The Last Witness Page #3

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- Evening, gents. What can I get you?

- Er, how much for this?

- Fourpence.

- Hmm.

- And for this?

- Thruppence-ha'penny.

Two pints of the Special,

please, sir.

Slops for swine.

- Same again, sir?

- Please.

Bloody scab labour.

There's talk of letting 'em

down the mines next.

The war's over.

Send the buggers back, I say.

Instead of giving 'em

our boys' jobs.

Can't go back

because of the Bolshies?

Well, you won't escape

the Reds here, son.

Not with the Labour Party

running the country.

- You know nothing.

- Who's asking you, Polak?

I am not Polak. I am Russian.

What do I care? You're all

the bloody same. Now go home!

- All right, we're going.

- Well, go on then!

- Hey, we are going.

- And don't come back!

You're not welcome here!

All right, Bill. It's still my name

above the door. That's enough.

We're leaving.

Eh, lad, what about your drinks?

Stephen?

Stephen?

Mr. Nowak, it's me, Jeanette

Mitchell, from the camp.

Yes, er...

we have to get back, sorry.

He said he was a Russian.

I write for a newspaper.

I just want to ask you

a few questions.

No.

You're a Russian,

pretending to be a Pole, why?

Mr. Loboda, please!

I am not pretending

to be anyone.

If you saw what I saw,

then you understand.

- What have you seen?

- Ivan.

They kill you like

they want to kill me.

Who wants to kill you?

They all do.

Stephen?

- Stephen...

- I'm fine.

Please, Stephen.

- What did he have?

- I don't remember.

Clothes mainly. Hardly anything.

Don't do this.

You heard what he said.

Don't you think if, er...

someone wanted to kill him,

they would have done so already?

Not if they don't know

who he is.

He could be involved

in the suicides.

Loboda could be the story.

Let me do this.

For us.

It's Polish.

He could be keeping it

for a friend.

No.

Rose. Rose Miller,

the typist at work.

Her family's from Poland.

She could translate it for me.

No! What about Loboda?

What if he discovers it's gone?

Tell me things don't go missing

around here all the time.

Are you drunk?

What if he thinks it was me?

Mm, just put him off

for a while.

I thought this was supposed

to be about us?

It is.

Because it seems like you want

me to take all the risks.

Give me the box.

I need to do this.

Huh!

Ah.

Mr. Underwood?

I did it.

The story, the Cider Festival.

Thank you.

I need another favor.

- Of course, anything.

- I need this translated.

If you can ask your father.

- What's it about?

- I don't know.

Again, just between us.

As soon as you can.

Stephen Underwood.

Stephen!

They can't find him anywhere.

My sincere apologies

again, Colonel.

The truth is, Captain, Mr. Loboda

has a habit of disappearing,

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