Scene 4

EXT. A QUIET LONDON SIDE STREET. 4 a.m.

Baker’s footsteps echo eerily as he approaches.

BAKER: We won’t go until we’ve got some, so bring some out here. Glad tidings I bring... ( Suddenly wary) Who’s there? Come out into the light. ( A moment) I warn you, I have a stick!

Suddenly, very close and menacing:

1st ROUGH: Hello, my friend.

BAKER: What? Who are you?

2nd ROUGH: He doesn’t know us, Harry.

1st ROUGH: We’re the poor and needy. How’d you like to give us a present?

BAKER: You’re nothing but a couple of roughs. Get out of my way, or I’ll summon a constable.

2nd ROUGH: ( Taking it) Nice hat, this.

BAKER: Give that back at once!

2nd ROUGH: ( Disgusted) ‘S’too big. ( He flings it away with a grunt) Flies nice, though.

BAKER: My hat!

1st ROUGH: What’s in the parcel, then?

He grabs it.

BAKER: No!

2nd ROUGH: Oh, something precious, is it? Let’s have a butcher’s.

They begin to tear off the paper.

The object is revealed.

The roughs are impressed.

1st ROUGH: Well now, that’s what I call a handsome present. Go down a treat, that will.

BAKER: Very well. I gave you fair warning. Much as I deplore violence...

2nd ROUGH: Oh - we’d better give it back to him, Harry. He’s got a stick!

BAKER: Take that!

He swings back his stick with a grunt - and puts it straight though a shop window.

BAKER: Oh my good God.

A frozen moment. Then the roughs burst out laughing.

1st ROUGH: Congratulations, me old chum. Welcome to the wrong side of the law.

Suddenly, from a distance:

PETERSON: Here! What’s going on?

2nd ROUGH: It’s a copper!

BAKER: Oh no.

1st ROUGH: Shift yourself Fred!

The roughs drop the parcel and run off.

PETERSON: ( Still off) That’s right. Get off out of it!

BAKER: Oh my life.

He gathers himself together and runs.

PETERSON: ( Approaching) Not you! I didn’t mean... ( To himself) Oh God. ( Calling) What about your hat?

His foot catches the partly-wrapped bundle.

PETERSON: What the devil’s this?

He picks it up with a grunt. It’s not light. He pulls aside the wrapping.

PETERSON: Good Lord.

A solo violin flourish takes us to: