Episode 2 - The Lodging House

SCENE 1.

NARRATOR: Even Greater London, 1887. Children played, adults worked, and a mile high tower beamed electricity outwards across hundreds of miles of uninterrupted city.The building of the tower had brought with it wealth and innovation, and if the latent charge in the atmosphere meant that going out in the rain came with the risk of spontaneous combustion, then so be it.It was a small price to pay for progress – specifically, a small, annual price, as the insurance coverage was widely available.It was probably the tower that the celebrated author Michael Monkfish had in mind when, to meet his publication deadline and minimum word count, he scribbled down his most famous aphorism: "Power corrupts.Electrical power corrupts electrically." No-one really knew what this meant but it had a pleasing symmetry so people didn't mind.It turns out that people don't really spend too much time trying to make sense of the world, usually because it's difficult and unrewarding, but quite often just because it's starting to drizzle and you remember your spontaneous combustion insurance lapsed the week before.Inspector Fleet was a man who, by his profession, was compelled to try to make sense of things and who in the early hours of one grey January morning, was standing just beyond the mile-long shadow of the tower, on the pavement in front of London's thirty-fourth most disreputable public house, the Grouse and Chisel.

SCENE 2.

FLEET: Tell me about the body.

TILLER: Good morning, Inspector.

FLEET: Good morning, Constable.Tell me about the bod–

TILLER: Constable Tiller, sir.

FLEET: Good to meet you.

TILLER: It's my first day.

FLEET: Welcome aboard.Tell me about the bod–

TILLER: Well, I suppose second day at this point.Or first night of the first day.It's the second something anyway.

FLEET: Tiller.

TILLER: Yes, sir.

FLEET: Tiller, there's a dead body at our feet.

TILLER: Yes, sir.

FLEET: Tiller, tell me about the dead body at our feet.

TILLER: Of course.Coffee, sir?

FLEET: Tiller.It's four in the morning.We're in a part of town not known for a welcoming attitude to the police.And judging from the sixteen people watching us from windows in eight of the surrounding buildings, if we hang around too long there will be three dead bodies.Now, tell me about Dr Salik.

TILLER: Of course.He's deceased.

FLEET: Right.

TILLER: He's a male.

FLEET: Anything else?

TILLER: He's got blue eyes?

FLEET: Yes thank you Tiller.What I meant is, do we have any idea what happened to him?

TILLER: It's not been established, sir.

FLEET: Well, he's got a smashed in head where his head should be.Do you think that might have something to do with it?

TILLER: I wouldn't want to jump to any conclusions, sir.

CLARA: We thought maybe a bar brawl, didn't we constable?

FLEET: Miss Entwhistle, I thought we agreed you would stay behind the police roping.

CLARA: Was that where we left that? Anyway, I wanted to show you this appointment card I found in the victim's pocket.

FLEET: Give me that! Tiller, did you allow a member of the press to examine the body? And remove evidence?

TILLER: Only a little, sir.Oh! I forgot something.

FLEET: What?

TILLER: It's Chief Inspector Keller.He left a message for you before you arrived.You are to report to him at once.

F/X: SMACKOw! Sir?

FLEET: Where is he?

TILLER: In the wagon, sir.

FLEET: Right.Tiller: stay here and try not to keep treating this crime scene as a jumble sale.

TILLER: I will try, sir.

FLEET: And Miss Entwhistle: behind the rope.

CLARA: Of course.You won't even know I'm here.

FLEET: Why do I doubt that?

SCENE 3.

NARRATOR: The police wagons of Even Greater London were easy to identify because each side was covered with an enormous picture of the monarch who still had the name, and around 45 percent by volume of the original parts, of Queen Victoria.The police force felt this was the least they good do by way of patriotic respect, particularly as they had failed to prevent all eleven of her assassinations.After each one of these, her royal medical engineers had replaced her shattered organs with the best available mechanical alternatives, and a national week of mourning had been cut short by her triumphant revival.The Queen's can-do, can't-die attitude and increasingly impressive grip strength endeared her ever more to the public, as did her widespread portraits, which beautifully captured both her regal dignity and her substantial metallic heft.Inside the police wagon, Fleet found a square of silvery glass the size of a bathroom mirror, on top of which sat a small, red antenna imprinted with an image of the Tower.

F/X: Device activates.

WAVERLEY: Caller?

FLEET: Fleet.

WAVERLEY: He's not very happy, Archie.

FLEET: Is he ever, Miss Waverley?

WAVERLEY: Well, he's sometimes not furious.

FLEET: Would you say he's furious now?

WAVERLEY: Oh yes.Connecting you now.

FLEET: Thank you, Miss Waverley.

F/X: Line click.

NARRATOR: Around the device, a convoluted grid of magnets and wires began to convulse.The silver liquid in the glass was pulled apart to form a shifting set of puddles and gaps, roughly at first before taking on a more coherent set of shapes.A moment later, Fleet was staring at a crude, fluid image he knew to be his Chief Inspector, but which the device only portrayed as a moustache in a nightcap.Even so, it was quite clear that the moustache was, indeed, furious.

KELLER: Fleet!

FLEET: Chief Inspector Keller.

KELLER: Fleet are you at the scene of the Salik murder?

FLEET: I am, sir.How do you know about it already?

KELLER: Because of the damned Yeomen Warders!

FLEET: The Beefeaters?

KELLER: Yes the Beefeaters, you halfwit.Chief Whitlock called me five minutes ago to demand his men lead the investigation.

FLEET: You should tell Chief Beef to take a running jump.

KELLER: Don't tell me what I should or should not do, Fleet.And Whitlock is the Chief Warder of the Tower, and Commander of the Yeoman Guard Extraordinary.He is not "Chief Beef". Treat the bastard with some respect.

FLEET: Sorry, sir.How did the Beefeaters find out so quickly?

KELLER: Their bloody ravens, I expect.Evil little things.They fly up, see more or less everything, fly back and somehow explain what they've seen, probably putting a pebble in a cup for a murder, or a marble in a saucer for a robbery, who bloody knows.Creepy is what they are.

FLEET: But why would they even be looking here? What's this got to do with them?

KELLER: You know damned well the Warders now take the lead on anything within a mile of the Tower.

FLEET: Is the Grouse and Chisel within a mile?

KELLER: No.Turns out it's a mile and 18 yards.But it's a damned murder, so Whitlock's flexing his not inconsiderable muscle.So you need to get this case wrapped up sharpish.Understood, Fleet?

FLEET: Yes, sir.Sir, Mrs Keller seems to be behind you.

MRS

KELLER: Olwin, it's four in the morning!

KELLER: I know, Margaret, but this is police business.Go back to bed.

MRS

KELLER: It's always police business with you, Olwin.

KELLER: I'm Detective Chief Inspector, Margaret, what other business is it going to be? Moonlight costermongery?

MRS

KELLER: I just mean you could put a bit more energy into being the chief inspector of this family, Olwin.

KELLER: Don't start with that.

TIMMY: Daddy?

KELLER: Timmy! What are you doing up?

TIMMY: I heard voices and I thought there might be monsters.

MRS

KELLER: There are no monsters, Timmy.

KELLER: There are indeed monsters, Timmy, and it's daddy's job to see them all hanged.

TIMMY:

(CRIES, CONTINUING THROUGHOUT)

MRS

KELLER: Oh, Olwin!

KELLER: The boy's got to learn about the real world!

MRS

KELLER: He's only four!

FLEET: Sir, sorry to interrupt–

KELLER: My god, Fleet, are you still there? Get to work.Hush now, Timmy.

F/X: Device deactivates.

FLEET: Right.

F/X: Wagon door opens.Tiller.

TILLER: Yes, Inspector.

FLEET: Secure the scene and get the body sent off to the pathologist.I'm off to Mrs. Pomligan's.

SCENE 4.

F/X: COFFEE HOUSE HUBBUB

NARRATOR: Mrs. Pomligan's was, of course, Mrs. Pomligan's Coffee House, Beginners Pottery Studio and Laundrette: a coordinated con of Mrs. Pomligan's own devising, that begins with a superb value, if irregularly shaped cup of coffee and ends with an extremely poor value emergency shirt cleaning.A couple of budding – and presumably insomniac – ceramicists were messily clasping some clay together when Fleet walked in.Walking past the potter's wheels, Fleet grabbed one of the few uniform mugs from the counter and sat at a table.Shortly after, a slow shuffling sound indicated the approach of Mrs Pomligan herself – an intermittently cheerful woman in her fifties, with the appearance of a crocodile that had somehow acquired the ability to walk on two legs, apply blusher and operate a stove.

MRS POMLIGAN: You up late Archie, or just getting started?

FLEET: Both.

MRS POMLIGAN: Coffee, then?

FLEET: Yes.Your very strongest.

MRS POMLIGAN: It's like being kept awake by a volcano's nightmares.

FLEET: Perfect.

NARRATOR: A few minutes later Fleet was staring at a cup of the tarry-looking liquid Mrs Pomligan sold as coffee.He took a moment to enjoy a fond memory or two just in case, gripped his chair firmly with one hand, and took a sip.When he regained his sight, around 30 seconds later, he found Miss Entwhistle now sat opposite him at the table.

CLARA: Cakes any good?

FLEET: You!

CLARA: The cakes.In this shop.Worth a go?

FLEET: What are you doing here?

CLARA: I'll risk it.Any for you?

FLEET: No, I'm – I'm alright for cake, thank you.

CLARA:

(SHOUTING) Two slices of cake!

MRS POMLIGAN:

(SHOUTING) Two slices of cake!

FLEET: Um–

CLARA: You'll want some when you see mine.This way you won't have to wait.And it's Clara, Clara Entwhistle, The Morning Chronicler, we met at...

FLEET: My crime scene, or rather when you turned up at my house to summon me to my crime scene.

CLARA: That's right.So, any leads?

FLEET: You don't waste any time do you?

CLARA: Can't afford to in my game.

FLEET: The ink-and-gossip game?

CLARA: The game of truth, inspector.Truth for the public.The same game as the one you play.

FLEET: It's not a game, Miss Entwhistle, it's police business.And I don't discuss ongoing investigations.

(SHOUTING) Mrs Pomligan, can I take this cup out with me?

MRS POMLIGAN:

(SHOUTING) What?

CLARA: Don't go, inspector!

MRS POMLIGAN:

(SHOUTING) Get your own bloody cups!

FLEET:

(SHOUTING) I'll bring it back!

(TO CLARA) I'd rather we left it here Miss Entwhistle while we're still getting on.

MRS POMLIGAN:

(SHOUTING) You'd better return it! And in one piece, too!

FLEET: I'm not a miracle worker Mrs Pomligan - but I'll be sure to return with either it or a dirty shirt for cleaning.Miss Entwhistle, as you know, I have a murder to solve, so I must leave you.Enjoy your two slices of cake.

MRS POMLIGAN:

(SHOUTING) Two slices of cake!

CLARA:

(SIGHS) Thank you.

SCENE 5.

NARRATOR: St.Bernadine's Hospital, Seventeen Dials.It was said that if you contracted an illness, you should avoid St Bernadine's at all costs, that is, if you wanted to live.Dying there was easy: its motto was simply, ‘Abandon hope, all'. As Inspector Fleet entered the reception area to the laboratory of celebrated pathologist Dr Septimus Bell, he found himself facing a desk and, on it, a pile of leather, metal and cogs, arranged in the shape of the upper third of a receptionist.

MISS BODKIN: Good morning, Inspector.

FLEET: Oh no… Where's Miss Birch?

MISS BODKIN: Good morning, Inspector

FLEET: What's going on?

MISS BODKIN: Good morning, Inspector.

FLEET: Good morning!

MISS BODKIN: I am Miss Bodkin.Miss Birch now works with the Yeoman Warders of the Tower.How was your journey?

FLEET: Is he in?

MISS BODKIN: How was your journey?

FLEET: I need to see the– It was fine.

MISS BODKIN: Nice weather today is it not?

FLEET: How would you know? You're mostly furniture.

MISS BODKIN: Nice weather today is it not?

FLEET: Oh good grief.Yes.

MISS BODKIN: Inspector, would you care for some coffee? There is some brewing in my shoulder.

FLEET: Look, desk machine girl…

MISS BODKIN: Miss Bodkin.

FLEET: Miss Bodkin, I really don't have time to chat, I need to see Dr Bell.

BELL: You rang?

FLEET: Very good, Doctor.

MISS BODKIN: Would you care for some shoulder coffee, Doctor?

BELL: Not right now, Miss Bodkin.

FLEET: Energetic isn't she?

BELL: She ought to be, she's anti-clockwork.

FLEET: Clockwork?

BELL: Anti-clockwork, Inspector.

NARRATOR: Anti-clockwork was one of the most recent innovations of the Swindon Informatorium's Department for Applied Philosophy.A clockwork device works by storing energy in springs, tightened by turning a key, to power a device's motion, speech and general reasoning capabilities.Anti-clockwork devices use that same mechanism to stop a device from working.Without turning the key, your anti-clockwork device would go about its business endlessly, without rest or remorse.In the case of Miss Bodkin, the business in question was to slow down any visitors to Dr Bell's laboratory for long enough for him to finish whatever he was working on and wait outside the door to the reception area until someone said something that let him enter with a joke, giving an air of carefree spontaneity for which he prepared meticulously.

FLEET: I'm terribly sorry, Doctor, to come down here so early.

BELL: It's quite all right, Inspector, although I am not what one would call a mourning person.Little pathology joke for you there.Now what can I do for you?

FLEET: It's about the cadaver I sent over.I was hoping you could tell me more about how he died.

BELL: Oh yes.Although, isn't the real question, "How did he live?"

FLEET: I'm not sure I follow you.

BELL: How do any of us live? Do you know, Inspector, I am Even Greater London's foremost pathologist.I know more about death than anyone.But so little about life.

FLEET: Yes.Now, about the body.

BELL: Not like my little brother, Tiberius.He's a poet.He grapples with real questions about our existence.

FLEET: But can he help solve a murder, eh?

BELL: He once wrote a poem on a leaf you know.

FLEET: It was just about a leaf?

BELL: Both about and literally on a leaf.Small writing.Big ideas.

FLEET: Sorry, I don't mean to be rude but...

BELL: Ah yes, your man.You had better come in.

TRANSITION.

F/X: SHEET PULLED BACK.

BELL: Here he is.

FLEET: Yes, beaten to death.

BELL: Beaten, yes.Death, yes.But not in that order.

FLEET: Death beaten?

BELL: You have it! You see this here?

FLEET: Where the entire back of his head is missing?

BELL: Ah, you noticed it too.That could only really be caused by one thing.

FLEET: And what's that?

BELL: The street.Specifically, arriving at the street directly from a rooftop.As for the other markings, this fellow has been beaten post mortem.

FLEET: Why would someone pummel a corpse?

BELL: I expect to disguise the fact that he fell, or more likely was pushed, off the roof of that pub.

FLEET: A murder disguised as …

BELL: Another type of murder, yes.

FLEET: But why?

BELL: I'm afraid that's your domain, Inspector.I just deal with the how and then have breakfast.Whiskey?

FLEET: Now?

BELL: Why not? It's a desperately sad and lonely midnight somewhere.

SCENE 6.

NARRATOR: It was another of the Bell clan – Julius – who had, as a young aide at the palace, secured his rapid career advancement with the solution to Queen Victoria's temporary popularity problem a few years earlier.The public were generally on board with the occasional improvements to Her Majesty's physical vessel, but it turned out that absorbing her dying husband Albert's consciousness into her own largely robotic body was a step too far.By itself this probably could have been ignored, but it had come during a period of public restlessness about the Queen.This was partly due to the growing sense that her apparent immortality made a mockery of death and the finitude of all their lives, but mainly due to an unfortunate incident where she discovered in front of a crowd that her impressive metallic form was enough to break a horse's spine.Julius Bell's solution to this was simple.Construct a vast network of public address systems across the city, allowing the Queen to make a twice daily address to the populace.This was indeed hugely popular, leading men, women and children alike to stop whatever they were doing, stand, and face the loudspeakers.As the scheduled time of the address arrived on this particular morning, Inspector Fleet, traveling to a crucial appointment, found his train pulling to a deferential halt.

VICTORIA: (heavily distorted mechanical voice) My loyal subjects, good morning! Are you all well? Good.How could you not be? It's a pleasant day in London and as always we are the envy of the world.A reminder to you all that the Even Greater Exhibition is now open at the Crystal Palace.Prized jewels, exotic beasts and scientific marvels from across the globe await your curious minds.It's a treat for the whole family! Isn't that right, my dear Albert?

ALBERT: Existence is pain, pain existence; I am an abomination.Nature herself averts her gaze in shame.

VICTORIA:

(LAUGHS) Oh Albert.Now subjects, have a wonderful day, be pleasant always, and enjoy the luxury of God's most joyous realm, our city of London.And now, the weather.

ALBERT: The gods make their condemnation evident; the skies weep at our treachery.Sunny spells in the afternoon.

VICTORIA: Thank you Albert.

SCENE 7.

NARRATOR: A few minutes later than he had hoped, but still, after all, in good time, Inspector Fleet arrived at Mrs Hampshire's Lodging House for Respectable People who Face their Problems Head-on.Fleet was there to keep the appointment written on the card that had been found on Dr Salik's body, and discover whether the other party knew anything about the circumstances of his murder.

F/X: Footsteps on gravel path.Second set of footsteps on gravel path.First set stop, second set stop shortly after.Pause.First set restarts, second set restarts shortly after.First set stop, second set stop shortly after.Pause.First set restarts.Second set restarts.

FLEET: Miss Entwhistle!

CLARA: Ah! Inspector Fleet, what a coincidence.

FLEET: Coincidence be damned.You followed me here.

CLARA: No.But I did take a note of what was written on that appointment card.And I brought you that cake you didn't know you wanted.No.Wait.I ate it on the voltaic omnibus.Marvellous aren't they?

FLEET: Omnibuses?

CLARA: Mrs Pomligan's cakes! I mean they are almost certainly not cakes, but even so.Now, let's not argue Inspector, because as soon as you've seen the knack I have for ferreting things out you'll wish at once you'd agreed to work the case together so let's save time by skipping your refusal.I'm your ginger bun, do you see?

FLEET: I beg your pardon?

CLARA: Figuratively speaking, I'm your Mrs Pomligan's ginger bun: doesn't seem that appealing, but gets the job done.

FLEET: Miss Entwhistle, this case must be handled with sensitivity and care by a trained officer from Scotland Yard.Now, if you'll excuse me–

CLARA: Don't ring the bell!

FLEET: It seems an unavoidable part of this.

CLARA: We haven't agreed our plan!

FLEET: What do you mean "our"?

CLARA: First person plural possessive.

FLEET: That's clearly not what I meant.Please just allow me to–

F/X: DOOR OPENS

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Can I help you?

FLEET: Yes.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Oh, of course, I see it all now.

FLEET: Mrs Hampshire, allow me to explain

MRS HAMPSHIRE: No need.I understand perfectly.

FLEET: How could–

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Two young things shilly shallying on my doorstep, can only mean one thing.Touches nose.

FLEET: Did you just say "touches nose"?

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Indeed.

FLEET: You know you don't say touches nose, you just touch your nose.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Yes.Of course.Touches nose.

FLEET: Right.Well.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: And never let it be said that Mrs Hampshire doesn't understand young love.

FLEET: Ah.Oh.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Touches nose.

FLEET: No.No.You've misunderstood we are not, that is to say I am In….

CLARA: Darling, I think Mrs Hampshire's nose here can be relied upon to sniff out an elopement.We're on our way to Gretna Green.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: How romantic, I've got just the room.Please come in and make yourself at home in the parlour.

F/X: MRS HAMPSHIRE WALKS AWAY

CLARA: I told you… ginger bun.I'll keep her talking and you interview some of the guests.

FLEET: I can conduct my own investigations thank you very much Miss Entwhistle, please leave.

CLARA: (LOUDER) I say, Mrs Hampshire, could I trouble you for a glass of water…

(WHISPERING TO FLEET) I'm not even thirsty!

FLEET: Don't wink at me, we're not colluding!

F/X: SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS WALKING AWAY

(SIGHS)

SCENE 8.

F/X: KNOCK ON DOOR

GREY: Go away.

F/X: KNOCK ON DOORListen, Eliza, I know what you are going to say but the simple fact of the matter is that I don't have any money to marry on, despite what I said after that bottle of port.Marriage is simply not possible.There, I've said it, so let's shake hands when we see each other next and say no more about it.

FLEET: Sir, my name is Inspector Archibald Fleet.

GREY: Oh.

F/X: DOOR OPENSSorry about that, thought you were someone else.Charles Grey.Listen, if this is about those railways bonds, I can explain.

FLEET: No, I'm interested in finding out who rented the room next to yours.

GREY: I don't know.He's hardly ever here, maybe once a month.Seems to use it more as a meeting place than a dwelling from what I could tell.

F/X: KNOCK ON DOOR, DOOR OPENS.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Mr Grey, could I have a word? Ah, I see you've met our new guest.

GREY: Guest? I thought you said–

FLEET: Don't worry, I'll leave you to it.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: No need.This won't take long.I hope you don't mind if I speak candidly, Mr Grey?

GREY: Well, how candidly are we talking?

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Most.

GREY: I see.

FLEET: I really don't mind going.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Only there seems to be have been a misunderstanding over your engagement to my daughter.

GREY: Misunderstanding?

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Yes on account of you not considering yourself to be, in fact, engaged.

FLEET: If you'll just let me squeeze past I'll….

GREY: Ah well now …

FLEET: I can easily just slip out…

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Yet Eliza, being the sentimental girl she is, kept all of your letters in which your promise of marriage is quite plain.

GREY: I, well, um, now, well...

FLEET: Just to confirm, you are both aware that I am still here, yes?

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Though as a woman of the world, it did cross my mind that a young gentleman such as yourself might have, in the heat of the moment, got, how shall we say? Carried away.

GREY: Yes, exactly, an unguarded moment of rashness.MISS HAMPSHIRE And I suppose a scandal could be avoided were you to offer some form of reparation for a poor fatherless girl's disappointment.Say, one hundred pounds?

GREY: One hundred pounds!

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Splendid, we're agreed.Now, I have another guest to check in on.I'll pick up the banker's draft tomorrow.Have it made out to Mrs Hampshire, spelt "Hampshire" as in "Hampshire".

F/X: MRS HAMPSHIRE EXITS

GREY: I say Inspector, don't suppose you could lend a fellow £100 could you? Bad night on the old marriage market.You know.

TRANSITION

FLEET: Miss Entwhistle, what on earth are you doing? And why are you still here?

CLARA: Shh–listen.

TREDGOLD: (OFF) But Mrs Hampshire, it's not that I don't care for dear Eliza.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: (OFF) Mr Tredgold, what is a poor mother to say to an innocent girl so cruelly jilted, and your letters so firm in the matter of matrimony.I wonder what a lawyer would say?

TREDGOLD: (OFF) Now steady on! Lawyers? Surely we can smooth this over?

MRS HAMPSHIRE: (OFF) I suppose the loss of a fiancé might be eased by a financial consideration; say one hundred pounds?

TREDGOLD: (OFF) One hundred pounds!

MR HAMPSHIRE: (OFF) Splendid! You can have the banker's draft made out to Mrs Hampshire, one big "h", one small "h", and one of all the other letters in the word "Hampshire". Is someone there?

F/X: DOOR OPENINGAh, the turtle doves.

CLARA: Coo!

FLEET: What?

CLARA: Well let's hear yours!

FLEET: What?!

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Bessie should have fitted your room up by now.Come this way.

F/X: WINDOW SMASHINGWhat on earth was that?

FLEET: Sounded like a window being broken.A window being broken inwards.Mrs Hampshire you have an intruder.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: You're a clairvoyant! How mysterious.You must meet my daughter, Eliza.

FLEET: I'm afraid I am a police detective and it is imperative that I get into that room.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: You're a detective and you're eloping?

FLEET: I'm not eloping.I'm just a detective.

MRS HAMPSHIRE: Well who is she?

CLARA: Clara Entwhistle, Morning Chronicler.Who rents that room Mrs Hampshire?

FLEET: There's no time, Miss Entwhistle.There's a man in that room.Mrs Hampshire, open the door!

MRS HAMPSHIRE: I had the spare key yesterday, let me retrace my steps…

F/X: WINDOW SMASHING

FLEET: We're out of time! That was the sound of the window being broken outward.Our intruder is escaping! Stand back everyone.

F/X: DOOR KICKED OPENYou there! Stop! Stop I say.Don't look around.Obviously I mean you.Don't point at yourself – do you see anyone else climbing out of a broken window? Yes it is hard to look nonchalant when you're wearing a mask isn't it? No.No, now don't jump out of that window… I'm warning you….

F/X: PERSON JUMPSHe jumped! After I told him not to!

CLARA: Jump after him!

FLEET: I'm going to!

CLARA: Go on then!

FLEET: I am! Just a second… Stand back.

CLARA: Why?

FLEET: (SCREAMS)

SCENE 9.

F/X: STREET NOISE

FLEET: Damn it, he's getting in a cab.

F/X: BANGING ON CABStop, police! Stop! Stop!

F/X: HORSE WALKING, CAB PULLS AWAY

FLEET: Right.Um, er, oh!

(SHOUTING) You, cabbie, put your fag out and let's get going.

CABBIE: I'm on a break.

FLEET: This is police business.Get on the damned thing and follow that cab.

CABBIE:

(SIGHS)

FLEET: I'll give you a shilling.

CABBIE: Ready when you are, sir.

FLEET: I'm ready, get on the cab!

F/X: DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES.

CABBIE: All set?

FLEET: Go!

CABBIE: Alright then.Where to?

FLEET: Follow that bloody cab!

CABBIE: Which one?

FLEET: The one at the end of the street, with the masked man staring at us out the back window.

CABBIE: Right you are, sir.

F/X: HORSE WALKING, CAB MOVING SLOWLY.Plans for the weekend, sir?

FLEET: None at the moment.

CABBIE: Myself I'm visiting a dear aunt Tabitha.Tabby we call her.I know, sounds like a cat.But she's not a cat.She's my aunt.

FLEET: Faster, damn you!

CABBIE: Well, I suppose the crux of it is to do with her cat, Delilah, who is a tabby as it happens.Huh.I've never put those together before.How about that?

FLEET: I don't care about your aunt, her cat, or their shared tabbiness.Catch up with that damned cab!

CABBIE: He's moving quick, isn't he? Must have paid the driver a fair shilling.Or two.

FLEET: What?

CABBIE: Well I'm just saying it's very much incumbent on the agents of any transaction to utilise their advantages – vis a vis the other agent's desired outcomes – to extract for themselves the maximum possible benefit.

FLEET: What?

CABBIE: Well I've got this cab here, the horse goes a certain speed, he can be motivated to go faster with a flick of the wrist of a talented groom such as myself, and as a talented groom such as myself I can be motivated to go faster with a flick of the purse of an equivalently motivated passenger such as yourself.

FLEET: Are you extorting the police?

CABBIE: I am but an humble manifestation of market forces.

FLEET: I already paid you a shilling!

CABBIE: That's for the ride while I was on my break.Catching up with the other cab – that's another shilling.

FLEET: Fine, take it.

CABBIE: Alright, hold on.

F/X: HORSE GALLOPING.

(SHOUTING) Out of the way.

FLEET: My word, be careful.

CABBIE: Not for a measly 2 shillings

FLEET: What?

CABBIE: The well-being of passers-by is not included in the agreed two shilling fare.

FLEET: I think it's bloody implied!

CABBIE: I think you should have made it clear at the outset of our arrangement.

(SHOUTING) Look out there!

F/X: CABBIE RINGS BELL, PEOPLE SCREAM.Close one.

FLEET: Fine, have another damned shilling.

CABBIE: Alright, I think we can safely catch up with them now.

FLEET: Your superiors shall be receiving a strongly worded letter after all this.

CABBIE: My superiors don't read letters for anything less than 10 shillings.Right, this the one alongside us?

FLEET: Yes! What's he doing?

CABBIE: Looks like he's giving my colleague over there another shilling to speed up.Alright Freddy!

FREDDY: Alright Jasps! You chasing us?

CABBIE: We are, yeah!

FREDDY: Well my hooded passenger and I, we've just concluded a negotiation over a possible acceleration, so I'll be proceeding with that imminently.

CABBIE: Of course.I'll just inform my passenger.

FLEET: I bloody heard.Now look, I'll give both of you five extra shillings to stop right now.

CABBIE: Oh!

FREDDY: I see.One second.No, my masked passenger's run out of cash.Jasps?

CABBIE: Works for me.Alright, hand it all to me and I'll sort out Freddy's share.

FLEET: There.

CABBIE: Alright, let's just pull up over here then.Oh, your masked quarry's jumped out.

FLEET: Let me out.

F/X: DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING.

CABBIE: Have a nice one.

FLEET: I'll be back for you!

CABBIE: At your service, sir!

F/X: FLEET RUNNING, BREATHLESS.

FLEET: You in the mask! Stop! Stop, damn you! I said stop, in the name of the law!

F/X: FLEET LAUNCHING HIMSELF AND TACKLING THE FIGURE TO THE GROUNDI've got you now…and I'll have your mask too if you don't mind….

F/X: A TUSSLE / STRUGGLEAh ha!

(PAUSE) I'm not quite sure now why I was expecting to recognise you.Still, doesn't matter, that'll be easy enough once I have you back at the Yard.Now if you'll just come with–

F/X: SMACK.THUMP OF BODY HITTING THE GROUND.

SCENE 10.

FLEET:

(IN PAIN) Ohh…

CLARA: Shh…

FLEET: I'll be ok.

CLARA: No, shush! You'll wake my birds.

F/X: SLEEPING BIRDS.

FLEET: Where am I?

CLARA: My lodgings, about 10 minutes away from where I found you.You got knocked unconscious.

FLEET: Ah.

(SIGH) Miss Entwhistle.Of course.

(PAUSE) Well, I suppose I should thank you for making sure I was okay.

CLARA: You're welcome.PAUSE

FLEET: Nice place.

CLARA: Don't be unkind.

FLEET: It's not bad! Big windows.

CLARA: Yes, it makes my birds happy.Or possibly sad.I'm not sure.

FLEET: I say, you've got a pretty good vantage point over the square.You can see onto the roof of the Grouse and Chisel.Who's that on it?

CLARA: Oh it's just one of the local street urchins – they were hanging around the body when I first discovered it.

FLEET: And you didn't think to mention it?

CLARA: You didn't ask.Anyway, he was there, the one on the roof now.I remember because he was the only one wearing shoes.

FLEET: Not just any shoes.Very shiny shoes.Suspicious.

CLARA: The shoes or the shine?

FLEET: Both.Come on, let's pay him a visit.

CLARA: Inspector Fleet, are you inviting me to help you with your investigation?

FLEET: Not help, just observe.Though if anything does occur to you, you might make mention of it, I suppose.

CLARA: Why the sudden change?

FLEET: Well, you did scrape me off the pavement.

CLARA: Minimal scraping necessary.The cabbie did most of the heavy lifting.Said it was the least he could do, for the three shillings he then took from your pocket.

FLEET: Of course.

CLARA: Look lively Inspector, we don't want to miss him.

SCENE 11.

F/X: FOOTSTEPS ON ROOFTOP.

FLEET: Spend a lot of time on rooftops?

WHISTLER: Ain't got no money to spend.But in time, I am richer than a prince.

CLARA: What's your name?

WHISTLER: Whistler.

FLEET: Is that your real name, or a nickname?

WHISTLER: Hard to say.

CLARA: I bet you know a lot about what goes on around here.

WHISTLER: Maybe I do and maybe I don't.

FLEET: I bet you see some interesting things.And I bet that sometimes they're criminal.And I bet that sometimes you let the criminals know you've seen them, and I bet they'd do more or less anything to keep you quiet.Even give you the shoes they were wearing.Those are nice shoes, by the way.

WHISTLER: I know a kind-hearted cobbler.

FLEET: There are no kind-hearted cobblers! What do you know about the death of Dr Salik?

WHISTLER: Why should I tell you?

FLEET: I'm the police.

WHISTLER:

(LAUGHS)

CLARA: You don't think it would be useful to have the police owe you a favour?

WHISTLER: Hmm… A free pass on a crime of my choosing?

FLEET: Let's play it by ear.What happened to the man?

WHISTLER: He fell.

FLEET: I know that.Who pushed him?

WHISTLER: I didn't see that.

FLEET: Rubbish.You were here.

WHISTLER: He didn't fall from here.

FLEET: What?

WHISTLER: He fell somewhere else.Then they brought him here.

FLEET: Someone brought a dead body away from where he actually fell? Why? Where did he fall from?

WHISTLER: The tower.

FLEET: Which tower?

WHISTLER: The tower.

FLEET: Oh.Oh dear.

CLARA: Fleet, look!

NARRATOR: A pair of ravens which had been circling over their heads suddenly dived down to street level where two men stood.The birds landed on the men's outstretched black gauntlets and walked up to their shoulders.

CLARA: Who are they?

FLEET: Beefeaters.

CLARA: Are you alright? You've gone quite pale.Surely the Warders aren't as bad as all that?

FLEET: No, they're worse.And it appears one of them is the masked man who broke into Mrs Hampshire's.

CLARA: Oh.They're looking at us.

FLEET: I know.

CLARA: Their ravens are looking at us too.

FLEET: I know.

CLARA: What does it mean?

FLEET: Nothing good.

F/X: RAVENS CAWING.Nothing good at all.

END