven't been here before.

- Well, I'm Antonio.

Everyone calls me Tony.

You haven't ordered the lasagna?

- No.

- Good.

(footsteps clomp) - He was born in Bermondsey, and he's never been out the country.

(glass thunks) (chuckles) Here's how.

(glasses clink) (playful, mischievous music) (footstep clomps) (footsteps clomp) (paper crinkles) (drawer slides) (drawer closes) (footsteps click) - What do you think you're doing?

You know you're not allowed in here.

(vase smashes) Now look what you've done!

Wretched boy!

(door slams) (footsteps clomp) - Steady.

(footsteps clomp) - Don't run.

(door opens) Oh.

(footsteps clomp) (birds twitter) (footsteps click) That child is quite ungovernable.

- What is it this time?

- He was in your study, going through your desk.

- Was he pilfering?

- Daddy!

- [Emily] He's always poking and prying.

- It was a foolish idea having him here in the first place.

- Of course it was a foolish idea, it was my idea.

- I know you acted for the best, but you have to agree, Joe's been a disaster from the very start.

- No, I don't agree.

- Table manners out of the zoo.

- Well, you'll be glad to hear that he's going.

- Is he?

- His parents want him back.

And it's not as if there have been any bombs in London.

- You didn't tell me the parents have been in touch.

- Yes, they telephoned this morning.

- That's good news.

- It's the only thing this family has done to help the war effort.

(sighs) Taking in an 11-year-old child, and you can't wait to see the back of him.

- Your father has done a great deal to help the war effort.

- Well done, daddy.

I'm going to find Joe.

(relaxed, airy music) (clock chimes) - [Carlo] Pleasure to meet you.

- You, too, sir.

- Thank you, see you sometime soon.

- I hope so.

- Ciao.

- [Foyle] Bye.

- Thank you, sir.

(door closes) - It's a pleasure.

- Shall I run you home?

- Miss Stewart.

(footsteps click) These are for you.

- Thank you.

- Look, I was wondering, this Friday.

- What?

- Would you like to come to The Palais?

It's just I really want to go, but I've got no one to go with.

- I'd love to.

I, I love dancing.

- Would ya?

- Yes.

- Well, that's great.

Great.

- I'm going to walk home.

(footsteps click) (mischievous music) (footsteps click) (door opens) - Joe.

(door closes) (footsteps click) What are you doing?

Why aren't you in bed?

- Go away.

- Joe, your father's coming for you.

He's going to be here soon.

He just thought you'd be safer here, that's all.

Come on, Joe, get into bed.

- No.

Not until you've gone.

- All right.

I'm going now.

Sorry, Joe, I only wanted to help.

(footsteps clomp) (door opens) (pages rustle) (foreboding music) (distant glass rattles) (footsteps click) (door opens) (footsteps click) (distant car engine revs) (sweeps) - Tony.

- Jack.

(chuckles) - What are you doing here?

- Don't worry, I haven't done a bunk.

They let us all out, everyone with three months or less to serve.

Seems they need the borstal for all those fifth columnists running around the country.

Yeah, they're filling it with Jerries and Jews.

Hey, can I stay here?

- Um, I'll have to ask dad.

- Tony, you'd be-- - I'm, I'm sure it'll be okay.

- You're a real mate, you know that?

- So, what are you going to do?

- Well, I might start by paying a visit to that bastard judge.

First offense, and he had me birched and thrown into that hellhole.

I've been thinking about him a lot.

- What'll you do to him?

- I'll think of something.

Can I have a drink?

- [Tony] Yeah, yeah, of course, yeah.

- And something to eat?

I'm starved.

(birds twitter) (putt hits) (flag clacks) - You know, the more I play this game, the worse I seem to get.

- Yes, it's probably your age.

- Thank you.

(putt taps) Downhill putts.

Go on forever.

At least I managed to thrash Andrew the last time I played him.

(putt taps) (ball falls) Better.

How is he?

- Well.

(putt taps) (ball falls) I haven't heard from him, so he obviously doesn't need any money.

- Actually, Christopher, there was an ulterior motive, inviting you out here.

Well, there always is, Hugh.

- Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that man who died in custody.

I realize this probably isn't the place, but, um.

Well, I thought it better to do it outside the station.

- It was, um, suicide, wasn't it?

- Yes.

Well, at least everything points to that.

He hanged himself.

Name of Beale.

David Beale.

Conscientious objector.

He'd just had his application turned down, so I suppose that could have been the reason.

Anyway, I've spoken to all the officers on duty that night, and they're all very unforthcoming.

They're backing one other up to the hilt.

- Probably means they're lying.

(club whips) (club smacks ball) Good shot.

- Yes, well, that's what I'm afraid of.

But I don't want to push too hard, whereas, um, well, if you come in from the outside.

- I'll see what I can do.

(club whacks golf ball) Hmm.

- (sighs) Sorry, bad time to bring it up.

- Huh.

(foreboding music) (kids play) (wooden wheels roll) (horse snorts) (distant horses whinny) (knocks) - I came as soon as I heard.

- There's nothing you could have done, Theo.

There's nothing any of us could do.

- I'm so sorry, I should have been here.

- You know what David was like.

(footsteps click) (pots slide) How's the book going?

- [Theo] Who was the head of the tribunal?

- Lawrence Gascoigne.

Why do you want to know?

- I'd like to meet him.

- Why, it wouldn't do any good.

- He kills David, and we do nothing?

Because we're pacifists, that's what we do.

- There's nothing we can do.

- I wonder.

- [Foyle] David Beale, taken into custody a week ago.

- Yes, I heard.

He died in his cell.

- Duty officer was a man called Ferris, there were at least three other men on that night.

A few discreet inquiries, keep it informal.

- Sir.

- And a bit more about Beale himself, maybe.

His wife, background, that sort of thing.

- Right-o.

- Good, thank you.

(foreboding music) (clicks) - There's somebody downstairs.

- What time is it?

- Quarter past one.

Oh, it's probably Joe again.

Wait here.

(light clicks) (footsteps pad) (ominous music) (distant glass breaks) - Lawrence?

(door opens) (door closes) (footsteps click) Lawrence.

- Daddy, what is it?

Daddy, what's going on?

- There was someone outside, and he threw something through the window.

- A note.

(paper crinkles) You, too, will receive justice.

Lawrence?

(clock ticks) (nervous music) - It's probably just nonsense, but Emily insisted.

- Anything like this before?

- Every judge gets threatened from time to time.

Normally, it's just an outburst in the dock.

- This is quite different.

- Well, it's odd in that it's, um, certainly a very considered threat, but if they really wanted to harm you, why are they telling you about it?

- Quite, brick through a window.

Cut-out letters.

It's really rather crude.

- And neither of you heard anything?

- I was asleep.

I suddenly woke up, I, I was shivering.

It was terribly cold.

I don't know why.

- Could this be related to your work, do you think?

- Not really.

The last couple of months, I've been dealing with civil matters mainly.

Requisitions, conscientious objectors, usual county court work.

- David Beale was one of yours, wasn't he?

- Beale?

Oh, yes.

Of course, I can't comment on past cases.

- No, of course not.

Right.

(airy, relaxed music) Beautiful house, Mrs. Gascoigne.

- [Emily] Thank you, I was born here.

It's been in my family for generations.

- It's a rambling place.

In fact, we only use half of it.

Sometimes we talk about moving somewhere a bit more manageable.

- Of course, I would never do that.

This is my home.

This is where I belong.

(footsteps clomp) (airy, playful music) (footsteps clomp) (birds twitter) - Who are you?

- I'm Sam.

- That's a man's name.

- Well, it, it's short for Samantha.

(footsteps clomp) Who are you?

And what are you doing?

- Taking your number plate.

- I'd watch out if I were you.

There's a policeman standing behind you.

(footsteps clomp) - [Foyle] Who was that?

- I don't know, but he's got our number.

(door opens) (door closes) (car engine runs) Poison-pen letter?

- Well, not exactly.

It wasn't written, was it?

The words were cut out of magazines and newspapers.

- Perhaps you could trace them, see which papers they came from.

That might tell you something about the person who sent them.

- Well, that had occurred to me, you know.

- (chuckles) Sorry.

(tires roll) (footsteps crunch) (airy, anticipatory music) (birds twitter) (paper rustles) (footsteps clomp) (door opens) (phone rings) - There were four officers on duty the night that Beale died.

(door closes) I've talked to them all informally.

They could all be involved, but I think William Ferris is the one you should see.

(paper thud) The men are a bit in awe of him, and he has a brother, wounded at Dunkirk.

I thought it might be relevant, Beale being a conscientious objector.

- Mmm, good point.

- One other thing, sir.

I spoke to the medical officer who examined Beale, and apparently his hair was wet and his clothes were damp, as if he'd showered and then got dressed in a hurry.

And his shirt buttons were done up the wrong way.

- Get onto this, would you?

Delivered by brick through the window of a judge called Lawrence Gascoigne last night.

- He was on Beale's tribunal.

- And if you don't know what to do with it, ask Sam.

(door opens) (footsteps click) (ominous music) (door closes) - Permission to smoke, sir?

- Yeah, go ahead.

You understand why I'm here?

- Look, sir, if it's about what happened, I had nothing to do with that.

He came in, got into a funk, and he hanged himself.

- Why did he do that, do you think?

- Maybe he was scared of the dark.

(match lights) - Well, I can't put that in a report, you see, and that's what all this is about, reports.

You see, a man dies in police custody, we've got to investigate, even a man like Beale.

It's a waste of my time, it's a waste of your time, but-- - You don't like conchies?

- I got a lad in the RAF.

I got a sergeant who lost a leg at Trondheim.

- My brother was wounded at Dunkirk.

- Well, there you are, then.

Is he all right?

- Can't wait to go back out again.

(chuckles) Look, you want to know what happened?

Off the record?

- See, off the record, I think I probably know.

I just need a few details, fill in the blanks.

For example, was it you who dressed him again after he was found?

- Yeah, it was me.

How'd ya know?

- It's quite difficult dressing a dead man.

I mean, the buttons were done up wrong, and his hair was wet.

Was that because you sprayed him down with that-- - Look, sir, it was just a joke.

- Yeah, yeah, but your idea, though?

- Yeah, but I didn't know he was going to top himself.

- Not that there's any great loss.

- I'm with you on that one, sir.

One dead conchie, who cares?

- Yeah.

- What are you going to put in your report?

- Well, I thought I'd start with your arrest for aggravated assault, which resulted in this man's suicide.

- What?

- And finish off with your dismissal from the police force.

(anxious) (footsteps pad) (door opens) (door closes) (footsteps click) (birds twitter) (sighs) (footsteps crunch) (door opens) - [Peter] So you got my note.

(door closes) - You shouldn't be here.

- You mean I should have used the tradesman's entrance?

- I told you what would happen if my father found you here again, and he did find you here.

And now he's absolutely forbidden me to see you again.

- He found me here because I can't bear not being with you.

- And now we won't be able to see each other anymore.

- Well, why do you listen to him?

Your father's a bloody snob.

Everything's changing.

- I know that.

- [Peter] You told me you love me.

- I do, but if he found you here again, there's no telling what he would do.

- What have you got to lose?

You don't need a house that's too big for you, a life that belongs to last century.

You're not happy here.

- Please, Peter.

- I don't understand you.

I would give everything, everything, just to be with you.

Why can't you feel the same way?

(door opens) (melancholy music) (tense, anticipatory music) (relaxed music) (horse whinnies) (water splashes) (wooden wheels roll) (people chatter) (horses neigh) (doors close) (footsteps crunch) - Good morning, we're looking for Mrs. Beale.

- Ah, across (mumbles).

- When you finish that, you just fold it over, and you have your butterfly.

(footsteps click) - Mrs. Beale?

- Yes?

- My name's Foyle, I'm a police officer.

I wondered if I might have a word with you.

- Go on, I don't think the children will mind, and Mr. Szyszko doesn't speak any English.

- I'd like to speak to you about your husband.

- Mr. Szyszko, (speaking foreign language).

(footsteps clomp) - [Foyle] You certainly seem to have quite a community here.

- We've become quite a center, full of refugees of one sort or another.

Friends come with their children, pacifists.

Mr. Szyszko is Polish.

You wanted to talk to me about my husband.

- Yes, I wanted you to know that I'm very sorry about what happened.

It was wrong.

I can promise you that the people involved will be punished, and if it's any consolation, nothing like this will happen again.

- Theo, this is Mr. Foyle.

He's a policeman.

Theo was at Cambridge with David, and when we were married, he was our best man.

- What is it this time?

- Mr. Foyle has come to apologize.

- You mean, to assuage his guilt?

- I'm not here out of guilt, Mr. Howard.

I'm here because I feel it's the right thing to do.

- David was a writer, you know?

A promising one.

He was published in Horizon.

Eliot read his work and praised it.

But then I don't suppose you know much about poetry.

- I've read Ash Wednesday, The Hollow Men.

- David thought the world of him.

- [Theo] Why don't you investigate Lawrence Gascoigne?

- [Foyle] Why would I do that?

- I've been looking at his record.

He's presided over five tribunals in the last month.

He dismissed four of the appeals, including David.

But there was one, just one hearing where he turned a strangely sympathetic ear.

Stephen Brooks.

He's now an official conscientious objector, a conchie.

He's never been here.

None of us have ever met him.

And none of us ever will because now he's working in Dorset with the forestry commission, nicely out of harm's way.

- And?

- Stephen's father is Raymond Brooks.

I think you know him, rich, influential.

Gascoigne certainly does, they club together.

- Well, whatever it is you're trying to suggest, there's, um, you don't have any evidence for.

- What evidence do I need?

David said from the start that Gascoigne was corrupt, and now David's dead, and you're here, trying to keep a lid on things.

- Theo, that's not fair.

- You, too, will receive justice.

- What does that mean?

- It was a note wrapped around the brick that went through Gascoigne's window last night.

I don't suppose you know anything about that, do you?

- No.

But I'll tell you something, someone's got the right idea.

(somber music) (engine revs) - Hey, Florence.

(distant dogs bark) - You shouldn't have said that.

- "Do not go into that dark place.

Fear it, fear the embrace that awaits you, for you must know it touches once and then will not let go."

- David wrote that.

- The war.

All the hatred, I thought I could escape it with you, in this house.

- You can.

We have to stand by what we believe.

(tense, anticipatory music) - The individual words aren't going to tell us a great deal, but I've managed to identify a couple of them: Illustrated and The Daily Express.

I'd say that's the work of someone not out of the top drawer.

- Or maybe they want us to think that.

What's this?

- [Milner] Machine oil, I think.

And there are traces of it on some of the cuttings, too.

- That's a bit clumsy.

- A brick through the window, it's not particularly subtle.

- Right, leave this with me, and you get off home, yeah?

- Thank you, sir.

(airy, relaxed music) (footsteps click) (distant dogs bark) (pan slides) (pan clanks) (oven door closes) - [Milner] Hello.

- I didn't hear you come in.

(footsteps clomp) (kisses) Not now, Paul.

I've got the oven on and the table to lay.

There's a beer in the cupboard if you want.

- [Milner] Thank you.

They've finished taking down the signposts, and the postman delivered a whole lot of these leaflets this morning.

- What do they say?

- Hide your food.

Hide your maps.

Lock up your bicycles.

Don't leave anything for the Germans.

Makes you nervous to go out.

Nothing is the same anymore.

(metal scrapes) (pan clanks) - I saw your case in the hall.

- I thought I'd go away for a while.

- Oh?

- Kate's.

- Wales?

- Ever since Owen was called up, she's finding it hard to cope.

It'll do me good to get away for a while.

- [Milner] What about me?

- There's plenty of food in the pantry.

I'll only be gone a couple of weeks.

You don't mind, do you?

- I suppose not.

When are you leaving?

- There's a train at 11:00.

- This is all very sudden.

- Well, Kate needs me, and I don't want to hang around.

- I'll miss you.

- I'll write.

(silverware scrapes) (door slams) (footsteps clomp) - Sam?

- Good evening, sir.

- Well, you're looking-- - You said you didn't need me this evening, so I changed in the lavatory.

- Right.

- I'm going to a dance.

- Oh, yes, with, um-- - Tony.

To be honest, he's not really my type, but I thought, in the circumstances, I didn't want to let him down.

- Well, you won't do that.

Have a good time.

(footsteps clomp) (thoughtful music) (clock ticks) (relaxed jazz band music) - You look great, out of uniform.

- [Sam] Thank you.

- So, have you been driving for him long, then, Mr. Foyle?

- Ah, only a few months.

Do you know him well?

- Not really.

Dad made the cake for his wedding, that's how they met.

- That's nice.

(dancers clap) - Do you want a drink?

- Yes, thank you.

(people chatter) (romantic jazz band music) - Dad came over about 20 years ago.

Used to run his own bakery.

- Does he live over the restaurant?

- Yeah, he gets up at five every morning to bake his own bread.

(chuckles) - Sounds like his hours are even worse than mine.

Have you ever been to Italy?

- No.

Dad's from Naples, and one day, I want to go.

Maybe on my honeymoon.

When, when I meet the right girl.

- You were going to get me a drink.

- I'll be, I'll be right back.

- I was beginning to think you weren't coming.

- I wasn't going to.

I shouldn't really be here, but-- - But what?

- But I am.

So, will you dance with me?

(chuckles) - Excuse me, do you mind if I ask for a dance?

Hey, sweetheart.

- Relax.

- I am.

- No, you're not, you're scared.

- You don't, you don't understand my father.

Sometimes I wish-- - What?

- Nothing.

- There you go.

- Thank you.

- Excuse me, (mumbles).

Hello, hello, what's going on here?

You didn't tell me that you were seeing a lady.

- Hello, Jack.

This is Jack Winters, he's a mate of mine.

- You've been keeping secrets, and a very pretty one.

Do you mind if I join you?

- As a matter of fact, I do.

But thank you for asking.

- So it's like that, then, is it?

- Come on, Jack, chuck it.

- Yeah, see you later, Tony.

(dancers clap) We were going to meet up tonight, remember?

- Quiet.

I'm sorry about that.

- Are you working tonight?

- No, no, no, it's just Jack.

Forget it.

- All right.

(upbeat, bouncy band music) (ominous music) (door squeaks open) (door squeaks closed) (wire untangles) (door squeaks open) (door squeaks closed) (ominous music intensifies) (relaxed, thoughtful music) (leaves rustle) (phone rings) (slurps) - There's no need to make that noise.

Joe!

(footsteps click) Who was it on the telephone?

- He didn't say.

- Well, what did he want?

- He told me to go to the summer house.

- What?

- He said he'd left something for me in the summer house, and he rang off.

Isn't that rather strange?

- Of course it's strange.

- [Susan] Well, aren't you going to see what it is?

- Not now, no, I'm having breakfast.

- I'll go.

- No, you won't.

Thank you, Joe.

- Do as you're told.

You're not to go in there.

(door opens) (footsteps clomp) (door closes) (door opens) (typewriter keys clack) (phone rings) (knocks) - I'm sorry I'm late, sir.

- What happened?

- I overslept.

- Good time?

- Yes, I'm afraid I was out rather late last night.

Won't happen again, sir.

- Cup of tea?

- Mmhmm.

(anxious, anticipatory music) (birds twitter) (china clinks) (ominous music) (door opens) (clicks) (door closes) (pin falls) (explosion) - Joe!

(footsteps crunch) (somber music) - Why don't you go back to the car?

(door closes) - This was tied to the door handle.

It's a grenade.

Open the door and, uh.

At least he wouldn't have felt anything.

- There's some mercy in that, I suppose.

(metal clicks) - This was meant for Gascoigne.

(pin falls) (ambulance engine runs) (footsteps crunch) (somber music) (cries) (stretcher settles) (ambulance doors close) - [Foyle] Do all the family use the summer house?

- No, I had it built as a retreat.

When I'm trying a particularly difficult case, I go there to think.

I suppose that's why it was chosen.

- Joe should never have come into this house.

- That's true.

I was against it from the start.

- It was very commendable, taking in an evacuee, sir.

- Well, it was a good idea in principle, but, as it's turned out, oh, it's a horrible business.

I feel personally responsible.

- You mentioned that his father is coming today, sir.

- Yes, his name is Pearson, Eric Pearson.

Foyle, I don't suppose you could meet him?

I don't think I can face it.

- Did Joe have his own room here?

- [Lawrence] Oh, yes.

- Would you mind if I saw it?

- Why?

This has nothing to do with Joe.

It was Lawrence who was the target.

- That's true, Mrs. Gascoigne, but it was Joe who died.

- I'll take you there myself.

- Thank you.

(light somber music) (footsteps clomp) (cries) - This business of evacuees, thousands of children needlessly sent all over the country, it's been very badly handled.

- Better than doing nothing at all.

- Joe had never slept in a bed before he came here.

He thought sheets were for dead people.

Oh god, I wish he'd never come.

- [Milner] Did he have any friends?

- No, not that I know of.

Oh, that's his exercise book.

He carried it everywhere.

He was 11, but he had the level of a six year-old.

- I'd say that was you, wouldn't you?

Mind if I keep this?

- Of course, whatever you want.

- [Foyle] Would you make a list of trials and tribunals you've presided over?

- Yes, of course.

- And, sir, is there anyone you can think of who might want to hurt you?

- No.

Well.

- Yes?

- I did recently have a set-to with a man called Peter Buckingham.

Oh, he wouldn't try anything like this.

- [Milner] A set-to?

- Well, it's a very personal matter.

- Well, a bomb in a summer house is a rather personal statement, wouldn't you say?

- Yes, quite.

Peter Buckingham was forcing his attentions on my daughter.

He's a machine operator, he works at the factory.

- Which factory?

- Oh, it's next to the house on what used to be a farm.

It's a plant, making munitions.

Susan met this fellow in the village and began this, well, it was ridiculous.

And in the end, I had to step in.

- Did he threaten you?

- Not specifically.

- Could he have been the man on the phone?

- I don't know.

- Right, I'm going to put two or three men outside here, Mr. Gascoigne, if that's all right.

- Is that necessary?

- Well, they missed this time, they may try again.

(door opens) (footsteps clomp) - I hate these people in here.

- We don't really have a choice.

- In my father's day, they'd never be allowed in the house.

- Oh, that's exactly the point.

In your father's day, they wouldn't have been allowed past the third footman.

It was a different age, Emily, I wish you could see that.

(hammering and drilling) (train horn blows) (train wheels roll) (train brakes squeak) (people chatter) (doors close) - Excuse me, Mr. Pearson?

- Yeah?

- I wonder if I might have a word with you.

- Who are you?

- The name's Foyle, I'm a police officer.

- Why, what's the matter?

Something wrong with Joe?

(distant thunder rolls) (rain pours) You know, I never wanted Joe to leave London.

I never wanted him to go.

But they said it would be better for him.

They said there'd be air raids and there weren't enough shelters.

And, you know, Mr. Foyle, even the Missus said he'd be safer in the country.

She said all the boys and girls were going, she said he'd be safe.

And I took him to the station myself.

And you've never seen so many kids.

You could hardly see the platforms.

And all the luggage everywhere, mothers crying.

Little boys and girls, all with those labels round their necks, you know, all being packed off.

(lightning cracks) But Joe, Joe didn't want to go.

Joe held onto my leg.

And in the end, they took him away, and they packed him off in a carriage with hundreds of them.

And walking home.

That was the strange thing, Mr. Foyle, because the streets were empty.

Nobody laughing, nobody crying, nobody shouting, nobody kicking a ball.

I've never heard anything like it before in my life, Mr. Foyle.

It was a city with no kids, but I didn't mind, because they said he'd be safe, and that's all that mattered to me.

You know, he was safe.

And for months and months, I've been sitting there in London, and not a single bomb has fallen!

And you're telling me now, that my son has been killed here, with strangers, because he just got in the way.

(cries) Now, where's this Gascoigne?

I want to see him face to face.

Where is he?

- Mr. Pearson, there's nothing you can do here.

- [Pearson] Yeah, no, no.

- You should go back.

- No, Mr. Foyle, I'm staying.

And I'm not leaving without my boy.

- All right, we'll find you a room.

But there's no point in confronting him with this.

- I'm staying.

(pig squeals) (tense, anticipatory music) (bicycle rolls) (people chatter) - Theo!

Theo.

Where did you go last night?

- What?

- You went out, where were you?

- Why?

- I've just come from the village, and they're saying that someone tried to kill Lawrence Gascoigne.

- What are you talking about?

Why are you asking me?

- You know why.

- Do I?

Florence, for God's sake, we've marched together.

We've been to meetings.

All my life, like you and David, I've been against killing.

And now are you telling me.

- I don't know.

But after what you said, and you weren't here last night.

- You said someone tried to kill Lawrence Gascoigne, did they succeed?

- No.

- Shame.

(distant dogs bark) (exhales) (door opens) (people chatter) - Tony?

What are you doing here?

- I had to see you again.

- Not here.

- I, I need to talk to you.

- You're going to get me shot.

- It's just, I had such a great night last night.

And, and you enjoyed it, too?

- It was fun.

- Will you come out again tonight?

- Well, I-- - We can go and have a drink, maybe.

I really need to talk to you about something.

- Is it about your friend?

- No, no, it's nothing to do with that, but, um, it's important.

Please?

- All right.

Well, I finish at six, so meet you outside.

- Six.

(chuckles) - Now, go, go on.

(typewriter keys clack) - And we should put somebody inside Gascoigne's house, you know.

Three men outside isn't enough.

- Who do you have in mind?

- Well, having arrested four of our own men, we're a bit bloody short-staffed, aren't we?

- I could do it, sir.

- I didn't like to ask.

What about your wife?

- Oh, she's had to go to her sister's in Wales.

- Right, thank you.

(knocks) Yes?

Sam, won't be a minute.

Where have you put Pearson?

- He's in The Crescent, sir.

- Good, and we must get round to these.

Do you recognize any of those names?

(papers rustle) - No.

- What are these?

- Gascoigne's cases over the last six months.

- Jack Winters, I know him.

I met him at the dance last night.

- Could be the same man.

Gascoigne sent him down for burglary and assault.

He was birched and given six months.

- Oh, he didn't mention any of that.

- Well, he wouldn't, would he?

You get over there, I'll make sure he knows.

- Sir.

- Sam.

(door opens) (car engine revs) (truck engine revs) - [Sam] Yes, he turned up at the dance.

I can't say I took a great shine to him.

To be honest, I think Tony's a little in awe of him.

- Did he say anything at all?

- [Sam] No, sir.

- Oh.

- Sorry, do you want me to ask Tony about him?

- [Foyle] No, better not.

- Oh.

I think this is as far as we can go.

- Looks like it.

(car engine idles) - Ah, sergeant.

Now, I can't pretend I'm entirely happy with this situation, but I suppose needs must.

- That's what Mr. Foyle said, sir.

- Are you armed?

- Yes.

- Well, try to think of yourself as a house guest while you're here.

I don't know how long this is supposed to go on.

Still.

Oh, this is my daughter Susan.

Susan, this is Sergeant Milner.

- Good day, Miss.

- Good afternoon.

- Perhaps you could show him to his room.

- Yes, of course.

It's through here.

(gate clunks open) - Can I help you?

- I hope so.

Who are you?

- I'm the foreman here, Hawkins.

- I'm a police officer.

I'd like to speak to a Peter Buckingham who I understand works here.

- I'm afraid I can't allow you in.

- Why is that?

- [Hawkins] We work for the War Office.

If you want to come in here, you'll have to talk to them.

- Right, what is it you do here?

- Produce munitions.

- Oh, is Peter Buckingham here?

- You can talk to him if you like, but you can't go into the factory, and he can't discuss his work.

Just wait here, and I'll get him.

- Right.

- It seems you know everything, not that it's any of your business, like.

Well, I met Susan in the village.

I didn't know who she was then.

We began to see each other.

- Where did you see each other?

- We went walking, in the fields and woods and that.

But that wasn't enough for me, so I started coming to the house.

There's this summer house that-- - Ah, you went there, did you?

- Lots of times.

Until we went there once too often, and her dad turned up.

He saw us together and, that was it.

- You been back to the summer house?

- No.

No, uh, I'm not seeing Susan anymore.

Look, I never threatened Gascoigne, he threatened me.

If he found me on his property again, it'd be the police and prison and God knows what.

Now, is that all, I've got to get back to my work.

- Yes, of course.

What is it you do?

- I'm a machine operator.

- Oh, right.

Well, thanks for your time, very pleased to meet you.

- [Peter] Right.

(ominous music) (gate squeaks closed) (locks) (chains rattle) - It's a bit odd, isn't it?

- What is, sir?

- A metalworker, machine operator, with clean hands?

- Maybe he washed them.

- Maybe.

They're supposed to be making munitions here.

- Yes.

- Well, would you want to transport explosives along tracks like these?

Look at them.

And metalworking, hardening steel, you'd need furnaces, lots of heat, wouldn't you?

- I suppose so.

- Well, there's no chimneys.

(door opens) (ominous, unsettling music) (door closes) (happy, playful music) (cows low) (footsteps click) - Hello, Sergeant Milner.

- Miss Gascoigne.

- Oh, please, you can call me Susan.

Daddy doesn't like me smoking in the house.

Actually, he doesn't like me smoking at all.

You won't tell him, will you?

- No, of course not.

(laughs) (match lights) - I can't stop thinking about poor Joe.

- Were you close to him?

- I tried to be, but he hated being here.

You could see it in his eyes.

The Nazis were never the enemy as far as he was concerned, we were.

- I'm sure that's not true.

- I can understand it.

Coming from the East End, this place must have seemed like another planet.

- It's a big house.

- We don't even use half of it.

What's the point of having servant's quarters when you can hardly even afford servants?

- It was good of you, taking in an evacuee.

- Well, just for once, I was determined to have my own way.

I went to the station, and there were all these children lined up, hundreds of them, all labeled with their suitcases.

The good-looking ones went first, and then the strong ones who might be able to help around the house.

Joe was one of the last, and I chose him because he reminded me of me.

- Of you?

- Left out.

I had all sorts of ideas, like he might be like the little brother that I never had.

But it didn't work out like that.

- [Lawrence] Susan?

- Here, quick.

(footsteps clomp) - Ah, there you are.

- We were just talking, daddy.

- I hope you don't mind my smoking, sir.

- So long as you don't do it in the house.

Come inside, Susan.

I don't want you catching cold.

(footsteps click) - [Carlo] How many years have you been coming here now?

- Too many.

- I still remember the first day you came, you and Mrs. Foyle.

- Well, we weren't actually married then.

And do you know, I think that was the worst meal we ever had.

- The chef was sick.

- I'm surprised we ever came back, you know?

- And the world's not the same anymore.

Mussolini.

He and Hitler.

He's crazy enough to declare war.

It could happen any day now, and what then, huh?

What happens to my family and me?

- Italy might still stay neutral.

- I don't think so.

Everyone's afraid.

You know, there's a restaurant called the Casa Alberta.

They're changing their name to Le Chateau D'or.

Suddenly it's French.

New name, new menu, same owner.

- You might have to do the same.

- And then there's Tony.

He's a good boy, he works hard, but his heart, hmm?

It's not in the business.

I worry about him.

- Does the name Jack Winters mean anything to you?

- Yeah, that's a friend of his, Jack Winters.

The two of them were at school together.

I don't like him.

He smiles, he's very charming, but he's no good.

- He was at borstal.

- Do you think he's mixed up in something?

- Probably not.

- You'd tell me if Tony was getting himself involved.

- Well, the only thing Tony's involved with at the moment, Carlo, is my driver.

- Thanks for coming out again.

- It's a pleasure.

- You see, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.

- Is it about Jack?

- No, no, no, he's all right, Jack.

I mean, I'm sorry about him turning up the other night.

No, I wanted to talk about you and me.

- Oh, really?

- Look, Sam.

The thing is, I've joined up.

Any day now, I'm going to be in uniform.

- That's wonderful, Tony.

- I'm not sure dad's going to see it that way.

But I can't spend the war as a waiter in a little restaurant.

- When are you going to tell him?

- I don't know.

Soon.

But the thing is.

When I think about fighting and shooting and all the rest of it, I really get the heavies, you know?

I'm scared.

And the other thing is, look, I shouldn't be saying this.

I've never really had a girlfriend, not a real one, and I wish, it would be easier if there was someone I could write to, someone who could write to me, you know?

I shouldn't ask, I hardly know you.

- Of course I'll write to you, Tony.

I'll even send you cigarettes and socks if you like.

- You'll be my girl back home?

- Keep the home fires burning.

(light, airy piano music) (kisses) (tense music) (phone rings) (footsteps click) (door opens) - Mr. Foyle, how nice to see you, do come in.

Has somebody offered you a cup of tea?

- Not for me, thanks.

- That'll be all, then, Evelyn.

Make sure we're not disturbed.

- [Evelyn] Yes, sir.

- Please, sit down.

- You certainly have extensive business interests, Mr. Brooks.

- Well, I was lucky.

My father owned tin mines.

Now we make everything from tin cans to shell cases, and I think we're going to be making an awful lot more of those in the days to come.

- In your factories in Southampton?

- Yes, yes, that's right.

Are you investigating me?

- No, not at all.

This is something involving Lawrence Gascoigne.

You have a close association with him.

- Yes, we've been working together on the defense committee.

- But beyond that, you have other connections.

- What makes you say that?

Yes, we see each other from time to time socially.

I've been to his house.

- Just recently?

- Yeah, confidential matter.

- To do with your son?

You have a son, Stephen, who's in Dorset, is that right?

- I prefer not to speak about Stephen.

We're not on speaking terms.

I'm not very proud of what I did, Mr. Foyle, but, yes, I did go and see Lawrence Gascoigne, and I'm gonna tell you why.

You may know that I, I fought in the war.

I came out of it unscathed.

- And decorated?

- That, too.

And when this second war came, I had every expectation that Stephen would do the same, but I was wrong.

He told me he had no intention of fighting.

He came out with some half-baked nonsense about peace and democracy and civilized values, as if he couldn't see that the Nazis were going to burn and plunder their way across Europe if someone didn't stand in their way.

Well, we had a bitter argument.

To be honest, we've hardly spoken since.

Anyway, the next thing I heard was that Stephen was going up before a tribunal as a self-professed conscientious objector.

And by coincidence, the judge was going to be Lawrence Gascoigne.

So I decided to go and see him.

I wanted to tell him what I believed, and what I believe to this day, that Stephen was afraid to fight, that he was no more a conscientious objector than you or I.

You may say that what I did was wrong.

It was a matter of pride for me.

- And so what happened?

- Gascoigne barely heard me out.

I'd hardly mentioned Stephen's name before the conversation was over.

He was very angry that I'd gone there at all.

- And so were you surprised that your son's name was added to the register of conscientious objectors?

- No, I wasn't surprised.

I suppose Gascoigne did what he had to do, but, I no longer have anything to do with Stephen.

As far as I'm concerned, I no longer have a son.

(anxious, anticipatory music) (lid opens) (gun clicks) - Theo?

(animals call) Theo.

What are you doing?

Where are you going?

- I'm sorry, I can't explain.

There's something I have to do.

- What?

- Florence, forgive me, I'll be back soon.

- It's just called the factory.

I don't know anything more about it except they claim to have some link with the War Office.

I.

Let me know, thank you.

(phone receiver settles) - Anything?

- No, but I do know that this man Peter Buckingham is no metalworker.

He's a carpenter by trade.

This is a notebook kept by the boy that the Gascoignes took in.

The evacuee fancied himself as a bit of a policeman, I think.

This, what do you make of it?

- Facray.

- Could he have meant factory, do you think?

The factory was next door, and it's shrouded in secrecy.

The gates are bolted.

Just the sort of thing he'd have been curious about.

- Well, what about these other words?

Pay sooo.

- Don't know, could be anything.

- What, do you think that the boy was the real target and not Gascoigne?

- I don't really see how he could have been.

It was Gascoigne who got the phone call that told him to go to the summer house.

- Well, I suppose there's one way you'll find out, if someone has another go.

(birds twitter) - Are you really going to stand here keeping watch?

- That's what I'm here for.

- Do you have a gun?

(chuckles) - I feel like James Cagney with it shoved into my waistband.

(bird calls) (airy, tense music) - What is it?

- There's someone down there.

(gun clicks) (birds twitter) - Quick, this way, straight ahead, through the woods.

- [Officer] Roger.

(police whistle blows) (heavy breaths) (sad, thoughtful music) (door opens) - Oh, it's you.

- You shouldn't really be out here, Miss Gascoigne.

He could come back.

- Why, are you afraid I'll get shot?

- Actually, you're breaking the black-out.

Your cigarette.

- I'll put it out.

(curtains slide) Can I ask you something?

Are you married?

- Yes.

- Are you very much in love?

Sorry, I shouldn't be asking these questions.

I've got nobody to turn to.

- Miss Gascoigne.

- There's somebody I've met, and he's asked me to marry him, and I want to.

I love him.

But my father won't hear of it.

He won't even.

- I'm on duty here.

- How much does the world have to change before people like us can behave how we want to and not how we're expected to?

- You shouldn't be talking to me like this.

- It's just that you're the only person I've had to talk to.

(footsteps click) - It's all right.

- Why can't I marry the man I love?

Why does my father have to stop me?

- I'm sure he just wants what's best for you.

(door opens) - What on earth do you think you're doing?

- Daddy, it's, it's not what you think.

- Oh, take her to her room.

- [Emily] I beg your pardon?

- You heard me, take her upstairs.

- He wasn't doing anything.

- What?

Darling.

- Sir.

- I want you out of my house.

- Believe me, sir.

- I saw what you were doing.

- She was upset.

- You will leave this instant.

- No, sir.

I'm here to protect you.

- Get out.

(clock ticks) - You going out?

(coins jingle) - We're just about finished here, ain't we?

- Where are you going?

- Just out.

- Antonio, please, I worry about you.

- Why?

- You're going to see Jack Winters, right?

- Dad, when are you going to realize I'm not a little boy anymore?

I can look after myself.

- The police know about him.

He's trouble.

- Dad.

I need to talk to you about something.

Now, I've made a decision.

- If it's to do with Jack Winters, I don't want to know.

- I tell you what.

It doesn't matter.

Don't wait up.

(owl hoots) (gun fires) (frantic chase music) (footsteps clomp) (heavy breathing) (grunts) (groans) (leaves rustle) - [Man] I'm sorry.

- [Man] Come on, they got him.

(thuds) (groans) - [Officer] Hold it, hold it.

I got him, I got him.

Come on.

That's it.

Hang on.

(dramatic music) - It looks as if he was the target, sir.

- Yes, looks like it.

There's no sign of any weapon?

- No.

- And all the doors were locked?

- Yes.

- And all the windows were locked?

- And nothing's been tampered with.

- Right.

- I should have been here, sir.

- No, that's all right.

- He completely misunderstood.

- No, I just wonder why, if he really thought his life was in danger, why he should choose to lose his police bodyguard?

- Mrs. Gascoigne, what can you tell me about last night?

(clock ticks) I mean, your husband and Susan had an argument, is that right?

- Yes, he was very angry.

He came downstairs.

He wanted to be alone.

- And then what?

Did you hear anything?

- I heard a shot.

- Do you keep a gun in the house, Mrs. Gascoigne?

- My father kept a gun in the top drawer of his desk.

He was worried about the invasion.

It's the top right-hand drawer.

- Top right-hand drawer?

(drawer slides) It's not here.

(knocks) Yes?

- Sir?

- Sam.

(door closes) - Is it true they've arrested Tony?

- And Jack Winters, yes.

- I really don't think he had anything to do with Gascoigne's death.

- Well, except that he was at the house when it happened.

- I don't think he wanted to be there.

- He's responsible for his own actions.

- I just think you ought to know that he's just joined up.

He didn't want anyone to know.

I just don't think he had it in him to hurt anyone, sir.

- I don't know what to say to you, Mr. Foyle.

- What the hell did you think you were doing, Tony?

- It was Jack's idea.

He wanted to get his own back.

- By shooting him?

- No, he was just going to break in, make a mess.

I tried to talk him out of it, I swear.

- You're joining up, is that right?

- Sam told you?

- Why haven't you told your dad?

- I was going to, Mr. Foyle, but after this, they won't have me, I don't suppose.

- They'll have you, Tony.

You've not been arrested yet.

Tell your father.

(footsteps click) (door opens) (door slams) - [Milner] You were caught in the grounds of Lawrence Gascoigne's house.

- I didn't go anywhere near the house.

I wasn't doing nothing wrong.

- You were trespassing.

- Trespassing, ooh.

- You were planning to break in.

- Says you.

- We found a bag and a crowbar.

- Those were Tony's.

- You still have two months of your sentence left to serve, isn't that right?

We can arrange for you to go back.

- And what about Tony?

He gets off scot-free because your boss knows his dad?

- [Carlo] Christopher.

- Carlo.

- Please tell me it isn't true.

You told me Tony wasn't involved, and now they tell me that he's mixed up in a murder.

Where is he?

- He's downstairs, he's all right.

Come in here.

- You've spoken to him?

- I've spoken to him, of course, I've spoken to him.

- He's not involved, you know that.

- Carlo, for heaven's sake, how long have I known him?

Really.

I'm going to tell you this, but believe me, he will tell you.

You ought to know that he's joined up.

- He's done what?

- He's joined up, and he's not telling you because you're angry with him.

- This makes me proud of him, Christopher.

In Italy, in Germany, we have to fight fascism.

- Well, will you tell him that?

He's free to go, take him home.

- Thank you, Christopher.

- It's a pleasure.

(relieved, elated music) Sam.

(gears click) - Are we going back to Gascoigne's place?

- No, we're not.

Right here.

- To the factory?

- Yes.

(engine revs) (windshield wipers squeak) (brakes squeal) (fire crackles) - [Hawkins] I'm sorry, Mr. Foyle, I've already told you.

- Mr. Hawkins, the War Office has disavowed any knowledge of you and this factory.

You're not working for them, and you're not producing munitions here, either.

An 11 year-old child has died, quite possibly as a result of what's going on here.

Now, you either tell me what that is, or I arrest you for obstruction.

- All right, Mr. Foyle, but I'll be reporting back on this.

Open the gate.

(unsettling music) (tires roll over mud) (door closes) (door opens) - Now maybe you'll understand why this place is off-limits.

Those are my orders from the Ministry of Health.

- But why?

- They're preparing.

They know what's coming, the Luftwaffe, the most powerful air force in the world.

There's been a few bombs down in the southeast, but that was just a taster.

Soon they'll target London, and there's going to be more bodies than you can imagine, and they're gonna need coffins.

Someone has to make 'em.

- Yeah, but.

- Nobody's meant to know.

They're worried about morale.

And with good reason.

Have you seen enough?

- Yes, thank you.

(heavy somber music) (upbeat, spritely music) (people chatter) (typewriter keys clack) - [Brooks] Nice to see you again, Mr. Foyle.

What can I do for you?

- I was wondering what access the defense volunteers have to weapons.

Getting any sort of weapon is almost impossible.

No rifles, no grenades?

- Molotov cocktails is more the mark.

At the moment, I have about one rifle for every 15 men in the unit, the situation's absurd.

We're doing valuable work, defending vital installations.

How we're supposed to do that without proper support is beyond me.

- Lawrence Gascoigne ever visit the unit?

- Uh, yes, once.

Gascoigne's dead.

You were supposed to protect him.

- Well, I couldn't protect him, Mr. Brooks, because he was lying to me in much the same way as you have been.

- What are you saying?

- I'm saying that you haven't been telling me the truth about your visit to Gascoigne or, indeed, about your son.

- I thought I had.

- So did I.

This, amongst other things, is a record of comings and goings and observations by the 11-year-old evacuee that the Gascoigne family took in.

This, for example, is a note about my visit to the house.

And this is a note about my car registration number.

And this over here is a note about your visit to the house.

This word, for example, facray.

I thought it was probably a misspelling of the word factory because there was a factory next door to the house.

- Isn't it?

- No, in fact, it's your car registration number.

F-A-C-345.

This is your name, and this here, in the same way that he got his Ss the wrong way round, he got his 2s the wrong way round, and so, in fact, his 2s look like Ss, and this is, in fact, the amount, 2,000 pounds that you paid to Gascoigne to make sure that your son wouldn't have to fight, which, in fact, corresponded with the amount that was withdrawn from your private account the day before you met.

If you remember, the last time I was here, you told me that you weren't speaking to your son, but, in fact, you phoned his Dorset number from this number a dozen times since then.

2,000 pounds was it?

That's an awful lot of money.

- I did bribe Gascoigne.

I wasn't the first.

Gascoigne lived way beyond his means, and word got around that, from time to time, he could be bought.

- I don't understand why.

- You have no idea.

What I saw in the war, Passchendaele was a stinking quagmire.

I saw men step off the duckboards and drown in mud.

I saw men blown apart.

What did we achieve?

Here we are at war again, same enemy.

We achieved nothing.

I wasn't going to let that happen to Stephen.

I love him too much.

- Thank you, sir.

Thank you for coming with me.

- I still can't believe you're joining up.

- Can you forgive me?

- There's nothing to forgive.

David and I never tried to force what we thought on anyone.

- I know that.

- But I wish I understood.

(footsteps crunch) - I loved David, you know.

He was so talented, he was funny.

He was kind.

He was my best friend.

And the fact is that Lawrence Gascoigne killed him.

I know he didn't tie the noose, but it came down to the same thing.

- You went round to his house, didn't you?

And you had a gun.

(rain falls) - Hadn't been touched since the last war, I don't even know if it works.

- Did you find out?

- No, of course not.

I didn't get anywhere near.

There were police all over the place.

But it made me realize I wanted to kill him.

I really did.

Oh, I was in the grip of some sort of, some sort of madness, hatred.

I've never felt anything like it.

It was totally overpowering.

David used to talk about the war as a lesson in murder.

He was right.

I still believe in pacifism, Florence.

That hasn't changed, but, I'm as capable of killing as the next man.

So I might as well use that capability and do my bit to save civilization.

(distant train engine chugs) I can fight, so I should.

(train pulls in) - I'm very pleased you've decided to go back, Mr. Pearson.

- I don't want to be here.

- I understand.

- Thank you, Mr. Foyle.

I know you've tried to do your best.

(airy, somber music) - Well, I suppose this is good-bye.

Will you write to me?

- Of course, I'll write to you, Theo.

And I'll still be here, when you come back.

- I'm sorry.

- Oh, don't.

Just look after yourself.

- Joe used to send me picture postcards.

I don't read too well.

I came down a couple of times.

Used to get a special rate on the railways.

I used to take him out for tea.

The Gascoignes didn't want me up at the house.

They, what is it they said?

It'd be far too hard for Joe.

(laughs) - Joe knew you were coming?

- I telephoned him, yeah.

- Did he say anything?

- Well, he was pleased, you know.

Said he had a lot to tell me.

- I bet he did.

- [Pearson] Do you know who killed him, Mr. Foyle?

- Yes.

- Yeah, God rot him, whoever he is, eh?

- Hmm.

(train chugs) - Mrs. Gascoigne.

I'm here to arrest you for the murder of your husband.

- Yes, yes, yes.

Have I time to pack a few things?

- You just need your coat.

- I understand.

(footsteps clomp) - Mr. Milner, what's going on?

- I'm sorry, Miss Gascoigne.

- [Susan] Where are you taking my mother?

- Miss Gascoigne, I'm afraid I've got some rather bad news for you.

(car engine idles) (door closes) See, Joe was about to return to his parents in London.

- Joe, your father's coming for you.

- And the timing just couldn't have been worse as far as your father was concerned because it was only a little while before that he'd discovered that Joe had either seen him or overheard him accepting a 2,000 pound bribe from a businessman.

- And Joe was going to tell?

- If he had, your father would have lost everything.

A judge taking bribes on that sort of scale, it wouldn't just have meant the end of his career, he'd most certainly have gone to jail.

- What about the death threats?

- The death threats weren't real because your father made them himself, to make it seem that he and not Joe was the intended victim.

The brick through the window?

(glass smashes) He threw it himself.

And the note?

- You, too, will receive justice.

- [Foyle] He prepared that himself.

- Lawrence?

- And he even went as far as trying to settle another score by implicating you.

- I did recently have a set-to.

- The only person he mentioned was you.

- Peter Buckingham was forcing his attentions on my daughter.

- So in the letter.

- He used cuttings from the kind of paper he imagined you read, and then he added a few smears of machine oil.

(oil drips) - Because he'd bought the story that you were a machine operator in a factory producing armaments, which wasn't, of course, the case, and the oil was a detail too many.

So I'm afraid it was your father who took the grenade from the defense volunteers.

It was your father who set up the device in the summer house.

- [Susan] I can't believe this.

- And it was your father who, the following morning, faked the telephone call.

(phone rings) - He said he'd left something for me in the summer house.

- I'll go.

- A strange phone call.

- He rang off.

- A secret parcel, and telling Joe not to go into the summer house was, in fact, the very best way of making sure he did exactly that.

(clicks) (explosion) - Joe!

- So it seemed as if Joe had been killed accidentally, and your father thought his secret was safe.

- I can't believe this, I can't believe my father could have done this.

- It's a very great deal for you to take in.

- But my father was killed.

- Yes.

(heavy foreboding music) - My mother.

- Yes.

- How do you know?

- Well, because the house was locked.

He was killed with his own gun, and only he, you, and your mother knew it was there, and, it wasn't you.

- Some family.

- I knew that something was wrong.

That business with the brick through the window, for example.

(glass smashes) - [Foyle] And neither of you heard anything?

- Well, I, I was asleep.

I suddenly woke up, I was shivering.

It was terribly cold.

I don't know why.

Lawrence had opened the front door.

He'd let in the cold air, that's what made me shiver.

Do you see?

He had to go outside in order to throw the brick.

- Did you know all along?

- No, I didn't know.

That's when I confronted him.

That's when he told me.

- All right, I killed him!

- Lawrence, no.

- He was nothing, a guttersnipe!

That little vermin should never have come here in the first place.

Always snooping around, poking and prying.

He threatened me, for heaven's sake.

- What?

He was a child.

- He was here when Brooks came, he heard the whole thing.

- You killed a child.

- We killed him, Emily!

- No.

- Keeping up appearances!

That's the reason I needed the money in the first place.

Ever since I married into your bloody family.

- How dare you bring my family into this!

- And moved into this bloody house, I've been scrimping and saving.

Do you think I was going to let the whole pack of cards come crumbling down because of some East End brat?

- I won't be part of this!

- Well, you are part of it!

You're the reason it happened!

- No.

(drawer slides) - What are you doing?

- You, too, will receive justice!

- What are you doing with that?

Put it down!

(gun fires) (gun fires) (thuds) (exhales) (sad, reckoning music) - That moment, I think I hated him more than anyone, more than I'd hated anyone ever before.

But I didn't kill him for that reason.

I killed him because it was the right thing to do.

(footsteps clomp) - Burning the midnight oil?

- Case notes.

What's the time?

- After 10.

I heard about Emily Gascoigne.

Nasty business.

- Evil times.

- And getting worse.

You haven't heard the wireless?

- No.

- Italy has declared war.

It was on the news.

So now we really are up against it.

There have been riots in London, apparently.

Fires in the East End.

(somber music) Good night.

- [Foyle] Good night.

(rioters chant) (metal clatter) (kicks) (rioters yell) (glass smashes) (glass smashes) (glass smashes) (fire roars) - Get 'em out!

- Get away, coming in!

(glass smashes) (fire roars) (rioters yell) (fire crackles) (engine runs) (doors close) (footsteps crunch) - Where is he?

- He's dead.

We were both asleep.

There was smoke and, and flames.

The firemen got me out.

Dad didn't make it.

(solemn, heartbroken music) - I'm so sorry, Tony.

- What sort of a world is this, Mr. Foyle?

- Tony.

I don't know what to say.

- Neither do I.