LOCKWOOD   I am not a doctor, Charles, but my wife has two topics of conversation. One is the Royal Family and the other is her bowels.
The pig farts again and they stagger back at the sheer horror of the stench.

PRESTON   Why not kill it now?

ALLARDYCE   No.

NUTTALL   I’m not having this joker in my fridge a minute longer than I have to. I’ve fetched up my tackle. I’ll kill it in a day or two.

DR SWABY   The dinner’s on Thursday.

SUTCLIFF   I still haven’t had my invite.

DR SWABY   Blame Henry.

SUTCLIFF   I’m taking such a risk.

DR SWABY   (giving him an envelope) Not for much longer.

ALLARDYCE   There! She’s stood up.

INT. CHILVERS’ GARAGE. EVENING.

Gilbert is putting the wheels back on his car. While Mother squats by a rear wheel with a kerosene lamp, Gilbert is straining to tighten a nut. There are newspapers on the back seat and Joyce can be seen intermittently through the far window as she pumps up the other rear tyre with a hand pump. Gilbert stumbles as he moves to the back of the garage.

GILBERT   Over here.
Mother, still crouched at the rear wheel, comes over with the torch to help Gilbert, who ferrets out a can of petrol that he has hidden.
This was going to take us to Scarborough.

JOYCE   (as she pumps up the tyre) Scarborough! It’ll take us further than Scarborough. It’ll take us to the top in this town, will this. They’ll be lining up, wanting to get to know us then. Dr Swaby. Mr Allardyce. Oh yes. And I’ll give them cocktails and we’ll nibble at those refined little sausages before going in to a sumptuous meal. It’s not just pork. It’s power.

GILBERT   (pouring the petrol in) Leave off, Joyce.

MOTHER   Sausage. Have you been having sausage?

GILBERT   (crossly) Hold it up.

JOYCE   She used to be such a grand woman.

INT. MRS FORBES’S HALL. NIGHT.

Mrs Forbes is listening at a door. She knocks and goes in.

MRS FORBES   Mr Wormold, what are you doing, sitting in the dark? (Switches the light on.) Put the fire on.

WORMOLD   We’ve been asked to save power.
She collects a teacup and a side plate.

MRS FORBES   You are a model, Mr Wormold. Will Mr Barraclough go to prison?
There is a silence.
I wouldn’t do it for anybody else.

WORMOLD   You believe in my mission, Mrs Forbes. No news of Mr Forbes?

MRS FORBES   No, Mr Wormold. (Crouches down by his chair and puts the fire on.) Stop in tonight.

WORMOLD   I must catch the killer. The man who butchers the pigs.

MRS FORBES   He doesn’t have to be a butcher?

WORMOLD   Who knows?
Wormold shakes his head. Mrs Forbes is not getting up.
What?

MRS FORBES   You’ve not been crying?

INT. CHILVERS’ KITCHEN. NIGHT.