All language subtitles for Rumpole s04e05 him.eng

Subtitles downloaded from www.OpenSubtitles.org

(Dog barking)

(Doors slam)

(Aircraft roars overhead)

Sergeant Wilson.

Did anyone have a reason
for disliking Sergeant Wilson, Sandy?

- I should have said, quite candidly...
- Yes?

I should have said
pretty well everyone, sir.

(Aircraft roars overhead)

It's not a tremendously easy thing
to have to tell her. The frock, I mean.

Oh, yes, I'm with you, sir.
Not tremendously easy.

(Rings)

Good morning, Mrs Wilson.

Where did they find him?

Near a bar. A sort of bar or disco.
Der Rosenkavalier.

- How... how did he get there?
- We don't know.

Nor do we know how he came to be
dressed as he was, but we'll find out.

Oh, I didn't know.
I didn't know he was so far away.

Did he tell you where he was going?

Not then.

Not then. He didn't say anything.

Who dressed him up like that?

I'm Captain Betteridge
of the Special Investigation Branch.

I have the authority of your husband's
CO to search this married quarter.

Are you expecting
Trooper Boyne back soon?

- (Baby crying)
- (German accent) In...

In ten minutes, Danny will be home.

Then you won't mind
if I have a look around now, will you?

(Baby continues crying)

(Door shuts)

(Betteridge) Trooper Boyne?
(Glasgow accent) That's me.

I'm Captain Betteridge of the SIB.

I'm making enquiries concerning
the death of Sergeant Wilson.

Is this the garment you wore last night
when you visited Der Rosenkavalier?

Yeah. Well, I suppose so.

- (Baby crying)
- Hadn't you better see to that child?

Oh. Yeah.

You do not have to say anything
unless you wish to do so

but what you say
may be given in evidence.

(Man) How many murders
have you done, Mr Rumpole?

Please, Major, he's Horace.

- I'm Hilda. And you are...
- Johnnie. It's only Major retired.

I have done more murders, Major
retired, than you've had hot dinners.

Try not to show off.
And he wants us to call him Johnnie.

- What?
- He suggests that we call him Johnnie.

My young nephew Sandy's in Germany.
He's having a bit of trouble with murder.

- He's got a murder in his regiment.
- Murder?

- A young trooper.
- Murder in his regiment?

Mention murder and Rumpole pricks up
his ears. Murder is mother's milk to him.

- Who's he supposed to have murdered?
- His troop sergeant.

- His sergeant? Oh, justifiable homicide.
- You should know.

You've done a court martial? Perhaps
not more than I've had hot dinners.

Er... courts martial? But of course.

But perhaps not more
than you've had gins and tonic.

Point taken. Hilda, the other half.

Oh, well, just a tiny weeny one... Johnnie.

You've never done
a court martial in your life!

Mum's the word.

I thought for a moment
I could sniff the odour of a distant brief.

(Aircraft roars overhead)

(Tannoy dings)

(Announcement in German)

- (Sandy) Mr Horace Rumpole?
- Yes.

Military escort's waiting.
You're under arrest.

Smuggling wigs through customs.

- (Sandy laughing)
- Very funny.

You think so, sir?
I can do much better than that.

Come on, military escort.
We'd better get you a porter for that lot.

Trager. Bitte nehmen Sie das gepack.

- Thank you.
- (Clicking tongue) Come on.

- I'm Sandy Ransom, by the way.
- Captain Ransom, yes.

- Defending officer.
- I thought I was doing the defending.

You are. I'm just your runner.
You give me orders, you see.

When we have a trooper in trouble,
the whole regiment rallies round him.

- Really?
- Point of honour, you see.

Sorry I couldn't arrange
better weather for you.

(Sandy) The 37th and 39th.
The Duke of Clarence's Own Lancers.

We've been cavalry
since the dawn of time.

Only yesterday they gave us
beastly old sardine tins to ride about in.

We were in the Charge at Balaclava.

(Sandy chuckles)

The joke was on us then. The Russians
aimed at our sky-blue plumes.

(Laughs) Sky blue's us,

and that's why they call us the Seraphs,
because of our heavenly colour.

- You've met my Uncle Johnnie?
- (Rumpole) Yes, the retired Major.

(Sandy) I told him we were looking
for an ordinary barrister.

(Rumpole) Ordinary?

(Sandy) Parade a flashy QC, and they'd
convict Danny before he got his hat off.

(Rumpole) Really?
(Sandy) Yes.

Just to teach the cavalry a lesson.

Anyway, old Uncle Johnnie said
you'd done loads of courts martial.

(Rumpole) Er... oh, yes.

Loads.

(Rumpole) 'This seraph-band,
each waved its hand.

'It was a heavenly sight!

'They stood as signals to the land,
each one a lovely light.

'This seraph-band, each waved his hand,

'No voice did they impart -

'No voice, but oh! The silence sank

'Like music on my heart.'

- Steady on, sir.
- What?

There's no need
for you to return their salutes.

(Indistinct chatter)

- Mr Rumpole, sir.
- Most impressive.

Horace Rumpole, sir. The Colonel.

- Hugo Undershaft.
- Colonel.

- Now, this is Major Graham Sykes.
- Major.

- Lieutenants Tony Ross...
- How d'you do?

...Alan Hamwick.
- Mr Hamwick.

- Alan's duty officer. Is that all of us?
- All we could rustle up, sir.

We can't lure many people
into the mess.

They stay at home with their wives.

- But we thought we'd better turn out.
- It's decent of you.

- Sir.
- Thank you.

He's brought up some of the regimental
Bollinger. Does that suit you?

- It suits me admirably. Thank you.
- Thank you.

- Thanks.
- Thank you.

Well, then! Here's to crime.

- We'd prefer to drink to the regiment.
- (Soldiers) The regiment.

The boy had to go to a court martial.

But we rely on you to get him off. It's a
question of the honour of the regiment.

Of course. The regiment! Yes.

A few decent pieces. You won't see
any Georgian silver in the Pay Corps.

Malplaquet, Oudenarde,

Torres Vedras, Mafeking,
Paschendale, Mons, El Alamein...

The battle honours of the Seraphs.
Reads well.

"For the sake of honour".
The Duke of Clarence's Own Lancers.

So it can't be said
we had a murderer in our ranks.

Certainly not, not after you've killed
all those other people.

(Laughs)

I say! Do you know,
that was really terribly funny?

- Was it really?
- Yes, distinctly humorous.

You're a bit of a wag.
I can see I have some competition.

Shall we go into dinner?
We heard you were a claret man.

Oh, yes, indeed, mm.

(Laughter and chatter)

I... I am not altogether innocent
of matters military.

I have done the state some service,
and they know it.

An excellent glass of port.
Nothing wrong with it.

Yes, I saw service
in the Second World War.

- On the Western Front?
- Mm, RAF Dungeness. Ground staff.

That is not to say we didn't see
some pretty hairy nights.

A bomb fell on the NAAFI?

(Laughter)

It did, as a matter of fact.
Not an altogether laughable experience.

Of course not.
Sandy, the port's stuck to the table.

I don't know how many of you gentlemen
saw service in the Second World War.

- A touch too young for it, I'm afraid.
- I wasn't even a glint in my father's eye.

My father was in Burma.
He's a terrible bore about it.

I was four when the war ended, so I was
hardly in a position to join the regiment.

We never got invited to the Falklands.

Oh, dear. Soldiers of the Queen,
born too late for a war.

- Do you honestly think it's too late?
- It's too late for your sort of war.

Too late for Ramillies and Oudenarde
and the Thin Red Line

and "Hats off to you fuzzy-wuzzies,
you've broken a British square."

Too late even for Paschendale
and Tobruk.

No, next time a boffin
will press a button and good night, all.

Well, yes...

"Farewell, the plumed troop,
and the big wars,

"That make ambition virtue!

"O, farewell!"

The Colonel's occupation's gone.

(Rumpole chuckles)

Oh, let's face it. Nowadays, you're
only playing at soldiers, aren't you?

- Well, perhaps. But while we're here...
- (Rumpole) Yes, what?

...we may as well play the game
as well as we can.

It would be exceedingly boring
if we did not.

(Rumpole) Yeah.

And...
we have to do our best for the regiment.

Ah, of course, the regiment!

It isn't customary to drink
to the regiment after dinner,

except on formal evenings in the mess.

Oh, so sorry. Not to the regiment!

- Well, what's happening now?
- The Colonel is going to play the piano.

That's rather more what I expected!
A sing-song after dinner in the mess!

Roll out the barrel!
Let's have a barrel of fun...

You sang that in Dungeness?

Roll out the barrel
We've got the blues on the run...

- ( Beethoven "Moonlight Sonata")
- Sing...

Perhaps we are all
practising idiotically for a war

which will begin by obliterating us all.

But we're still responsible, aren't we?

Responsible for our soldiers,

men like Trooper Boyne.

We pick them out
of a backstreet in Glasgow,

we... give 'em a haircut, new boots,

we feed them, water them,

and teach them how to kill people
in all sorts of ingenious ways.

And then we can't even offer them a
proper soldier's war in which to do it in.

So what can we expect?

Can we expect them to turn into nice
quiet members of the Salvation Army?

(Stops)

We are responsible
for Trooper Boyne...

...which is why...

...we have got to take
all possible steps...

...to see that he is acquitted.

- Did I go too far?
- Oh, yes.

- It was enormously entertaining.
- Oh.

Your Colonel is a very tolerant man.

Yes, well, he won't be
if we let down the regiment.

- We've got to win, you know?
- Oh, I shall do my best.

As an "ordinary" barrister.

- Wrong way, sir.
- What?

- That's married quarters.
- Oh.

The late Sergeant lived
up that staircase.

Did he? Did he indeed?

You'll want some sleep. We're seeing
Trooper Danny boy in the morning.

Oh. Yes.

I often wondered
what QCs had for breakfast.

- What? Oh! I'm not a QC.
- Oh, really?

- No.
- I'm sure Sandy told us you were.

He said you were
brilliant at murder cases.

Ah, now, there he speaks
nothing less than the truth.

Sandy's a great one for jokes,
usually of the practical variety.

- A joker, is he?
- Yes.

We had this man
from the Ministry out here,

Undersecretary of Defence.

Sandy turned up in the mess pretending
to be a visiting German officer.

He'd got the uniform from somewhere.
Sandy speaks German.

Does your Colonel
allow that sort of thing?

Oh, well, Hugo was away
that night of course,

Brigade Headquarters, somehow.

But no one can be really angry
with Sandy, you know.

He's a sort of licensed jester.
Puts on the panto.

Aladdin. I was the dame.

Really? You have hidden talents, Major.

It was Sandy who brought it out of me.
He's such a wonderful producer.

Sandy was born into the regiment.

His father was colonel,
grandfather a lieutenant general.

Yes, Sandy was born into the cavalry.

With a silver bit in his mouth?

You say that Sergeant "Jumbo" Wilson
picked on you.

- Why did he do that?
- I don't know.

- No idea?
- I don't know. I've told you.

I've told 'em, sir.

Mr Rumpole's here to help you.
Trust him.

Trust me. That's an order. Doesn't quite
work like that, does it, Trooper Boyne?

You really can't think of a reason?

He just picked on me, like I've said.

- Did you ever say you'd carve him up?
- That was a long time ago.

Three weeks before he died, apparently.

Wilson came to the disco, throwing
his weight about, like he always did.

Shouting so people noticed him. I may
have said it to some blokes at the bar.

- They are coming to give evidence.
- (Sandy) From another regiment.

The Seraphs wouldn't give evidence
against each other. But you said it?

You'd say it about anyone
that's picking on you.

"I'll carve him up."
It's like a common saying.

Danny comes from Glasgow.

Oh, is that going to be our defence?

Now, then, coming to that evening,

Saturday November 22nd.

We were practising for the panto.

- Ransom puts it on at Christmas.
- I can confirm that.

- Until when?
- About nine o'clock.

2100 exactly.

Went back to the married quarters block,
got changed to go out.

- I was meeting my mates at the disco.
- I can confirm that.

I'd stayed on after the rehearsal. When
I left, I saw Boyne leaving his quarters.

We ought to have you as a witness!

I'm quite sure I would make
a terrible witness.

- You got to the Rosenkavalier at 2130.
- Aye, about then.

- (Rumpole) You saw the Sergeant?
- He was there in a corner.

(Rumpole) You said that the place
was dark and crowded.

- Did you recognise the Sergeant?
- I could tell that bastard anywhere.

Please, when you're giving evidence,
don't call the dearly departed a bastard.

It will hardly endear you to the tribunal.

- How was he dressed?
- A sports jacket. A shirt with no tie.

- Not in a frock?
- Not when I saw him.

- Uh-huh. Then you saw this other man.
- Yeah, a German.

German? How do you know that?

He spoke to the girl at the door, then he
saw Wilson and joined him at the table.

"A man with a black leather jacket
and spiky hair."

Aye, a punk.

Did the Sergeant speak to him at all?

- Helmut. I heard call him "Helmut".
- What else?

I didnae hear what they said.
They were sitting in a corner.

But they were still there when I left.

What time?

0100 hours, wasn't it, Danny?

0100.

And you never saw Sergeant Wilson
alive in this world again?

Never.

You went back to the barracks.
Over the back wall?

I don't book in at the guard room.

Yes, especially
as you were confined to barracks.

I had a wee fight
a couple of weeks ago at the disco.

This is the fight where he got the blood
on his cuff. It's in the evidence.

Tell me.

It was a German boy.

He was taking the mickey
out of my wife, out of Hanni.

I took him outside and I gave him
a couple of taps. He must've bled a bit.

But a German boy
with a class AB blood group,

same as the Sergeant's,

a rare blood group enjoyed by three
to four percent of the population.

So it comes to this.

You last saw the Sergeant alive at 1 am,

he was found dead at 4am, after an
anonymous call to the military police...

- (Sandy) From a German.
- Well, in German anyway.

...which gave him time to leave the bar,

slip into his frock, wherever he did that,
quarrel with whoever he quarrelled with...

His friend Helmut? Isn't that most likely?

He couldn't have been dead
more than, what,

Two and a half hours
before he was found?

Yes, the fellows prosecuting accept that.

But do I accept it?

- Do you not believe me?
- I'm not here to believe anything.

I'm here to defend you.

But at some time or another
it might be a bit of a help

if you started to tell me the truth.

(Church bells ring)

- Tell me...
- Anything you want to know.

What does Danny boy
do in the pantomime?

Oh. Sings a couple of Irish songs.
Beautifully, as a matter of fact.

That leads out into the square.
A car could have parked down there.

Sergeant Wilson could have been
lying here in the dark for a long time.

We seem to be a bit short of evidence

as to when Wilson
actually left the barracks.

- Would he book out at the guard room?
- Good heavens, no.

Sergeants are superior beings.
They don't have to book out.

And nobody in the neighbourhood
saw anything, heard anything?

They wouldn't, would they?

- Why do you say that?
- Well, they're all Germans.

The phone call was in German.

- By his boyfriend, perhaps.
- Boyfriend?

Helmut. He might not have been sure
whether he'd killed Jumbo Wilson.

Perhaps he had a fit of remorse.

Why do you say Wilson had
a boyfriend? He was married.

What's that got to do with it?

But you are right. Danny wasn't
telling you the whole truth.

- You know why Jumbo picked on him?
- Tell me.

The Sergeant made a heavy pass

and Danny boy told him to satisfy
his lust on the regimental goat,

or words to that effect.

So, Helmut stabbed Jumbo
in a lovers' quarrel, hm?

After a bit of convivial dressing up.

- A German did it?
- Well, isn't that the obvious solution?

Well, I suppose
it'd get you out of trouble.

- Me?
- Eh? Oh.

I mean the regiment, of course.

Bubbly! I hardly ever get bubbly
with Rumpole.

Not at lunch time in the Old Gloucester.

I'm going to go for the crab salad
and new potatoes. You, Hilda?

Oh, shall we be devils?

Just think what Rumpole's missing.

- What are we celebrating?
- Absolutely nothing.

We so rarely have a chance to talk
with Rumpole here.

Rumple does rather hold the floor
going on about his old murders.

What about this murder?

- The one in Germany?
- Has he talked to you?

He rang up and asked me
to send him a book.

A slim volume. A pamphlet, really.

- A book?
- Yes.

"Variable Factors
to be Taken into Account

"in Determining the Time of Death."

("Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant-Major"
plays on the piano)

- Good book, Mr Rumpole?
- Mm?

Yes, indeed, yes.

In fact, it's so exciting
I think I'll finish it in bed.

(Rumpole grunts)

Ah.

- Ah, Borrow.
- You wanted a torch.

Ah, yes, indeed. It's a bit dark
walking back across the square.

- Sleep well, sir.
- Yes, and you, Captain. Good night.

Kiss me good night

Sergeant Wilson

Tuck me in my little wooden bed

Kiss me good night

Sergeant Wilson

Sergeant Wilson

Be a mother to me

(Sighs)

(Crunching)

Mr Rumpole?

Hail to thee, bright Seraph!

I've dropped a few marks around there.
I must have a... a hole in my pocket.

Oh, can I help at all?

No, it's only money, isn't it?

- Well, sleep well, Lieutenant.
- Good night, sir.

Are you 34916323 Trooper Boyne,

of the 37th and 39th
Duke of Clarence's Own Lancers?

Yes, sir.

You're charged with a civil offence
contrary to Section 70

of the Army Act of 1955,
that is to say murder,

in that at Bad Windsheim on
or about the 23rd day of November last,

you murdered 75334188
Sergeant James Wilson

of the 37th and 39th
of the Duke of Clarence's Own Lancers.

Trooper Boyne,

are you guilty or not guilty of the charge
against you which you have heard read?

I didn't do it, sir.

In those circumstances, Mr President,
I advise you to enter a plea of not guilty.

- Very well.
- Trooper Boyne, please sit down.

(Frobisher) And relax.
We don't want you sitting to attention.

This officer will outline the case against
you. You're not to worry. Mr Rumpole...

(Rumpole) 'Are you sitting comfortably?
Then we'll begin.

'No judge'd ever ask a prisoner that
down the Bailey.'

(Frobisher) Colonel Watford?

If the court pleases, this concerns
the murder of Sergeant James Wilson,

who was found at 0400 hours

on or about 23rd November last, by
military police, stabbed in the stomach...

(Rumpole) 'It's so civilised in the Army,

'and old George Frobisher,
a rotten advocate,

'left the circuit bench
to conduct military trials.

'He's already speaking
in the sweet reasonable tones

'of the professional military man.'

...but which enjoys some popularity
with other ranks.

There are two cogent pieces
of evidence against Trooper Boyne.

One is the blood
on the sleeve of his shirt,

blood of the comparatively rare
AB group, which was Sergeant Wilson's.

'Young Mike Watford who used to
run round for me at London sessions

'when he was an articled clerk.

'Now he's Colonel Watford
and prosecuting Rumpole.

'So the whirligig of time
brings in its revenges.'

...carving Jumbo,
that is Sergeant Wilson, up.

'Never had a jury in uniform before.

'Hm. Unusual collection.

'AII white. No teenage tearaways.

'Oh. There is a lady, though.

'I rather like a lady on a jury.

'I can try the Rumpole charm on her.'

(Watford)... senior pathologist,

who will assist you as to
the time of death, and other matters.

Fr�ulein Greta Schmerz.

You work at Der Rosenkavalier.
What are your duties there?

(German accent) I take the coats.
When I'm not so busy I work at the bar.

Court orderly.

Will you please look at the photograph
of the deceased Sergeant Wilson?

- Have you seen that man before?
- I've seen him at Der Rosenkavalier.

We know that on 22nd November

Sergeant Wilson
was stabbed outside the disco bar.

- We know nothing of the sort!
- Mr Rumpole.

We know he was found dead
outside the disco bar.

We have no idea
where the stabbing took place.

Very well. He was found dead.

Had you seen him
in the disco that night?

I can't remember.

That young man, Trooper Boyne, sitting
there, was he in the disco that night?

- He was there. I remember him.
- He was there. Thank you.

Fr�ulein Schmerz, as far as Sergeant
Wilson, in the photograph, is concerned,

he may have been in the disco,
you don't remember.

Danny and the other two saw him.

Captain. Do you remember a man
in a black leather jacket and spiky hair?

- I do remember.
- Helmut.

I know it's much more exciting
than manoeuvres, but try to stay calm.

- What time did you see him?
- How should I know that?

- How indeed? Well, was it late?
- I think. Perhaps midnight.

- That's helpful. Did he speak to you?
- The punk man? He spoke to me.

- In German?
- Yes. He asked if I'd seen the Sergeant.

Did he say the name Wilson?

He said that.

The soldiers come to the disco
in civilian clothes, do they not,

anoraks, jeans, plimsolls,
that sort of thing?

They weren't in soldiers' dress.

So there is no way that you could tell

if the man in that photograph
was in fact a sergeant?

No.

- Did you know his name was Wilson?
- I didn't know his name.

So you didn't know his name and
you couldn't know if he was a sergeant.

There seems very little point in the punk
asking you that question at all.

Thank you.

(Watford) No re-examination, sir.
(Frobisher) Thank you.

I don't really see how some of that
helps us. What are you trying to do?

Strangely enough, dear old defending
officer, I'm trying to find out the truth.

Mrs Wilson.

- That is your husband, James Wilson?
- Yes, it is.

Thank you, Mrs Wilson.

Yes, Mr Rumpole?

I'm sure we all sympathise greatly with
you on the tragedy that you've suffered.

Yes, that goes without saying.

(Rumpole)
Trooper Boyne and Hanni

lived in a part of the married quarters
quite near your little flat.

- Yes, just downstairs.
- Did you see anything of them?

Well, she was always putting things in
the dustbins. The baby dirties, most like.

Most likely, yes.

Were you at home the night
that your husband died?

Yes, I never went out.

And Trooper Boyne
was never in your flat?

No.

Did you ever ask either of the Boynes
up to your flat?

Course not.

Because your husband was a sergeant
and my client a humble trooper?

- Not just because of that.
- (Rumpole) Oh?

- She was one of them.
- One of what?

- One of them Germans.
- You don't like Germans, Mrs Wilson?

- Well, they did it.
- They did what?

That's why he was out there
in the street, out there dressed like that.

They took him. He was gone.

(Sobbing) Gone!

Don't distress yourself, madam.
Which Germans killed your husband?

I don't know. How could I know?

You say some German killed him.

With respect, she did not say that.
She said took him.

Perhaps the shorthand writer...

She said, "They took him.
He was gone."

I assume by "took" she meant killed.

In my submission, such an assumption
would be extremely dangerous.

The person who killed him
may be somebody different.

What are you suggesting?

I hope that will become clear on my
cross-examination of other witnesses.

(Rumpole) 'As soon as I'm sure
what I am suggesting.'

I don't wish to prolong
this witness's ordeal by keeping her.

- No re-examination, sir.
- (Frobisher) Thank you, Mrs Wilson.

Colonel Borders.

But you didn't ask her the vital question.

- Which is?
- Wasn't Jumbo Wilson a poofter?

For a military man
you know very little about murder.

You don't endear yourself to the court

by asking the weeping widow
if her husband was a poofter.

It sort of adds insult to injury,
doesn't it?

No, I didn't ask the vital question
but I got the vital answer.

- What was that?
- She said took.

Now, wasn't that
a curious way of putting it?

Are you Lieutenant Basil Borders MBE,
of the Royal Army Medical Corps?

I am indeed.

In the absence of Colonel Prescott,
the senior army pathologist,

did you conduct a postmortem
examination on Sergeant Wilson?

- I did indeed.
- Will you tell the court your findings?

The deceased was
a well-nourished man, 35 years old,

with no signs of disease.

(Aircraft roars overhead)

One arm across the windpipe
to stop the victim crying out,

and a stab from the back
penetrating the heart.

Isn't that the accepted military way
of using a knife?

It's the method taught, as I understand
it, in certain commando training.

But Sergeant Wilson
had a knife jabbed into his stomach.

Yes.

So inexpertly,
that it might not have proved fatal.

- It might not have.
- But it happened to penetrate the aorta.

- Indeed.
- It sounds more like a civilian job?

- That could be so.
- Oh, I like it.

(Rumpole) 'Hope you like the rest of it.'

There is no indication
that it was a bayonet?

As I have said,
I believe the blade was flat.

- Mr Rumpole?
- Yes, sir?

Is that the end of your attack
on the defending officer?

For the moment, My Lord... sir, yes.

Then do you think
he might resume his seat?

- Of course.
- (Mild laughter)

Ah... Lieutenant Colonel Borders,

as the army's second most distinguished
and experienced pathologist,

you carried out a most thorough
postmortem examination?

Thank you. Indeed I did.

We're all grateful to you for the trouble
you've taken in this matter.

Thank you.

Rarely have I seen
such expert evidence.

You're very kind.

There is just one little detail,
about the dress.

What are your conclusions
about the dress?

- The dress?
- Yes, there was a cut and bloodstaining.

Of course, you fitted the cut in the dress
to the wound in the body?

I...

- I don't think I did.
- Oh, you don't?

The dress was a matter
for the Scientific Officer.

I don't believe I examined it at all.

Lieutenant Colonel Borders, you are
of course a most expert expert witness...

I like to think so.

...capable of carrying out a postmortem
examination in an efficient way.

I hope so.

Yet you cannot tell us if the sergeant
wore the dress when he was stabbed,

or whether it was cut
and put on him after his death?

No.

I can't tell you that, I'm afraid.

You're afraid? Then I am afraid that
you will not have sufficient expertise

to assist us on another vital matter!

(Frobisher) Mr Rumpole...

Time of death. Do you have any
contribution to make on the subject?

Mr Rumpole.

You're in the habit of conducting
murder cases at the Old Bailey,

with all the lack of inhibition of...
well, shall I say a commando raid?

Sir, you're too kind.

Yes, but the Army is used
to far more peaceful proceedings.

Military court is accustomed to seeing
all witnesses treated with quiet courtesy.

I hope you'll find yourself able
to fall in with our way of doing things.

(Rumpole) 'How you've come on
since you joined the Forces.

'What a lesson in lethal politeness! '

I'm most grateful, sir.

The court will forgive me if I allowed
myself for a moment to show myself

as clumsy and inexpert in my profession
as this officer clearly is in his.

- Mr Rumpole...
- Lieutenant Colonel.

Is that a higher rank than Colonel?

No. Lower.

I'm sorry.
No doubt you will soon be promoted.

You have been given
the basic facts of this case?

I was told the suspect
had been in a disco,

where the sergeant had been seen
by witnesses at around 0100 hours.

At 0100 hours.

The telephone call reporting the stabbing
was received by the police at 0345,

so that when the Army doctor
arrived at 0415 hours

Sergeant Wilson could not have
been dead more than three hours.

- That is so.
- There was a progress of rigor mortis.

Yes.

More than one would expect
in the first three hours.

Rigor has been known
to occur within 30 minutes.

- In very exceptional cases.
- Well, yes.

There was a drop in body temperature
of six degrees Celsius?

Yes.

I have here Professor Ackerman's work
on determining the time of death,

in which he discusses
body temperatures.

Let me put this to you. Would not a drop
of temperature of six degrees Celsius

normally indicate death as occurring
some six hours earlier?

It was a cold night in November,
if you remember.

- That is your answer?
- (Muttering)

Yes.

Hypostasis.

The staining of body tissues

when the blood settles in
the lower parts of the body after death.

Were there not large areas of staining
on Sergeant Wilson's body?

Look at the photographs.

I'm looking.

Does not that staining indicate

death as having occurred
some six hours earlier?

It might indicate that, yes.

Hypostasis is subject
to many variations.

Doesn't everything in those photographs
indicate death as having occurred

about nine o'clock the previous evening?

- Mr Rumpole?
- Yes, sir?

Aren't you forgetting
your client's statement?

He said he saw the Sergeant
in the disco at 1 am.

He could hardly have died
at 9pm the previous evening.

I don't know, sir. Isn't there
some sort of biblical precedent?

One other little matter
on the photographs.

Are there not a number
of pale patches in the body staining?

- Yes, there are.
- Indicating how the body lay after death.

Do they not suggest
one important thing clearly to you?

What do you mean exactly?

What do I mean exactly?

I mean that the patches
do not correspond with the position

in which the body was found.

In other words, that the body
had been moved after death.

I think that may very well be so.

Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Borders.

(Indistinct chatter)

- Died by nine o'clock?
- Yes.

How could he have died by nine o'clock?
He hadn't even met Helmut.

Ah, yes, Helmut. Why do I always
keep forgetting dear old Helmut?

We thought we were getting
an ordinary barrister.

Do ordinary barristers try so damned
hard to get their clients convicted?

Well, someone's got to do
something for that boy.

(German accent) Mr Rumpole?

Oh, Mrs Boyne!

- About the blood on Danny's shirt.
- Yes?

It was the old shirt when he had the fight.

I hadn't washed it, you see.

Then he wore it again that night.

He didn't remember.
I will say all that to them.

(Rumpole) Oh, dear,
what lies love makes some people tell.'

I shouldn't really be discussing
your evidence, Mrs Boyne.

You will do your best for Danny?

We were so happy, the three of us.

I will, I promise you.

- Mike Watford, my learned friend!
- Mr Rumpole.

Now soft you. A word before you go.

(Rumpole) 'AIways a good egg,
young Mike, a double yoker.'

We got on pretty well when
you were an articled clerk, didn't we?

- I always enjoyed our cases.
- We got to the truth more than once.

You had a nose for the evidence.

So did you, young Mike Watford,
so did you, as I recall.

Now, all this flattery means
you're after something.

(Crows cawing)

(Car horn)

- Triumph!
- What?

I've found it. I've found the evidence.

A bloodstained leather jacket, buried
by the river half a mile from the disco.

Sam was sniffing around in the snow.

- Well, it's Helmut's jacket.
- Yes, yes, of course it is.

The Colonel's having dinner in the mess
tonight. We were hoping you'd join us.

Well, aren't you going to tell
the prosecution? This is new evidence.

Oh, I rather think that could wait
till after dinner.

You never toast the regiment
after dinner,

only on formal occasions in the mess.

However, the bright Seraphim.

"This Seraph-band...
It was a heavenly sight!

"They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light."

It's such a power over you all,
isn't it, the regiment?

Malplaquet, Oudenarde,
Torres Vedras, Mafeking,

Paschendale, Mons, El Alamein.

The regiment always rallies around
a Seraph in trouble. You told me, Sandy.

Of course. That's why we got you here,
not that you've done much for the boy.

When Wilson got himself killed, it could
hardly be said that a Seraph had done it.

Not one of the heavenly band.

Far better he should have been
murdered by a German called Helmut

with a black leather jacket
and a punk hairdo.

After all, who better to blame
than one of the old enemy,

from a war most of you
are too young to remember.

- Are you suggesting that our officers...
- Not the officers, Colonel, no.

One officer.

The joker in the pack.

Not that perverting the course of justice
is an amusing practical joke,

unless you enjoy
laughing all the way to the cells.

Pinning the murder
on the mysterious Helmut

required a great deal of organisation,

and it entailed not a few risks,
but perhaps that was the attraction.

It took the place of war.
It was planning a campaign.

What exactly do you know?

Oh, I'm not sure that I know anything,
Colonel, not for certain.

But let me tell you what I think.

I think Danny boy
left his married quarters

and found the Sergeant
dead by the dustbins.

I think he told an officer
who happened to be there,

driving his Range Rover,
his usual method of transport.

Danny helped him move the body.
That's how he got the blood on his cuff.

Not the blood
of some other mysterious German.

The Sergeant's blood.

Then I think Danny boy
went on to Der Rosenkavalier

so that he could lie about having seen
the Sergeant there after midnight.

And the Captain of the Seraphs was
dumping a dead body in a dark alley.

Dressed in a frock?

That was your joker's contribution.

Did he get a dress
from the pantomime wardrobe,

one large enough for a dame, perhaps?

I believe he dressed up a dead body.

Why? Why on earth
should anyone want to do that?

Yes, indeed, why?

Perhaps to make a sort of homosexual
crime of passion more... more credible?

Or perhaps it was
some sign of disapproval.

Wilson hadn't brought any credit to the
regiment by getting himself murdered.

- Aren't you forgetting Helmut?
- Ah, yes.

Dear old Helmut
who appeared so conveniently

and asked for the Sergeant by name.

All the girl remembered
was his punk hairdo.

What do you use for make-up
in the pantomime? Hair gel?

Lacquer, perhaps?

Was it your own black leather jacket
you found so conveniently?

I suppose, after all,
you were a first-rate defending officer.

You wanted to get Danny out of trouble
because you believed he was guilty.

But I always thought
he was innocent, you see.

A Glasgow boy who married a German
girl because they loved each other.

May we ask who in your opinion
killed Sergeant Wilson?

Don't worry, it wasn't your joker.
He could never have done that.

No, he could move the body, he could
dress it up in a frock, but not murder, no.

Then who?

Well, I've always thought
it must have been nasty enough

to be fancied by Sergeant Wilson.

But it must have been sheer bloody
hell on earth to be married to him.

Hm?

Take this too.

Mrs Wilson,

would you like to tell us exactly what
happened the night your husband died?

You do not have to say anything
unless you wish to do so,

but what you say
may be given in evidence.

(Aircraft roars overhead)

Well, goodbye, Mr Rumpole.

Goodbye, Colonel.

I... I'm afraid I didn't do much
for the honour of the regiment.

No, but you found out the truth.

I don't suppose
you'll give me a medal for that.

No, I don't suppose we shall.

(Hilda) I was thinking, Rumpole.

Oh? What were you thinking of?

I suppose I was thinking about
all the things that I might have done,

if I hadn't decided to marry you.

- What might you have done?
- Something with my singing.

- Might have joined the Army.
- What?

I said in Germany I was going barmy.

By the way, have you seen anything
of Johnnie Major retired lately?

No, not lately.
He seems to have vanished.

Yes, well, I suppose he'd done his job.

What was his job exactly?

Finding his nephew an ordinary barrister,

one who wouldn't ask
too many awkward questions.

- He bought me champagne.
- Oh.

You never buy me champagne,
Rumpole.

But he did make me think
of all the things I might have done.

There's no future in that. There's no
future at all in thinking about the past.

I give you a toast.

The regiment.

'Coupled with the name of Sergeant
Major She Who Must Be Obeyed! '

Best watched using Open Subtitles MKV Player

Repair and Synchronization by
Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0