that was rosemary harwood. foyle: how did you know that? i was just outside.ecause it was too dark to see anything? i smelt her. she, um-- she wears lavender water. oh. i'd say she wears it by the bucket. right. it was definitely her. i don't think miss harwood could have shot mother, if that's what you're thinking. they all adored her-- ate out of her hand. you don't appear to be very moved by your mother's death. do you find that shocking? well... sorry. i believe in honesty. so, you were, um-- yes, i was-- sat just there. at first, the lights started flickering, and they went out. it was the fuse, by the way. i replaced it. does it happen often? yes, all the time. it's overload. the electrics can't take it. anyway, it was pitch-black, what with the blackouts and everything, so... i didn't see anything. and did you hear anything of what was being said? no. i heard the gun. at the time, i assumed someone had taken a potshot at spencer, and i wasn't surprised. why is that? stanley: the case was on the bed here, and the gun was in the case. and you saw the gun

spencer took possession of a letter smuggled out of whitehall and given to him by a traitor--rosemary harwood, and given to him in the hope that he'd pass it on to the enemy. after the murder, spencer was trapped. he had the letter, but he didn't know what to do with it. he gave it to you because you were the one person at the hotel we wouldn't dream of searching. after the investigation, you'd send it back to him, and he'd pass it on to the germans. do you want my resignation? no, i don't want your resignation. that's the last thing i want. i can't do this bloody godforsaken job on my own. what i want is to forget all of this happened and, more importantly, for you, starting now, to be with me 100%. in spite of whatever problems you're going through, it's important that you and me and sam are able to trust each other and we're on the same side. is that understood? yes, sir. understood. good. that's all. radio: we've known them and laughed at them, these fussy little steamers, all our lives. we've called them the "shilling sicks." we've watched them load and unload their crowds of holiday pas