Original subtitles

I don't get any lighter!

Ha ha!

It

Lost long.

One, five, eight.

Just there, sweetheart.

Ta.

Oh, Dad, would you?

What do you make of it?

Looks old. It is.

Barely in different Jacobian purrs.

If you're calfskin binding worth a couple of bob.

What are his brown spots on the pages?

You get straight to the heart of the matter, Mr. 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.

You know there's a mistake.

A mistake?

Well, isn't there?

Above the door, the sign.

What about it?

What's wrong, isn't it?

There's no apostrophe in books.

There is.

There isn't.

There isn't.

There isn't.

Is it your name is book and you own the shop which it is and I do.

My name is book.

Books books.

Confusing I know.

Or is it handy?

I can never decide.

Anyway, I'm book and I run a book shop.

This one, obviously.

You must be here about the job.

Tea.

Oh, quite there here.

I'm trying to make ginger snaps.

How much?

Where were you dragged up?

One for each person and one for the pot.

Oh.

Well, I've got to, Jack, just Jack.

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.

Oh, God.

Oh, that's better.

I must have tea.

Without tea, I am merely unre-constituted dust.

Look, this isn't really my sort of gaff.

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

They?

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, that's Jack.

I just want to keep my head down, you know.

Try and get back to normal.

Wait, I've got the job.

Amenity is overrated.

Yes, you've got the job.

If you want it.

Darling, you must come up with us.

Oh.

Uh, Trotty, this is Jack.

Just Jack.

Jack, this is Trotty, my wife.

Hello.

Hello.

Well, what is it? The bombsite.

The men carrying the bombsite.

You know where Encom and Street used to be?

Oh, yes, they're one. What of it?

Well, they found something.

Insuspicious circumstances.

My favourite kind of circumstances.

MUSIC

I was wondering if we'd be seeing you.

Like a bad penny sergeant.

Well, you know my feelings.

We've made them exquisitely plain.

But let me know.

I do have a special letter from Churchill.

Yeah.

All right.

Oh, hello, book.

Mrs. Burke.

I thought this might be up your street.

Oh, no, it's literally.

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

especially if it's the latest gory or vaguely scandalous.

Bit of a puzzle.

Mr. Bassart here was starting to clear away the

rubble from his cell bombsite the other day.

Encom and Street caught it in 44, do you know?

Yes, sir.

Terrible pounding.

Do you remember that raid, sir?

How could I forget?

Trotty and I ended up cheeked by Giles in the Anderson

shelter with the man from the Prudential Insurance Company.

We had lovely fingernails.

Terrible halitosis.

Those shelters weren't built for sharing.

It was over, Mr. Bassart.

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

For old times' sake.

And to keep an eye on all render there.

My trusty searchlight.

Well, here he was trying to clear away the rubble when low.

What does he find?

Low.

What?

Heavens to Betsy.

Tossed together like a skeletal salad.

How many?

I saw her tell, because they're all jumbled up.

And 10 or 12, I'd say.

Quite why Mr. Bassart didn't tell the authorities about his discovery forth with.

He's another matter.

He didn't?

No.

Some kiddies who were playing here let us know.

As I was saying, I have a theory.

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

What do you think, Jack?

Me?

You.

Yeah, that's what must have happened.

Air raid killed him.

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

There would be a logical assumption.

There's this.

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

If you recall, Incomen Street was already empty, wasn't it, Mr. Bassart?

Scheduled for demolition.

So nobody was living here, in which case?

Who are they?

Well, anybody, surely.

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

A dozen of them?

What about clothes?

Clothes.

All flesh as grass.

The raid was only two years ago.

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

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

No.

That would appear to be the clincher.

What do you think?

The unmistakable bonds that King Charles II.

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

1665.

Plague bit, yeah.

So it would seem.

Oh, what?

Plague bit.

The Great Plague.

London's burial grounds were overflowing, so they dug

these great big pits and dumped all the corpses in them.

I'm a bit of an archeologist.

On the side, strictly amateur, you understand?

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

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

I just wanted a bit of time to excavate them.

Fascinating stuff.

I really am very sorry, Inspector.

Yes, well, no harm done, I suppose.

Not sure about that.

These skeletons might still be lively.

Well, you mean it's still catching.

The jury, as they say, is out.

But I think it's very unlikely.

Do you mind if I hang on to this?

You're welcome to it.

Right, Mr. Book.

Oh, hello, Nora.

Why, I'm not surprised to see you here.

Did you know that back then, they used to use great catapults to toss plates?

And to plague the corpses into besieged cities to deliberately infect people?

That's horrible, Nora.

I know.

And the split infinitive, even more horrible.

I'd be worth it, too.

Sergeant, get this long taken care of in a pronto with you today.

With care?

Where to?

A log, I suppose.

We'll get Dr. Goldert to take a shrifty.

See if there's any chances to do infectious.

Sir?

Thank you, Book.

Anytime, Inspector.

Sergeant!

What can we collect stamps like normal people?

Oh, dear.

Are you all right?

Yeah.

So, just a bit.

Being coppers.

I've been away, you see.

Oh, yes, I have.

I know.

It can't have been very nice.

Tell me all about it when you're ready.

Hey, 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?

It's okay.

I'll get this.

I'll get this.

What old hark-up?

Suicide, I heard.

Heard?

Heard from your colleague over there.

Oh, that is bloody guts for gutters.

This goes against all the rules of... All right, Sergeant.

All right.

Mr. Book's always welcome to give us the benefit of his wisdom, as you know.

Yes.

Yes.

That business is not very bad.

Oh, sod.

What the hell do you think of that?

The law.

Morris has a point.

This is a plain ordinary suicide.

I mean, I can be flexible, as you know.

It went something a little bit more.

Resurgé, or Trey, anything with an acute accent?

Unusual.

Comes along.

Like our bar friends, the skeletons.

I mean, this is a meat and potatoes job.

You know, the sergeant and I have heavily caked... Who found him?

Charwan.

Hader, Dred.

Pretty shook up, she is.

Dredge.

He's a little bell.

She'd been doing the hark-up for donkeys.

Dindar.

Is there a note?

No, no, no.

How did he do it?

Prussic acid.

Nasty.

And intriguing, don't you think?

Mr. Harkup.

Great, sir.

Looks like suicide.

Oh, dreadful.

Well, I'd better get on.

Too much excitement for one day.

Jack, nip back the shop, would you?

There's a pile of newspapers.

Third stack on the right as you come in.

Charing cross to spatch underneath two volumes on

Eleanor of Castile and the Wilting Espa Disfer.

Perch them for me, would you?

Okay.

I wouldn't put the kettle on again.

We're going to have company.

Oh, well, see, is it from him?

Yeah.

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

You might as well have it.

This is your usual char day.

Yes, every week, regular is clockwork.

But I only saw him yesterday, popped round to get some bandages.

Bandages?

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

He needs constant attention.

The dressing.

What time did you see Mr. Harkup?

Oh, six.

Six-ish, I think.

Oh, it doesn't seem possible.

Instanding, they're all full of life and then...

I did it like that, like that.

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.

Although I want to go and do an horrible thing like that, too, too.

Any vices?

Vices, sir.

We must investigate all angles of last year, lady.

Oh.

Man of rarely regular habits.

He was church every Sunday.

Kept his accounts in very neat order.

I think that was the soldier in him.

He did play dominoes.

Dominoes?

Every Monday and Thursday night.

In the ball.

With Mr. Basshart and some others.

Does that count as a vice?

I hardly think so.

You have your family?

My mother always said, if you can't see anything

nice about someone, don't open your trap.

So there was bad blood, then?

There's a daughter, isn't there?

Some... mystrangement?

I wouldn't like to say.

Don't seem right.

What with Mr. H?

Not cold in his grave.

Heavens, this cake.

Yes?

Oh, superb.

Oh, too kind, sir.

But then I'd expect nothing less.

Oh, why'd you say that?

From Miss Lyons Cornerhouse, 1921?

Oh, I'd see you knowing that.

It was 1922, though.

My mistake.

How the Dickens?

I saw a lot of little tidbits like that, mostly useless.

Must have been a lovely experience.

Oh, yes.

Oh, I've never felt so glamorous.

I've got a new hat.

And the Lord Mayor winked at me.

Winked.

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 daughters...

Sarah...

Lord Mayor... The ruler.

The ruler, that's right.

Why he and Marula are no longer so 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 around her little finger.

Nothing was too much for his little princess.

Oh, and then she has the gall to run off with him.

Him?

Micky.

Micky Hall.

There's a right there, do well.

Up to all sorts in the war-spiddy stuff, you know.

Black Market.

He's a motor mechanic.

They've got a garage out my lem way.

My land charming.

And now Marula, I'll inherit the lot.

Don't seem right, do it.

No, it's... don't.

Thanks for the cake.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

Just being naively, Sergeant.

Your witness, I think.

Hello again.

Oh, I like books.

I just wondered if I could have a little nosey around before I head out.

See if I can help at all.

Head out?

Oh, Mrs. Book and I are often pleasure bent.

The new boys, babysitting.

Up for the dog.

Dog.

There's no definite article.

Off to the pictures, there's a re-running Sandra Darrick at the reality.

The Opera.

Fat ladies singing.

Speaking of which, may I...

There's a daughter.

But Mrs. Dratch says they didn't get on.

So I gather.

We're endeavoring to trace her.

She has a garage.

My land.

Oh, right.

Funny how, though.

Mrs. Bliss goes in for something similar in the little knick-knacks.

Not quite the same, I think.

He's a jade.

Rather fine.

And this one.

Mr. Harkup was obviously a connoisseur.

Do you think it was suicide?

You have doubts?

I do.

What's your theory?

You mean gentleman?

You think.

Oh, Eric.

Black, Lamb and Greg Falcon.

Hey.

That book for Sheila, it's right.

Oh, I'm smashing.

Do you come over tomorrow for it, writer?

Where do we go?

Oh, thank you.

I was never keen on in myself.

Harkup?

Don't forgive me.

Bit of a little Hitler.

Still poor bugger.

It's not but himself like that.

So, what's your theory?

Patients inspect their patients.

The two most powerful warriors are patients in time.

Also, I couldn't get into it.

I tried that one with what she chucks us up in front of a train.

No.

No.

Look, I can't expect it.

Too much?

No, not at all.

I mean, you look amazing.

I meant the walls.

Oh.

Look 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 always have been.

Wardrobes, Wylersets, pets.

I was in the land army.

Gin?

Oh.

Oh, yeah, please.

So you'll go out then?

My day will always going out.

Well, one has to live, doesn't one.

Especially after the time we've all had.

There's some chops in the larder, I think.

Your room's up at the top.

I've heard that she's...

You're... I mean...

Thank you.

Back when I'm back.

Well...

I know that look.

You're onto something.

London's really 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?

Broad.

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.

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

Or 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.

Darkly, I listen.

Over many a time I have been half in love with ease full of death.

Called him soft names.

And many amures had rhyme.

To take into the air my quiet breath.

God.

Why would a chemist, with every known gentle poison in the shop, choose to kill

himself with something as horrible as prasic acid?

There you are then.

Yes, Trotty.

There we are.

It's murder.

Look.

Mrs. Book.

Be careful.

Oh.

Trot.

Ah.

Good morning.

How can I help?

Oh.

Well, I'm... I'm after a book.

You are very much in the right place.

What do you think, young man?

Moved suit the lady best.

Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Henry Jane.

Do you have the new Georgette here?

Oh.

Well, I've read all her other ones.

Me too, and what a smash as she is.

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

Mrs. Goodwin.

Jean.

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

We should try foils.

It's a bit of a judge.

A feat being what they are.

I have the perfect alternative.

One who is spinning romantic yarns with Miss Hay was still in the cradle.

Probably.

Oh, well, if you think that...

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

Peggy Pardon?

I'm sure.

Sorry, thinking.

Ah.

Ortsy.

Never heard of him.

Her.

Baroness.

The skull of Pimpernel.

You have 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.

Well, what do I hear of you?

Oh, let's call it a bob.

Hang on.

Feet.

Feet.

Feet.

Ah.

This is free.

Oh, I couldn't possibly it.

Oh, there's nothing.

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

Wouldn't you agree?

Jean.

Thank you.

Cheer by.

Come on, woman.

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

Hello.

Now then, Jack.

Excited to start the day.

There's a whole world of learning in here.

All human life.

And some inhuman.

We've got that coin.

Well, uh, yeah.

Yeah, of course.

Good.

I don't mean to pry, Mr. Book.

But, um, what exactly is it you do?

Oh, I thought that was obvious.

I sell books.

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

Yesterday, out there at a bomb site.

Chat with a child lady.

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 know, 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 of 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 little order, that's all.

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

This... this is your system.

Yes?

What's wrong with it?

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

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 Martin's gent.

Coins of the realm.

I mean, there's no system.

There's no system at all.

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

I'm best to explain.

Alfred Martin's was a career criminal.

And he successfully forged from his day, which was Queen Victoria's Day.

Extraordinarily, in this field, he was a coiner.

A forger of coins.

But his luck ran out of Paris.

And they chopped off his head, which is why all those books are clumped together.

You think?

Yeah, but that's...

I mean, that's silly.

Never than this.

Well, I shall leave you to, er...

Hold the force.

Slightly fox.

Slightly foxed.

Says it all.

Good morning.

Yeah, er... can I help you?

I've come to collect an order.

Erm, what's the name?

Sheila Welby-loved.

Hello.

Jack.

Yeah.

I'm Nora.

We've got lots to talk about.

Thank you, Miss.

Again, very sorry for you.

Can I go now?

Well, if you wouldn't mind just answering a few questions.

Erm, you would just come with me, please, Miss.

Fascinating.

Where better to hide a tree?

Then in a forest.

These markings.

Indeed.

Oh.

Oh, hello.

Just checking in on those skeletons with Dr. Colley here.

Oh, yes.

Any risk of infection?

Quite safe on that count, Inspector.

However...

Who slips, drops slips, as they say in the nicker trade.

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

Surprise.

Anyway, back to the case in hand.

This is Miss Marula Harkup.

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

A few questions, you said.

Do you mind if I tag along?

I don't forget that flood test.

On its way.

Sorry about that.

There you go.

Black lamb and grey falcon.

Turns interest in.

Tar.

Getting the hang of it?

Slowly.

So, who are you?

No, well, I live across the road in the Turkish restaurant.

Help out in the shop sometimes.

So, erm... Do you know, I'm old then?

Miss from Mrs. Book?

Yeah.

And do you know about his little hobby?

Bloody hell.

Yes.

It's all I think about.

Isn't all that, I mean...

Isn't that unhealthy?

I should think so.

What'd 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. It's not quite what I expected.

What is his Christian name, by the way?

What do you think?

Cookbook, scrapbook, mucky book.

Gabriel.

Ah.

Aren't they Angel?

Oh, Angel.

I think you'll find.

They're a dream.

Both of them.

Such sweet arts.

So, what's your story?

It's pretty easy, 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.

Of course I am.

He was my dad, in spite of everything.

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

Can you think of any reason why he wanted to take his own life?

None.

No, he was nicely set up with his shop and...

Well, Mum had left him a few off when she died.

You don't think you're a strange man?

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, um, me and Mickey.

But, um, he'd hardly have gotten killed himself in the fit of the glums about it.

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

Tell us about Mickey.

What's to say?

He's my fella.

How was his war?

Why do you ask that?

Well, we know how much our father appreciated the

armed forces or his metal ribbons with great pride.

Yes.

Well, Mickey wasn't lucky.

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

I'd 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.

Dad?

Morphine.

Mickey got up to some shady business during the war.

Just stocking cigarettes, small stuff.

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

And he'd noticed Morphine had gone missing?

Yes.

Wouldn't speak to us.

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

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

What's all this about?

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

Stories.

Detective stories.

That's what I want to write.

I've got so many ideas.

Such an exciting blue 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.

That's great.

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

Including murders.

Including murders.

After soldiers in Britain have come home with pistols they stole from den Nazis.

The country's a washroom.

So?

So?

We only seem civilized in this country because we're not.

Think of all that.

For being a suburban passion.

Husbands having affairs with secretaries,

ladies having affairs with their chauffeurs.

All those contested wills and domestic rouse.

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!

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 got a picture of my dad.

That's all.

I'm sorry.

Do you know what?

I asked you to... Yeah.

It was nice to meet her.

It was an incendiary?

What?

An incendiary?

Is that the roof on fire in the blitz?

A bit.

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 wouldn't have 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 in it.

I gave up pleasure for Lent.

I gave up Lent.

Pleasure.

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 times sake.

And we did help you find...

hidden.

Very kind of you.

How's all that working out?

It's complicated.

Well, yes, I imagine it's...

delicate.

And we wouldn't want anything to go wrong.

Now, would we?

So...

what do we make of him?

Jack, put him in the attic room.

Like Mrs. Rochester.

Only slightly more butch.

I think it ever occurred to you that you are such a... bibliophile.

Because of your name?

Nominative determinism.

I mean, if you're being called butcher, you might be slicing up choice cuts of meat.

Flensing, that's the word.

Removing fat from a carcass, one of the descriptive words.

Flensing, actually endeavoured to bring it back.

Well, I wish you joy with that.

Yes, you could be slipping your black market chops under the counter.

Right, Mr. Well, beloved.

Much more useful than books these days.

They could have been an archer, or a baker, or a chondler.

Speak here, which farewell my lovely.

Oh, are you going out again?

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

Crime fiction, American.

Customer put in a request.

I know it's here somewhere.

I saw a lady in the lake recently.

Anyway, Jack.

Devan a promise, Devan a promise.

He didn't try to flog that coin.

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

Touchwood.

And the... other matter.

It's too soon to tell him.

What was so special about your book?

Nothing really is just about some chaps at school playing cricket.

And what do you think of Carl Dali?

You've read Tim?

Started it.

When?

After I saved it from the incinerator.

Book.

What's your name?

Bajiva.

It's a funny name.

Thank you.

Stratford Perry.

But my friends call me Jotty.

You're splendid.

You owe me.

I do.

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

Let us make a sullen pact.

Put your strong arms round 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.

Good night, Mrs. Book.

Good night, Mr. Book.

The daughter, the spiv, the char, the warden.

Who gave her cup?

The bloody poison.

Absoment friend.

Sir,

you never believed it.

It takes a lot to surprise me anymore.

Well, why is it?

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

Daughter doesn't get a bean.

No.

No.

Who he does?

Oh.

The char.

Mrs. Ada Dredge.