Bookish

[Door clangs and creaks open] [Rain pouring] [Floor boards creaking with heavy footsteps] [Footsteps] [Man groans] [Loud thud] [Man sighing] [Man straining] [Man groans] [Police whistle blowing] [Door lock clanging] [Policeman speaking inaudibly] [Horns honking, chatter] [Inaudible chatter] They don't get any lighter.

[Laughs] [Bicycle bell jingling] Newspaper man: Come and get your paper!

All the latest news!

Come and get your paper!

Bit lost, love?

Uh, 158?

Just there, sweetheart.

[Inaudible chatter] Ta.

Newspaper!

Newspaper man: Come and get your paper!

[Bell jangling] [Bell jangling] [Clock chiming] [Clock ticking] Hold that, would you?

Oh.

Er... What d'you make of it?

Looks old.

It is.

Fairly indifferent Jacobean poetry.

Calf-skin binding.

Worth a couple of bob.

What are these brown spots on the pages?

You get straight to the heart of the matter, Mister, um... Jack.

Just Jack.

That's called 'foxing', Jack Just Jack.

It's what time does to books.

To all of us.

In the profession, we say it's 'slightly foxed'.

Interested?

W... You know there's a mistake?

A mistake?

Well, isn't there?

Above the door, the sign.

What about it?

Well, it's wrong, isn't it?

There's no apostrophe in 'books'.

There is.

There isn't.

There is.

There isn't.

There is.

There isn't!

There is if your name is Book and you own the shop, which it is, and I do.

My name is Book.

Book's books.

Confusing, I know.

Or is it handy?

I can never decide.

Anyway, I'm Book, and I run a bookshop.

This one, obviously.

You must be here about the job.

Tea?

[Clock chimes] [Fire humming] Er, not quite there yet.

I'm trying to make ginger snaps.

Er, how much?

Where were you dragged up?

One for each person and one for the pot.

Now... Where have we got to, Jack Just Jack?

Uh, this is Dog.

Book.

Dog.

Job.

I have a little hobby on the side, and I find it's taking me away from the shop more and more.

So, I require assistance.

[Stirring, spoon clanging] [General chatter outside] [Groaning] God.

Oh, that's better.

I must have tea.

Without tea, I'm merely un-reconstituted dust.

[Slurping tea] Look, this isn't really my sort of gaff.

I mean, I thought they'd maybe send me to a factory or something.

They?

Well, you know where I've come from, don't you?

You know that I was ... No need to mention it again.

What are you hoping for, now you've got the job, Jack Just Jack?

I just want to keep my head down.

You know, try and get back to norm... Wait, I've got the job?

Normality is overrated.

Yes, you've got the job.

If you want it.

[Door opening] Darling, you must come at once.

Oh.

Uh, Trottie, this is Jack Just Jack.

Jack, this is Trottie, my wife.

Hello.

Hello.

Well, what is it?

The bombsite.

The men clearing the bombsite, where Inkerman Street used to be?

Oh yes, that one.

What of it?

Well, they found something.

In suspicious circumstances.

My favourite kind of circumstances.

[Bell tolling] [Wind blowing] [Chatter] Ah, I was wondering if we'd be seeing you.

Like a bad penny, Sergeant.

Yeah, well, you know my feelings.

You've made them exquisitely plain.

But as you know, I do have a special ... Letter from Churchill.

Yeah.

Alright.

Oh, hello, Book.

Mrs Book.

Thought this might be up your street.

Trottie: Almost literally.

Start at the beginning, Inspector, and leave nothing out.

Especially if it's salacious, gory or vaguely scandalous.

Bit of a puzzle.

Mr Baseheart here was starting to clear away the rubble from this old bombsite the other day ... Inkerman Street caught it in '44, didn't it?

Yes, sir, terrible pounding.

D'you remember that raid, sir?

How could I forget?

Trottie and I ended up cheek by jowl in the Anderson shelter with the man from the Prudential Insurance Company.

He had lovely fingernails.

And terrible halitosis.

Those shelters weren't built for sharing.

Er, war's over, Mr Baseheart.

Quite so, sir, but I still like to patrol my route.

For old time's sake.

And to keep an eye on old Brenda there.

My trusty searchlight.

Well, here he was, trying to clear away the rubble, when lo, what does he find?

Lo.

What?

Ah.

[Gasps and reactions from crowd] Book: Heavens to Betsy.

Tossed together like a skeletal salad.

How many?

It's hard to tell, 'cause they're all jumbled up, but 10 or 12, I'd say.

Quite why Mr Baseheart didn't tell the authorities about his discovery forthwith is another matter.

He didn't?

No.

Some kiddies who were playing here let us know.

As I was saying, I... I have a theory.

Well, obviously, they copped it in the raid, didn't they?

Book: What do you think, Jack?

Me?

You.

Er... yeah, that's what must've happened.

Air raid killed 'em.

Died two years ago, and now, they're all rotted away.

Book: That would be a logical assumption.

Who's this?

So, you don't think they died in an air raid?

If you recall, Inkerman Street was already empty, wasn't it, Mr Baseheart?

Scheduled for demolition.

So nobody was living here, in which case ... Book: Who are they?

Well, anybody, surely.

Anybody could've taken shelter from the bombing in one of the empty houses.

Book: A dozen of them?

What about clothes?

Clothes?

"All flesh is grass."

The raid was only two years ago.

Even if the bodies had rotted away, their clothes would still be intact.

I think Mr Baseheart and I are thinking along... similar lines.

Well... that would appear to be the clincher.

What d'you think?

The unmistakable bonce of King Charles II.

Ooh, does it have a date on it, too?

1665.

Plague pit, yeah?

So it would seem.

A what?

Baseheart: Plague pit.

The Great Plague.

London's burial grounds were overflowing, so they dug these great, big pits and dumped all the corpses in them.

Er, I... I'm a bit of an archaeologist, on the side, strictly amateur, you understand.

So why didn't you tell us straight away, when you found them?

Well, I... I knew I'd never get a chance like this again.

I just wanted a bit of time to excavate them.

Fascinating stuff.

Huh.

I really am very sorry, inspector.

Yes, well, no harm done, I suppose.

Book: Not sure about that.

These skeletons might still be lively.

What, you mean it's still catching?

The jury, as they say, is out.

But I think it's very unlikely.

D'you mind if I hang onto this?

You're welcome to it.

Woman: Alright, Mr Book?

Oh, hello, Nora.

Why am I not surprised to see you here?

Did you know that, back then, they used to use great catapults to toss plaguey corpses into besieged cities to deliberately infect people?

That's horrible, Nora.

I know.

And a split infinitive.

Even more horrible.

Might be worth a bit, too.

Sergeant, get this lot taken care of and pronto.

And, with care.

Er, where to, sir?

Er, a morgue, I suppose.

And get Dr.

Calder to take a shufty, see if there's any chance they're still infectious.

Yes, sir.

Thank you, Book.

Book: Anytime, Inspector.

[Police whistle blowing] Sergeant!

[Men yelling] Why can't you collect stamps, like normal people?

[Camera flash popping] Bliss: Oh, dear.

[General chatter] Are you alright?

Yeah.

Erm... it's all just a bit, er me and coppers [Police whistle blowing] I've, er... been away, you see, and ... Oh, yes, I... I know.

Can't have been very nice.

You can tell me all about it when you're ready.

Here, let me take this.

Well, you must stay with us, mustn't you, now that you've got the job.

I have the premises next door.

Book has his books, I have my wallpaper, and there is a darling little attic room between the two.

Why are you helping me like this?

Why not?

Book: ...with the Inspector, if that's alright with you?

Copper: I'll get this cordoned off, sir.

Poor old Harkup.

Suicide, I heard.

Heard?

From your colleague, over there.

Oh, I'll have his ruddy guts for garters.

This goes against all the rules of ... Alright, Sergeant, alright.

Mr Book's always welcome to give us the benefit of his wisdom.

As you know... Yes.

Yes.

Bad business, Book.

Very bad.

Poor sod.

Morris: What d'you think you're playing at?

But, look, Morris has a point.

This is a plain, ordinary suicide.

I mean, I can be flexible, as you know, when something a little bit more... Recherch?

Outr?

Anything with an acute accent?

Uh... unusual comes along.

Like, like our... our friends, the skeletons.

But this is a meat and potatoes job.

The Sergeant and I are perfectly capable... Who found him?

Charwoman, Ada Dredge.

Pretty shook up, she is.

Book: Dredge?

That rings a little bell.

Well she's been doing for Harkup for donkey's.

Ding dong.

Was there a note?

No, no note.

How did he do it?

Prussic acid.

Na... nasty.

And intriguing, don't you think?

Mr Harkup?

Afraid so.

Looks like suicide.

Oh, how dreadful.

Well, I'd better get on.

Too much excitement for one day.

Jack, nip back to the shop, would you?

There's a pile of newspapers, third stack on the right as you come in, Charing Cross Dispatch, underneath two volumes on Eleanor of Castille and a wilting aspidistra.

[Ding] Fetch them for me, would you?

Okay.

Oh, and put the kettle on again.

We're going to have company.

Woman: [Crying] Oh.

Oh, well, seeing as it's from him... Mm.

Oh, I brought a coffee and walnut cake round for Mr Harkup.

You might as well have it.

And this is your usual char day?

Yes.

Every week, regular as clockwork.

But I only saw him yesterday.

Popped round to get some bandages.

Bandages?

Oh, my son, he was injured in the war.

He needs constant attention.

The dressing.

Er, what time did you see Mr Harkup?

Er, six.

Six-ish, I think.

Oh, it doesn't seem possible.

Him, standing there, all full of life, and then... finding him lying there like that.

[Sobs] You're doing very well.

And was he?

Was he what?

Full of life, when you saw him?

In good spirits, I mean.

Well to be honest, he seemed a little down.

But why he'd want to go and do an 'orrible thing like that to himself.

Any vices?

Vices, sir?

We must investigate all angles, alas, dear lady.

Oh.

Man of very regular habits, he was.

Church every Sunday.

Kept his accounts in very neat order.

I think that was the soldier in him.

He... he did play dominoes.

Dominoes?

Every Monday and Thursday night.

In The Bull, with Mr Baseheart and some others.

Does that count as a vice?

I hardly think so.

Jack: Did he have any family?

My mother always said, 'If you can't say anything nice about someone, don't open your trap'.

So, there was... bad blood, then?

There's a daughter, isn't there?

Some... estrangement?

I wouldn't like to say.

Don't seem right... [Crying] What with Mr H not cold in his grave.

Heavens, this cake.

[Chuckles] Mrs Dredge: Yes?

Well, it's superb.

Ooh, too kind, sir.

But then, I'd expect nothing less.

Oh, why d'you say that?

From Miss Lyons Corner House, 1921?

Oh!

[Laughs] Fancy you knowing that!

It was 1922, though.

My mistake.

How the dickens?

Oh, I, er, store up a lot of little titbits like that, mostly useless.

Must have been a... lovely experience.

Mrs Dredge: Oh, yes.

Oh.

I've never felt so glamorous.

[Chuckles] I bought a new hat.

And the Lord Mayor winked at me.

Winked!

Fancy.

Mrs Dredge: Worked there for years, I did.

At the Corner House.

So I got very good with the baking.

Mr H used to love my pineapple upside-down.

You know, it really would be most helpful to know why he and his daughter, Sarah, er, Meru... Merula.

Merula.

That's right.

Why he and Merula no longer saw eye to eye.

Well, seeing as you've been so kind, sir... Very good of you.

She was a cow.

A right horrible, money-grabbing little cow.

I see.

Apple of his eye, she was.

After his wife passed on.

But she knew how to twist him round her little finger.

Nothing was too much for his little princess.

Huh!

And then, she has the gall to run off with 'him'.

Him?

[Sighs] Mickey.

Mickey Hall.

He's a right ne'er-do-well.

Up to all sorts in the war.

Spivvy stuff, you know.

Black market.

He's a motor mechanic.

They've got a garage, out Mile End way.

Mile End?

Charming.

And now Merula will inherit the lot.

Don't seem right, do it?

No, it, erm... don't.

Thanks for the cake.

[Door opening, bell jangling] What the hell d'you think you're doing?

Just being neighbourly, Sergeant.

Er, your witness, I think.

[Knocking] Hello, again.

Oh, hello, Book.

I just wondered if I could have a little nosy around before I head out, see if I can help at all.

Head out?

Oh, Mrs Book and I are off on pleasure bent.

The new boy is baby-sitting.

Oh, for the dog?

Dog.

There's no definite article.

Er, off to the pictures?

They're re-running a Sandra Dare at the Rialto.

The opera.

Fat ladies, singing.

Speaking of which, may I, erm ... There's a daughter, but Mrs Dredge says they didn't get on.

So I gather.

We're endeavouring to trace her.

She has a garage.

Mile End.

Oh, right.

Thanks.

[Clock ticking] [Clock chiming] Funny, aren't they?

Mrs Bliss goes in for something similar.

Little... little knick-knacks.

Not quite the same, I think.

These are jade.

Rather fine.

And this one.

Mr Harkup was obviously a connoisseur.

[Door slams] [General chatter] D'you think it was suicide?

You have doubts?

I do.

What... what's your theory?

Evening, gentlemen.

Book: Evening.

Oh, Eric.

Black Lamb and Grey Falcon.

Eh?

That book for Sheila.

It's arrived.

Oh, smashing.

Er, she'll come over tomorrow for it.

Book: Righto.

Wet the whistle?

Oh, no, thank you.

I was never keen on him myself, Harkup.

God forgive me.

Bit of a little Hitler.

Still, poor bugger, topping himself like that.

Mm.

So... so... what's your theory?

Patience, Inspector.

Patience.

The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.

Tolstoy.

Ah, couldn't get into him.

I tried that one, you know, where... where she chucks herself in front of a train.

No?

No.

Book.

Inspector.

[Car starting] Too much?

No.

Not at all.

Er... you look amazing.

I meant the walls.

Oh.

Book says it's an affront to good taste, but, I don't know, I think it has a certain something, don't you?

I'm good at knocking things together, I... I always have been.

Wardrobes.

Wireless sets.

Heads.

I was in the Land Army.

Gin?

What?

Oh, yeah, please.

So, you're going out then?

My dear, we're always going out.

Well, one has to live.

Doesn't one?

Especially after the time we've all had.

There are some chops in the larder, I think.

Your room's up at the top.

I've aired the sheets.

You're I mean... Thank you.

Mm.

I'd better go and unpack.

[Bell jangles] [Door closes] Well?

Well?

I know that look.

You're on to something.

Nonsense.

Merely the happy look of a contented man.

I have my lovely wife, my lovely shop, my lovely Dog.

What more could a man ask for?

[Chuckles] Fraud.

Three things, then.

Mr Harkup collected Chinese jade figures of exceptional quality.

But dust is eloquent, as someone once said.

Dust doesn't lie.

One of the figures has been replaced with a bit of cheap trash, a chess piece.

But the larger outline remains clear.

Mrs Dredge hasn't cleaned in a while, despite what she said.

Secondly, Mr Harkup has a small lump on the back of his head.

Not caused by him falling, I don't think.

More probably a blow with a blunt instrument.

A blunt instrument that didn't break the skin, and yet there is blood on the back of Mr Harkup's scalp.

Thirdly... Yes?

"Darkling, I listen.

And for many a time, I have been half in love with easeful Death.

Called him soft names, in many a mused rhyme, to take in to the air my quiet breath."

Pardon?

Why would a chemist, with every known gentle poison in the shop, choose to kill himself with something as horrible as Prussic acid?

Hm.

Well, Book, there you are, then.

Yes, Trottie.

There we are.

It's murder.

[General chatter] Book?

Mrs Book.

Be careful.

Be careful.

[Dog barking] [Train passing over tracks] [Traffic sounds] [Bicycle bell jingling] [Dog whines] [Thuds] [Loud thuds] Shop?

[Thuds] Ah, good morning.

[Door opening, bell jangling] How can I help?

Oh, well, I'm... [Door closes] I'm after a book.

You are very much in the right place.

What d'you think, young man?

What would suit the lady best?

Dickens?

Wilkie Collins?

Henry James?

Do you have the new Georgette Heyer?

Ah.

Well, I... I've read all her other ones.

Me too, and what a smasher she is.

But that would be a new book, Miss, um... Mrs.

Goodwin.

Mrs Goodwin.

Jean.

Jean.

We don't really go in for those, do we?

We should try Foyles.

[Sighs] It's a bit of a trudge, with my feet being what they are.

I have the perfect alternative.

One who was spinning romantic yarns when Miss Heyer was still in the cradle.

Probably.

Oh, well, if you think that, then ... Sshh.

I mean, if you'd recommend ... Sshh.

Beg your pardon, I'm sure.

Sorry.

Thinking.

[Bell chimes] Ah!

[Rummaging] [Chuckles] Orczy.

Never heard of him.

Her.

Baroness.

Hungarian.

Gerald: The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Oh, I've heard of that.

French Revolution.

It's a delight.

You won't regret it.

When you've finished, come back, and I'll find you the sequel.

Oh that's very good of you.

What do I owe you?

Oh, let's call it a bob.

Hang on.

Feet.

Feet, feet, feet.

Ah.

This... is free.

Oh, I couldn't possibly.

Oh, it's nothing.

But sending you off, happily on the bus, without further bunions is a price above rubies.

Wouldn't you agree, Jean?

Thank you.

Cheery bye.

Gerald: Come on, woman.

I'll never make any money like that, will I?

[Door closes, bell jangles] [Tuts] Hey-ho.

Now then, Jack, excited to start the day?

There's a whole world of learning in here.

All human life, and some inhuman.

Still got that coin?

What?

Oh, er, yeah.

Yeah, of course.

Good.

I don't mean to pry, Mr Book, but, erm... What exactly is it you do?

I would have thought that was obvious.

I sell books.

Yeah, but that's not all, is it?

Yesterday, out there, the bombsite, chat with the charlady ... Yes?

Well is that like your... your hobby?

I mean, the way you talk to those coppers, where they let you roam around that pit, you're like some sort of advisor to them, or something.

I mean, why should they listen to you?

They frequently don't, more fool them.

I did the Inspector a favour once, during the war.

He hasn't forgotten.

Also, I have a special letter... A letter from Churchill.

Yeah, the copper said that.

A letter saying what?

It's a chaotic world, Jack.

I have a system.

Sometimes people like me to give an opinion on things, impose a little order, that's all.

You can read all sorts of things, as well as books.

So... this... this is your system?

Yes.

[Chuckles] What's wrong with it?

Well, they're not in any kind of order.

I... Cataracts of Denial.

Diseases of the Eye and Their Treatment.

Cataracts.

Eye disease.

Logical.

The Guillotine: A Practical Guide.

The Life and Death of Alfred Muttings, Gent.

Coins of the Realm.

I mean, there's no system.

There's no system at all.

Well it's all up here, isn't it?

How best to explain?

Alfred Muttings was a career criminal.

Very successful forger in his day, which was Queen Victoria's day, extraordinary chap in his field.

He was a coiner, a forger of coins, but his luck ran out in Paris, and they chopped off his head, which is why all those books are clumped together, you see.

[Bell chimes] Yeah, but that's - I mean, that's silly.

Nevertheless.

Well, I shall leave you to, er, hold the fort.

[Bell jangles] [Door closes] [Dog whining, panting] Slightly foxed.

[Dog panting] Slightly foxed.

Says it all.

[Sniffs] [Dog barking] [Bell jangling] Woman: Morning.

Yeah, er... can I help you?

I've come to collect an order.

Oh, righto.

Erm, what's the name?

Sheila Wellbeloved.

Erm... [Bell jangles] Hello.

Jack?

Yeah?

I'm Nora.

We've got lots to talk about.

Thank you, Miss.

Er, again, very sorry for your loss.

Can I go now?

If you wouldn't mind a few questions.

Book: Ah.

Erm, well, just... just come with me, please, Miss.

Book: Mm.

Fascinating.

Where better to hide a tree... Woman: Than in a forest.

And these markings... Indeed.

Book?

Oh, hello.

Just checking in on those skeletons with Dr Calder, here.

Oh, yes.

Any risk of infection?

Quite safe on that count, Inspector.

However... Ah-ah.

Loose lips drop slips, as they say in the knicker trade.

Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, would we?

Bliss: Surprise?

Anyway, back to the case in hand.

This is Miss Merula Harkup.

Oh, my dear child, I'm so very sorry.

A few questions, you said?

Yeah.

D'you mind if I... tag along?

Oh, don't forget that blood test, will you?

On its way.

[Door opening] [Door closing] Sorry about that.

There you go.

Black Lamb and Grey Falcon.

Sounds interesting.

Ta.

[Door closing] [Bell jangling] Getting the hang of it?

Slowly.

[Bell jangling] So, who are you?

Nora.

I live across the road, in the Turkish restaurant.

Help out in the shop sometimes.

So, erm, d'you know 'em well, then?

Mr and Mrs Book?

Yeah.

And d'you know about his... little hobby?

Bloody hell, yes.

It's all I think about.

You know, Mr Book saw Crippen once, when Mr Book was younger, outside the Old Bailey.

Being led in by handcuffs.

Crippen!

Imagine that.

Yeah, I don't have to imagine.

Sorry?

Nothing.

[Sighs] Murder's not what it used to be, though.

I mean, his big mistake was saying she died in America.

Crippen, I mean.

Maybe if he'd just said she'd left him, but a death obviously rouses suspicions.

Then it's a short step to finding lumps of her buried in the coal cellar.

Isn't all that ... Unhealthy?

I should think so.

What do your mum and dad think?

Don't have any.

What d'you mean?

Well, it was the war, wasn't it?

Everyone lost someone.

I lost them.

Sorry.

What happened?

So... how are you getting on, anyway?

With the Books.

Mr and Mrs.

[Scoffs] It's not quite what I expected when What is his Christian name, by the way?

What do you think?

Cook Book?

Scrap Book?

Mucky Book?

Gabriel.

Ah.

Like the angel?

Archangel, I think you'll find.

They're a dream.

Both of them.

Such sweethearts.

So, what's your story?

[General chatter, typewriter clacking] [Phone ringing] Suppose you think I'm hard.

I'm not sniffling, boo-hooing all over the shop.

I mean, it's just not the way I'm made.

So there.

Your father.

I'm sorry that he's dead.

Course I am, he was my dad.

In spite of everything.

He didn't make it easy to, erm... to love him, though.

Can you think of any reason why he'd want to take his own life?

None.

No.

He was nicely set up with his shop, and... well, Mum had left him a few bob when she died.

Y...you don't think your estrangement ... No.

Nothing to do with that.

He wasn't the type to get all emotional.

Maybe that's where I get it from.

I mean, he made it very clear that... he didn't approve of, erm, me and Mickey.

But, erm, he'd hardly have gone and killed himself in a fit of the glums about it.

He just he weren't the type, as I say.

Bliss: Tell us about Mickey.

Merula: What's to say?

He's my fella.

Huh.

Book: How was his war?

Why do you ask that?

Well, we know how much your father appreciated the armed forces, always wore his medal ribbons with great pride.

Yes, well... Mickey wasn't lucky.

His eyes, they're not... they're not good.

I say that's why he ended up with me.

I mean, he wouldn't have been much good against Jerry with eyes like his.

Dad didn't like that, thought he was a shirker.

That was the start of it.

What was the finish?

Well, Dad was convinced that Mickey was thieving from him.

Cash?

Morphine.

Mickey got up to some shady business during the war.

Just stockings, cigarettes, small stuff.

Dad had, erm, just got it into his head that Mickey was bad.

And he'd noticed morphine had gone missing?

Yes.

Wouldn't speak to us.

But you've had a bit of news, haven't you?

I thought a little one might be the thing that brung us back together.

What's all this about?

Why are you so interested in Mickey if... if... Dad has gone and... topped himself?

Jack: Stories?

Detective stories.

That's what I want to write.

I've got so many ideas.

It's... such an exciting new world out there.

Everything's all smashed up.

The whole world.

No one knows what to do anymore.

Well, I do.

The war turned everything upside down.

Shook it up.

But that's great.

There's no going back to how things used to be.

Including murders?

Including murders.

Half the soldiers in Britain have come home with pistols they stole from dead Nazis.

The country's awash with 'em.

So?

So...we only seem civilised in this country because we're not armed.

Think of all that throbbing suburban passion.

Husbands having affairs with secretaries.

Ladies having affairs with their chauffeurs.

All those contested wills and domestic rows.

People used to kill each other by boiling down arsenic from their wallpaper.

Now they just have to reach for a Luger.

Pow, pow, pow!

[Blowing] What did happen to your parents?

You're supposed to be telling me your story.

I'm an orphan too.

I never knew my mum.

I've got a picture of my dad.

That's all.

I'm sorry.

That's alright.

Look, I should, erm... Yeah.

It was nice to meet you.

It was an incendiary.

What?

An incendiary.

Set the roof on fire.

In the Blitz.

Mum got me out and... went back for Dad.

Then the roof fell in.

I just sat there, in the garden, looking at the house.

Just... felt... sort of numb.

The ARP warden found me, then my uncle took me in, so, now I have to help him out with the restaurant.

But you'd rather be...?

Much more exciting over here, innit?

[General chatter] [Trolley bell dings] No, I gave up pleasure for Lent.

[Chuckles] I gave up Lent... for pleasure.

[Church bell ringing] [Lighter clicks] Well, what's your answer?

I told you before, I'm just a bookseller.

I sell books again, like I did before the war.

This would be... for old time's sake.

And we did help you find... him.

Very kind of you.

How's all that working out?

It's complicated.

Well, yes, I imagine it is.

[Laughs] Delicate.

And we wouldn't want anything to go wrong... now, would we?

[Floorboard creaking] [Click] [Dogs barking in distance] So, what do we make of him?

Book: Hm?

Jack.

I've put him in the attic room.

Like Mrs Rochester.

Only slightly more butch.

Has it ever occurred to you that you are such a... Bibliophile?

Because of your name?

Nominative determinism.

Hmm.

I mean, if you'd been called Butcher, you might be slicing up choice cuts of meat.

Flensing, that's the word.

Removing fat from a carcass.

Wonderfully descriptive word, flensing.

I shall endeavour to bring it back.

Well, I wish you joy with that.

Yes, you could be slipping me black market chops under the counter, like Mr Wellbeloved.

Much more useful than books these days.

I could have been an Archer.

Or a Baker.

Or a Chandler.

Speaking of which, Farewell My Lovely.

Oh, you going out again?

You're so sharp, you'll cut yourself.

Crime fiction.

American.

A customer put in a request.

I know it's here somewhere.

I saw a Lady in the Lake recently.

Anyway, Jack...?

Oh... Definite promise, definite promise.

And he didn't try to flog that coin.

So jail hasn't made him a wrong 'un for life.

Touch wood.

And the, er... other matter?

It's too soon to tell him.

[Child crying] [Coughing] [Church bell ringing] Girl: What was so special about your book?

Nothing, really.

It's just about some chaps at school, playing cricket.

And what d'you think of Carol Darley?

You've read Tim?

Started it.

When?

[Door slamming] After I saved it from the incinerator.

Book.

What's your name?

Budge over.

That's a funny name.

Thank you.

Stratford Perry.

But my friends call me Trottie.

You're splendid.

You owe me.

I do.

So, when I get into trouble here, will you help me out?

Let us make a solemn pact.

"Put your strong arms around me, Carol, and raise me a little.

I can talk better so."

"Carol bowed his head without a word and kissed him.

And thus, their friendship was sealed."

[Sighing] Goodnight, Mrs Book.

Goodnight, Mr Book.

[Sighs] [Dog whining] [Sighs] Book, voiceover: The daughter, the spiv, the char, the warden.

Who gave Harkup the ruddy poison?

[General chatter] Absent friends.

All: Absent friends.

[Door opening] Hi.

[Kisses] [Sighing] [Phone ringing] Sir?

You'll never believe it.

Well, it takes a lot to surprise me, Morris.

Well, what is it?

We just got the chemist's will through, sir.

Yeah?

Daughter doesn't get a bean.

No?

No.

Then who does?

Oh.

The char.

Mm.

Mrs Ada Dredge.

Male voice: Aah!

Aah!

[Pounding] Help!

No!

[Thuds] No!

[Thud] [Pounding] Urgh!

No!