Ministry Of Fear Page #2

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I haven't been out much at night myself.

I hear the bombers overhead every night.

They pass over my farm on their way to London.

It's a dread sound.

Yes, it is.

[ Train Whistle Blowing ]

- Would you like some cake?

- Cake?

Yes. I won it

back there at the fte.

You might as well share it with me.

It's a long way to a London restaurant.

Well, if you're going to have some--

Here you are.

Ah. Feel how light it is.

Made with eggs.

You'd think it was made with gold,

the way they wanted to hang on to it.

[ Airplanes Passing Overhead ]

I hear them now.

- What?

- The Nazis.

[ Airplane Engines Grow Louder ]

[ Explosions ]

They must be trying for the Blackmoor Factory.

[ Explosions Continue ]

[ Loud Explosion ]

Some low buildings about a mile.

That's it.

It's a munitions plant.

[ Bombs Whistling ]

[ Bombing Noises Fade ]

[ Door Creaking ]

Excuse me. There didn't seem

to be anyone here.

- What do you want?

- I'm looking for Mr. Rennit.

I'm Mr. Rennit. You should

have made an appointment.

Evidently you don't want clients.

Good morning.

Now, now, now, now.

You don't want to lose your temper.

I'm a busy man.

There are ways of doing things.

Take a chair, and we'll both have a drink.

- Not a bad idea.

- It's an excellent idea.

These raids-- bad for the nerves.

One must have a little something.

One gets rattled.

You'll excuse a teacup?

I've never objected to stimulants...

as stimulants.

- Your health.

- I may need it.

Now, to business.

- Your name?

- Stephen Neale.

Hmm.

Have you a pencil?

Thank you.

How did you happen to come to me?

Because I don't like my hotel room being

ransacked while I'm out at breakfast.

I don't like being robbed on trains or shot at.

Mr. Neale...

this is a respectable business with a tradition.

I'm not Sherlock Holmes.

A man in my position

doesn't go crawling about floors...

with a microscope looking for bloodstains.

If you're in that kind of trouble,

you should go to the police.

I don't wish to be mixed up with the police.

I'm sorry. It would've been worth

20 to have you come with me.

20, eh?

- W-Well, let's get on with it.

- I see.

Yes, war plays the devil

with a business like this.

Come on.

[ Typewriter Keys Clacking ]

You come in if there's trouble.

Yes?

- Good afternoon.

- Good afternoon.

I'm looking for the address

of a Mrs. Bellane.

- No lady of that name works here.

- She was helping with your charity fte at Lembridge.

[ Chuckles ] Oh, they were

voluntary helpers. I'm sorry.

We can't possibly disclose...

the addresses of the voluntary helpers.

Well, isn't there some way I can get it?

A mistake was made. She gave me

a cake that didn't belong to me.

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