All language subtitles for Rumpole s04e06 Rumpole.eng

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(Clattering and raised voices)

Yes, it's coming, it's...

- It's nearly there, mate.
- It's coming. It's coming!

That's it. Ah!

Ain't that beautiful?

(Clicking)

One for me, one for you.

One for me, one for you, one for...

- (Background noises)
- Shh. Someone coming.

- It's the Bill.
- Let's scarper.

Come on!

- (Smack)
- Ah!

Get going, Cyril.

Let's get out of here!

(Gunshot)

(Clattering)

(Cyril) Oh, what the hell...

- What you done, Den?
- Nothing.

- (Sirens)
- What have you done?

- You've come tooled up.
- I never.

- (Sirens)
- You know I never. The Bill!

No, go back down the tunnel.

- We'll have to go this way.
- (Clattering)

You ought never to have done it, Cyril.

What d'you mean,
I ought never have done it?

Oh, no.

Oh, God.

Timson carrying a shooter? It's the end
of civilisation as we know it.

I can't put up with that hearthrug
any longer.

It's like music in lifts
and wine in cardboard boxes.

We'll be having "Star Wars"
in Pommeroy's Wine Bar next.

That old thing's not
a hearthrug any more.

It's a target for the butt ends
of your dreadful little cigars.

The crime was ridiculously ambitious.
They're not bank robbers.

They should've stuck to thieving
frozen fish from the cash and carry.

It's like the two ends of a pantomime
horse getting together to play "Hamlet".

- Rumpole! Really!
- Mm?

- You've done it again.
- A bit of cigar ash won't harm it.

It improves the texture.

There's a perfectly decent little hearthrug
going in Debenhams for 100 pounds.

Going to someone who isn't balanced
precariously on the rim of his overdraft.

What is the use of the rising crime rate
if we can't get a hearthrug out of it?

It's what they're paying
for legal aid cases.

Scarcely enough to pay
the fare to Temple station.

And, of course,
there's Henry's ten percent,

and... the cost of a new briefcase.

- You're never buying a new briefcase.
- Of course not. I can't afford it.

A small glass of claret at Pommeroy's
to recover from the terrors of the day.

That's your trouble, Rumpole. If it wasn't
for the small claret at Pommeroy's,

we'd have no trouble in buying
a nice new hearthrug.

If it wasn't for those awful cheroots of
yours, we wouldn't need one anyway.

I warn you I shall call in
at Debenhams tomorrow,

and it's up to you
to deal with the bank.

What do you expect me to do,
tunnel in through the drains?

Wait a minute.
You're asking me to shop Den, are you?

- I'm asking you to tell the truth.
- That's a bit steep, Phylli.

I mean, Dennis Timson is his cousin.

As your leading counsel, Cyril,
you'd better listen to my advice.

You say you weren't carrying the gun,
and there was no one else in your party.

- Course not.
- So Dennis must have been carrying it.

- Well, that does seem to follow.
- Of course it follows.

Tell the judge that. That's all
I'm asking you to do. Just tell the judge.

We come first on the indictment.
We've got to decide.

I wonder how Rumpole's
advising Dennis.

Mm? Oh, you know
how Rumpole's advising Dennis.

"Don't let's cut each other's throats,
old darling. Honour among thieves."

- What are you saying?
- Well, you are a thief.

- (Cyril) That is true.
- But you are not a gunman.

On my baby's head, I'm not.

- How old's your baby?
- Thirty-one. In window-cleaning.

- Does it matter?
- No. Let's stick to the important points.

Our case is you are not a gunman,
but your cousin Dennis is.

It looks like it.
I can't believe it of the lad.

That is what
you have got to tell the judge.

- (Phylli) Are you clear about that?
- If you say so.

Rumpole's not going to like it.

We can't always think
of what Rumpole's going to like.

Ha-ha!

- Morning, Horace.
- Morning, Uncle Tom.

- Mr Rumpole.
- Henry!

- Congratulations are in order.
- Oh? What did they offer me?

Mace Bearer to the Master of the Royal
Handkerchief? No, I turned it down.

The sweepstake on the Derby.
You remember investing?

I remember you twisting my arm,
and parting with two quid

that would have been better
spent at Pommeroy's.

- You drew that "Di-o-geenees".
- What did I do?

Diogenes, Horace. Do you know nothing
about the turf? It came in at a canter.

I said to myself, "Trust old Horace.
He gets all the luck!"

- Have a little win, did I?
- One hundred of the best.

- Do you want to count it?
- No, I trust you implicitly.

Seventy, eighty, ninety... Yes.

They say lucky on the gee-gees,
unlucky in love.

You've never been
tremendously lucky in love.

No, I have had my moments.
One hundred smackers!

I must say, it's a great day

when you get your actual folding money
from your clerk. Ha-ha!

(Rumpole) 'As I sat in the caf�,
I said to myself,

"'they may talk
about what they call health,

"'they may sneer as they like about
eating and drinking, but I cannot help it,

"'I cannot help thinking how pleasant
it is to have money. Hey-ho!"

'How pleasant it is to have money.

'So pleasant it is... to have money.'

- We've known each other many years...
- Are you a sporting man, Mr Rumpole?

...and I've never known
a Timson carry a shooter.

Oh, I do take an interest in the turf.

Bloke cleared a quarter of a million
on a four-horse accumulator.

See, boarded an aeroplane
for the Seychelles.

Seychelles. Far away from
Judge Bullingham and the Old Bailey.

I could make more than that
if I had a ton.

- Ton of what?
- Hundred pound stake.

- A hundred pounds?
- I could top 300 grand, next few days.

When you and Cyril get into the witness
box, you'll start blaming each other.

It is called a cutthroat defence.

The prosecutor will be chortling
and handing out the razors,

and you will be both found guilty.

Did you say
300,000 pounds?

- Yeah, a four-horse accumulator.
- Four-horse what?

Accumulator. I could get 9-1 about
Pretty Balloon at Goodwood today.

- Do you want me to take a note of this?
- No, Miss Probert, thank you. I will.

Pretty Balloon.

That'd be a grand, and that could go
onto Mother's Ruin at Redcar. 5-1.

That's six now, and that could go
onto Ever So Grateful.

- That should get you fours at Yarmouth.
- Ever So Grateful.

- That's 30 grand.
- Sounds a polite little horse.

We need a 10-1 for a bit of a gamble.

- A gamble. What's it been up to now?
- A doddle.

Yes, as easy
as breaking into a bank vault.

Do me a favour, Mr Rumpole,
don't bring that up again.

- Kissogram, Newmarket, Wednesday.
- Kissogram.

Ante post price,
that should bring you in...

330 grand, give or take a little.

- In round figures?
- Oh, yeah, round figures.

Tell me something, Dennis.

I know, about the shooter.

We'll come back to that. But you have
been in custody since that fateful night.

- Six months.
- We should get that off the sentence.

Being in Brixton and here, I suppose
it's been difficult to put on a little bet.

Not to mention
a four-horse accumulator.

Bless your heart, Mr Rumpole. No,
there's always screws'll do it for you.

- Even here down the Old Bailey cells.
- What, screws put on bets?

You know Gerald,
the fat one at the gate.

One that's always got his face
in a bacon sarnie.

Gerald.

(Clears throat) I think that's all
on the legal aspects of the case.

Just remember one thing,

the Timsons do not carry shooters
and they do not grass on each other.

That's true, that has always
been our point of honour.

- So you won't grass on Cyril?
- Not unless I have to.

"What is honour? A word.

"What is that word honour? Air."

Well, we'd better get upstairs.

I think I might try a few passes
with the legal cape at the Mad Bull.

Toro! Hasta la muerte!

Thank you.

- Gerald, isn't it?
- That's right, Mr Rumpole, yes.

Yes.

- Aren't you coming with us?
- You go on up. I'll be there in a minute.

Psst! Gerald.

Mr Rumpole. Got a busy day?

Too busy, in fact,
to get to my usual bookmaker.

- Want me to put something on for you?
- Hundred pounds.

- A four-horse accumulator.
- What are they?

(Clears throat) Well, we start
at Goodwood, with Pretty Balloon.

Mm-hm.

- Should be able to get nines about it.
- Mm.

Will do. I'll be nipping out soon
for a bit of dinner.

Yes, I'm sure you'll need it.
There we are.

(Rumpole)
"'He either fears his fate too much,

"'Or his deserts are small,

"'That puts it not unto the touch

"'To win or lose it all."'

Mr Rumpole!

What have we here? The Timson clan
assembled, all my old clients.

You've got to do something about it.

You're Fred, the head of the family.

They do look to me when there's a point
of family honour. This is Den's Doris.

- Pleased to meet you.
- I'm Cyril's Maureen.

Unfortunately, the Molloys is making
a joke of this all over south London.

The Molloys, the rival firm, eh?

I've been called out to in the street.
Maureen's been called out to in Tesco's.

- They're laughing at our husbands.
- They say they'll grass on each other.

The Molloys is doing nicely,
that's what we hear.

- They pulled off something spectacular.
- They got away with something terrific.

They call out that
the Timsons grass on each other.

They'll never let us hear the end of it.

Peanuts Molloy called out that all the
Timsons is good for is to use as ferrets.

- What?
- Ferrets.

- Why would he say that?
- You know the way they talk.

Look, Mr Rumpole, we want you
to go in there and save our name.

I'll do what I can
for the honour of the Timsons.

Your clan's done more to keep the Old
Bailey in business than 1,000 lawyers.

(Rumpole)
My application is for a separate trial

for my client,
Mr Dennis Timson.

Any particular reason, Mr Rumpole,

apart from a natural desire to spin out
these proceedings as long as possible?

I assume your client is on legal aid?

My natural desire, My Lord, is to see
that justice is done to my client.

If it is all paid for

by the unfortunate ratepayers
of the City of London.

My co-defendant Mr Cyril Timson
will be giving evidence,

accusing my client, Mr Dennis Timson,
of carrying the gun.

And you intend to return the compliment.

I'm not prepared to say
what my defence will be, My Lord.

But it might be a cutthroat.

- That is possible, My Lord.
- (Chuckles)

Mrs Erskine-Brown...

do you support
Mr Rumpole's application?

- My Lord, I do not.
- Oh, thank you very much.

I'm sure that under your wise guidance
justice will be done to both defendants.

When it comes to buttering up the Bull,
she lays it on with a trowel.

You may well warn the jury of the danger
of convicting Mr Dennis Timson

on the evidence of an accomplice,
but they can do so if they think it right.

I shall certainly tell them that,
Mrs Erskine-Brown,

thank you for your valuable contribution.

Have you anything further to say
that might make me change my mind?

(Whispering)
Nothing'd change that mass of bones.

Did you say something?

Er... nothing.
I'll leave the point alone, My Lord.

(Rumpole) 'I might say, "I'm about to
board an aeroplane to the Seychelles",

'if I won the four-horse accumulator.'

(Hearthstoke) You know the Pennywise,
a small bank of impeccable reputation.

- It is situated at Abraham Avenue...
- Peanuts Molloy!

The ice-cold cheek of it!

...a manhole
five yards from that corner.

I would like to draw the court's attention
to the agreed plan.

You will see that there
is an underground passageway

used for telephone cables
and a drain.

So all these highly sophisticated robbers
had to do was to crawl along the tunnel,

and then break through the wall
into the L-shaped strongroom.

One of these two men,
members of the jury, carried a gun,

as a result of which
Mr Huggins, a bank guard,

a family man
of impeccable character,

a man who, as you will hear tell,
has sat on his local church council,

- was wounded...
- (Whistles)

...albeit in the foot.
- (Whistles)

Perhaps your client could keep silent
during the prosecutor's opening speech.

This is not a football stadium.

I think my client wishes
to tell me something, My Lord.

(Bullingham)
About this case, I hope?

Oh, yes, My Lord,
yes, indeed, about this case.

(Rumpole)
"'The screws told me, Mr Rumpole,

"'Pretty Balloon romped home
in a canter at Goodwood."'

(Hearthstoke)
May I be allowed to proceed?

(Rumpole) 'One up and three to go.'

She's a very attractive advocate,
Mrs Erskine-Brown.

- A most attractive advocate.
- Yes, yes.

I always listen to her
with great pleasure.

Where... where do you think
Mr Erskine-Brown is?

Sitting behind her. He's her junior.

Oh, yes, yes. I'd overlooked that.

Hasn't opened his mouth much
during this case.

Seems rather a poor specimen
in many ways.

- Shrimpton?
- Yes?

Do you think it would be
entirely... well, inappropriate

if I was to send Mrs Erskine-Brown
a box of... chocolates?

- Yes, Judge.
- Yes, I can?

- No, it would be inappropriate.
- Hasn't she got a sweet tooth?

- The Lord Chancellor wouldn't like it.
- I wasn't sending them to him.

- I mean...
- I know what you mean. All right.

Still, there's no reason
why I shouldn't get the Sheriff

to ask her to come and have lunch
with the judges.

Are you asking Mr Erskine-Brown too?

No, I'm not asking
Mr Erskine-Brown too.

Either she comes alone,
or I send a box of chocolates!

Just a few facts that might be useful
about Den Timson, Mrs Erskine-Brown.

Phyllida, please.

Phyllida. There's a conviction for
possessing a firearm without a licence.

- Pistol?
- No, shotgun, I'm afraid.

But I don't suppose Den goes out after
the pheasants with the Devonshires.

- No, I don't suppose he does.
- Thank you.

Cheers.

Mm.

Malicious damage with an airgun.
Well, he was only 14 then.

Yes, but you're a superb technician,
Phyllida.

- Do you honestly think so?
- Mm!

The way you handled Judge Bullingham,
it was superb.

- He's dotty about you, naturally.
- Please don't be silly, Hearthstoke.

I can't blame him,
I suppose everybody is.

- And, by the way, it's Charles.
- Charles.

Actually, I thought your opening
was a pretty good job.

Well, one tries to set out
the facts without emotion.

Not always possible.

Now, why did you ask me
for a drink exactly?

- When I was in your chambers...
- Such a fleeting visit.

...you were away doing important cases
and we never got to know each other.

No. No, we never did.

Of course, you're very much married.

Not all that much married,
I sometimes think.

Really, Phyllida?

- Can I... top you up?
- Yes.

Champagne! How delicious! And
I know exactly what you're celebrating.

- Do you, Rumpole?
- Yes, indeed I do, Hearthrug.

Oh, yes, thank you, we'd love a glass.

- Sit down, Miss Probert.
- I don't want anything, thank you.

Do you not? I do. I want some answers
to a couple of simple questions.

- I can't think what those could be.
- Two extra glasses, please.

Come off it, Portia.

You are celebrating the unholy alliance

between your client, Mr Cyril Timson,
and the prosecution,

with a full exchange of information that
will send poor Dennis away for 14 years.

- Come on, Rumpole, that isn't fair.
- No, Portia, it is not fair.

But it's true, isn't it? Thank you, Jack.

Oh, dear. M�thode champenoise.
You disappoint me, Hearthrug.

Actually, Charles, it's quite delicious.

What, grape juice and gas?
Wait for the headache.

- You do know Miss Probert, don't you?
- Yes, of course.

There's one thing
I've always wanted to ask you.

I mean, now you're a QC, and all that...

When you started at the bar,
wasn't it difficult being a woman?

No, it comes naturally to some of us.
Not that I had much choice in the matter.

But didn't you come up
against fixed male attitudes?

That's what made it all such fun.
If you really want to know,

I didn't get a good degree, but I never
had any difficulty in getting on with men.

- No, clearly not.
- One thing I wanted to ask you.

- The exploitation of women at the bar?
- No, just... seen any good operas lately?

You must have learned a great lesson
from our Portia today, Miss Probert.

How to succeed at the bar by reducing
Judge Bullingham to a trembling blob

of sexual excitement.

I've never been able to manage it.

There's your husband. Has he lost you?

- Rumpole, lay off.
- Are you going to lay off Dennis?

He wandered Ionely as a Claude that
floats... Why don't you sit next to Miss?

I'II... I'll squeeze in here.
Next to Phylli.

Ah, well, there we are then,
all nice and cosy.

Can I borrow your Standard, old darling?

I went back to chambers, Phylli.
You hadn't been in.

No, I've been discussing the case
with prosecuting counsel.

Oh, yes. Yes, of course.

(Rumpole) 'Ah. Stop press.

'Late result from Redcar.

'Mother's Ruin.

'Two down and two to go.'

Thank you very much, old darling.

I'm inclined to order
a bottle of the real stuff.

What are you celebrating?

I made a couple of small investments,
which seem to be turning out rather well.

What would you say
if this should turn out to be

Rumpole's positively last case, hm?

- (Shouts) Rumpole!
- Hilda!

I've got it, Rumpole.

- What?
- It's arrived, Rumpole.

- What has arrived?
- What I've been wanting for a long time.

Looks rather smart, doesn't it?

I think you could have been
a little more ambitious.

Don't you dare
throw your cigar ends at it.

Don't worry, Hilda, I shall be chucking
my cigar ends, my Havana cigar ends,

my Romeo & Julieta cigar ends,

into the sparkling ocean

as I walk along the beach
clad in a pair of old soiled white ducks

knocking the sweet oysters
off the rocks.

It's not real Persian,
but it's a traditional pattern.

"'Courage! ' he said,
and pointed toward the land,

"This mounting wave
will roll us shoreward soon.

"In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.

"All round the coast
the languid air did swoon,

"breathing like one
that hath a weary dream."

- I've no idea what you mean.
- It's not the meaning, it's the sound.

The screech of parrots, the chattering
of monkeys, the hum of dragonflies,

the rattle of grasshoppers
rubbing their sweet little legs together,

while you and I sit on the hotel veranda
sipping planter's punch,

listening to the boom of the surf
on the coral reef,

and never having to wear
a winged collar ever again.

You have got 100 pounds
for our new hearthrug, haven't you?

Fear not, Hilda, I do expect a return of
thrice three times the value of the bond.

That's all very well,
but have you got 100 pounds?

(Indistinct chatter)

- He said his positively last case.
- No, I'm not sure.

One thing Rumpole's taught me, never
take anything he says at face value.

He's playing some sort of game.

Yes, but without Rumpole there

why shouldn't I find my way back
into your chambers at Equity Court?

- You might come back into the fold?
- Mm.

And try and streamline your operation.

It can't go on the same way forever,
can it?

No.

No, we must drag the bar kicking
and screaming into the 21 st Century.

Do you know,
sometimes I envy my clients,

getting into trouble and leaving home
and doing extraordinary things.

Dreadful things sometimes,
but their lives aren't dull.

Honestly, Charles,
nothing happens to us.

Nothing adventurous, really.

Well, perhaps it will.

Claude! We're here.

If this is Rumpole's last case,
almost anything can happen.

- Almost anything?
- Oh, yes.

- Claude, Charles may join us.
- Join us?

Yes, come back into chambers,
if Rumpole's leaving.

Oh. You don't want to do that, do you?

Don't I?

You understand computers. You don't
want to hang around in Equity Court.

I can't think of any better chambers
in the Temple

than one that boasts
Mrs Phyllida Erskine-Brown QC.

Oh, I say, Charles! Don't talk rubbish.

(Rumpole)
Detective Inspector Bellman,

I understand no fingerprints
were found on the gun?

Mr Rumpole,
I imagine these gentry are too...

- Yes, My Lord, too what?
- Intelligent to leave fingerprints behind.

(Bullingham chuckles)

- Your Lordship?
- Yes, Mr Rumpole?

The prosecution in this case is in the
hands of my learned friend, Mr Heathrug.

- Hearthstoke.
- Ah, beg his pardon. Hearthstone.

I'm sure he needs no assistance
from Your Lordship.

That was a remark that I may have
to report for professional misconduct.

(Rumpole) 'By that time, I may have
boarded a plane for the Seychelles.'

I'm sorry if anything I said could possibly
be construed as discourtesy, My Lord.

- Very well, let's get on with it.
- Thank you, My Lord.

Inspector Bellman, was the strongroom
and the safe examined for fingerprints?

Yes, it was.

And, again, no fingerprints of either Mr
Cyril or Mr Dennis Timpson were found.

That is true, My Lord.

But no doubt there were other
fingerprints to be found on the safe?

Of course.

No doubt many came
from bank employees?

No doubt about that, My Lord.

But did you check any of those
fingerprints with criminal records?

(Bellman) Why should we do that?

To see if any of them corresponded
to fingerprints of other known criminals.

- No, we didn't.
- Why not?

They were the only men
we found at the scene of the crime,

and they were wearing gloves.

They had gloves on
when they caught them.

We are so much obliged
to the learned judge

for his most helpful interjections,
Inspector,

otherwise you might have to think
of some of the answers for yourself.

- Inspector Bellman.
- Oh, it's you, Mr Rumpole.

I have always regarded you as a
dependable and straightforward officer.

- What do you want to get out of me?
- All right, a little favour.

- Why should I do you a favour?
- Why indeed?

You've been a bit of a thorn in my flesh
over the years, to be honest.

Well, if I were to promise
never to be one again.

- Not making my officers look charlies?
- Never again.

- Not letting them get away with murder?
- Never murder.

A little stolen fish occasionally.

Not getting my DCs
tied up in their notebooks?

If I were to swear on my own wig
never to do such a thing again,

if I said this would be my last case.

- Then I might be more inclined to help.
- Ah.

- Nothing illegal, of course.
- Illegal? Perish the thought.

This is guaranteed to serve
the interests of justice.

Cyril Timson,

did you take this pistol with you when
you tunnelled in to the savings bank?

- No, I never.
- Portia, that's all you need to ask.

Did you have any idea that your cousin
Dennis was armed with a pistol?

I must object. There is no evidence to
show that Dennis Timson was armed.

The pistol was there at the scene of the
crime. Somebody must have brought it.

But the question assumes
that it was my client...

Mrs Erskine-Brown,
you may ask your question.

- If Your Lordship pleases.
- No, remember the quality of mercy.

- Did you have any idea he was armed?
- You forgot it.

No idea at all.

What would you have said
if you had known?

My Lord, how can this be evidence?
It is pure speculation.

Please, Mrs Erskine-Brown,
do ask your question.

Your Lordship.
What would you have said?

Leave that thing at home. That is not
the way we carry on our business.

Thank you very much, Mr Timson.
Do stay there, will you?

Done your worst, have you?

(Clears throat) Mr Cyril Timson,

when you were removing the contents
of the safe, why did you run out?

- We heard a noise behind us.
- Coming from where?

He said, "from behind us",
Mr Rumpole.

Oh, thank you, My Lord, so much.

It was that noise
which made you retreat?

We thought we was being copped.

Why didn't you retreat back
into the tunnel where you came from?

Was it because the noise you heard
was coming from that direction?

- It might have been.
- What did you say?

He said, "It might have been", My Lord.

Oh, thank you very much,
Mrs Erskine-Brown.

- You were carrying a box of cash.
- Yes, I was.

- So was Dennis.
- Yeah.

- You saw that?
- Yeah.

But you never saw him
with a gun in his hand?

Well, I never actually saw it,
but, well, I knew I didn't have it.

Mr Cyril Timson, may I say at once
that I accept the truth of that statement?

(Whispers)
Have you gone soft in your old age?

No, I just thought
I'd like to win my last case.

I agree that you didn't have it,
and Mr Dennis Timson certainly did not.

So where did it come from,
Mr Rumpole?

(Chuckling) Did it drop out of the sky?

Yes, My Lord,
in a manner of speaking, it did.

(CIock chiming)

"The Punters' Guide", love, first edition.

It's just come in, dear.
Haven't got them undone yet.

I want the first race at Yarmouth.

- Oh, here, let me help.
- I shall manage, dear, eventually.

Eventually's no good, love. Excuse me!

Yarmouth, Yarmouth, Yarmouth. First...

Ever So Grateful!
Oh, I say, ta, most awfully.

(Man) Go on, my son.

Good jab.

- Don't worry, don't worry.
- Get stuck in.

Don't stand there, move around.

- Are you Peter Molloy?
- So what if I am?

I must ask you to accompany me to
the station to answer some questions.

- Oh, yeah? What about, then?
- I believe it's about a fingerprint.

- (Racing commentary)
- Go on, my son!

'Percy Flyer... Kissogram.

'Zoot Suit... Tickling Stick.'

'It's Percy Flyer then Kissogram
and Tickling Stick and Zoot Suit.

'Well inside the final furlong.
Percy Flyer and Kissogram.'

Rumpole!

Where on earth have you been?
Here's your lunch.

At last, at long last, Miss Probert,
the day has arrived

when I can open my defence to the jury
and say exactly what I think,

exactly.

Well, why today especially?

Because, Ms Probert,
Kissogram...

absolutely romped it.

Members of the jury,

you have doubtless heard
of the presumption of innocence,

that golden thread
which runs through British justice.

Everyone in this fair land of ours
is presumed to be innocent

until they are proved to be guilty.

And against this presumption
there is another mighty legal doctrine.

It is known as the Bullingham factor.

Every person who appears in that dock
before this learned judge

is naturally assumed to have done it,
otherwise they wouldn't be there.

And not only are those in the dock
assumed to be guilty,

defending barristers are also assumed
to be only interested in wasting time,

so that they may share
in the rich pickings

provided by the legal aid system,

an organisation
which allows criminal advocates

to live almost as high on the hog
as highly qualified shorthand typists.

And for this... princely renumeration,

members of the jury, we are asked
to defend the liberty of the subject,

and to knock our heads
day in and day out

against the rock-solid wall
of the Bullingham factor.

For this we are asked
to contend with the judge

who invariably briefs himself
for the prosecution.

Mr Rumpole!

- My Lord, I wonder if I may intervene?
- Certainly you may, Mr Hearthstoke.

You might suggest a way in which I best
deal with this outrageous contempt!

My Lord, what I am about to tell you

may make the rest
of his opening speech unnecessary.

I'm sure all of his opening speech
is unnecessary.

I am informed
by Detective Inspector Bellman

that we can no longer
proceed on the allegation

that either Timson used or carried the
pistol which wounded the bank guard.

What? Neither of them?

Charges will be brought, with regard
to that offence, against another firm,

if I may be allowed
to use that expression.

In those circumstances
the only charge is one of burglary.

To which my client
is prepared to plead guilty.

Thank you very much,
Mrs Erskine-Brown.

(Snarling) Mr Rumpole!

Oh, yes, My Lord.

For the very first time,
and with the greatest respect,

guilty, My Lord.

There we are.

But what put you on to the Molloys?

Something your Doris said.

Ferrets. The Molloys
called the Timsons ferrets.

They called it out after your wives
in the street, ferrets,

little animals they put down
holes in the ground.

The Molloys found out what you were up
to, and followed you down the burrow.

What were they going to do?

Use the gun to lift the loot
after you'd opened the safe.

Anyway, the whole thing
ended in chaos and confusion,

as most crimes do, I'm afraid, Dennis.

You heard the Molloys.
You thought it was the Old Bill.

You ran out into the corridor,

the bank guard appeared, one of
the Molloys shot him, dropped the gun,

and left you and Cyril
blaming each other.

But who cleared the safe?

The Molloys, of course, probably while
Dennis and Cyril were being nicked.

But you had no evidence.
There were no fingerprints.

No, but...

Inspector Bellman, at my suggestion,
told Peanuts that they'd found his.

That scared him,
and he grassed on the lot of them.

He grassed on his own family? Bastard.

Ah, things aren't what they were
in our world, Dennis,

and after you've got this little stretch
under your belt, you ought to give up.

Never. I'd miss the excitement.

You're all right, though.

- What?
- You're all right.

- With your four-horse accumulator.
- Yes. I think I'll be all right, Dennis.

Due entirely to you,
and I shan't forget it.

You were my last case.

Give me a ring
when you get out, all right,

if you happen to be
passing through lotus land.

- Thanks.
- Thank you, Ken.

- Dennis happy with the four years?
- Oh, yes, highly gratified, I believe.

I don't know how you do it, Mr Rumpole.

Is Gerald about? Or has he just
slipped out for a four-course snack?

No, no, it's Gerald's day off,
Mr Rumpole.

He'll be back tomorrow, though.

Tomorrow? You don't happen to know
the name of his bookmaker, do you?

No, Gerald don't take us into his
confidence, as far as that's concerned.

I'll pop in and see him tomorrow.

My dear Mrs Erskine-Brown. Phyllis.

- Phyllida.
- Yes, Phyll... No need for you to stay.

The case is over.
You've got a train to catch.

- Please, do sit down.
- Thank you, Judge.

Your opening speech for the defence

had me absolutely lost
in admiration and...

- Would you care for a glass of sherry?
- Yes, please.

It was... a tragedy about Rumpole.

Tragedy, yes. Afraid I shall have to
report him for professional misconduct.

Thank you. No, Judge, I meant
it was a tragedy he was interrupted.

- What?
- I read the second half of that speech.

Extremely flattering. But the things
he said about you were true.

Flattering?

"One of the fairest judges
ever to have sat at the Old Bailey,

"combines the wisdom of Solomon with
the humanity of Florence Nightingale."

That's not exactly how his speech
started out, was it, Phyllida?

No, Judge,

Rumpole was describing the mistaken
view a jury might have of a Bailey judge,

but the case collapsed and he never
gave the rest of that marvellous speech.

Can you remember anything else
he was about to say?

Yes. "With Judge Bullingham
the quality of mercy is not strained,

"it droppeth as the gentle rain
from heaven." Rather well put.

(Coughs and burps)

Will you still be reporting
Rumpole to his inn?

Well, I... I shall have to think it over
in the light of what you've just told me.

I...

Uh... Phyllida.

- Can I ask you a question?
- Yes, Judge, of course.

Um...

Do you like hard or cream centres, when
it comes to a box of chocolates? Uh...

- It's the end.
- Mr Rumpole?

My last case, Henry. No more shall I
be putting my head around your door

and asking if you had a spare committal
before the Uxbridge magistrates.

- I'II... catch you up, Dianne.
- Good night then, Mr Rumpole.

Indeed it is, Dianne,
a very good night indeed.

- That's all very well, but if you leave...
- Not if, Henry, when.

"'Courage! ' he said,
and pointed toward the land,

"This mounting wave
will roll us shoreward soon.

"In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon..."

If you leave, Mr Rumpole, we're gonna
get that Mr Hearthstoke back again.

Mr Ballard's already keen on the idea.

It'd be a disaster for chambers,
sir, and my ten percent.

Dianne's threatened
to hand in her notice.

- I delivered you from Hearthrug before.
- Yes, and I shall always thank you for it.

A little matter of massage parlours,
if I remember.

If I could stave off the attack again...

Mr Rumpole, if only you could.

It might be my last good deed before
I board an aeroplane for Lotus Land.

You see, it isn't only the ten percent,
Mr Rumpole.

- It's the relationship with Dianne.
- Ah.

I had an appointment
with Mr Ballard at 6.15.

- Is his conference over?
- I think so, sir. If you'd like to go up.

I'm a little early yet.

Just wanted to check your old room,
Rumpole, before I get the decorators in.

- Well, I'll be getting along then, sir.
- Courage, Henry.

I'll hold the fort.

- Excellent win, Heathrug.
- Well, who won?

Well, you did.

You were prosecuting. We pleaded
guilty. You got a conviction. Brilliant.

You'll be taking over my old room
in chambers.

- You are leaving, aren't you?
- Yes, I'm leaving, yes.

Well, your life is going
to undergo a few changes.

It's a good thing.
Establishing new relationships.

Do you have
much experience as a father?

- As a father? No, none at all.
- Oh, dear.

Never mind.
You'll pick it up pretty quickly.

- Rumpole, what are you talking about?
- The Erskine-Brown brood.

It's obvious. You've fallen for our Portia,
hook, line and probably sinker.

When you move into chambers,
she'll be moving into your bachelor pad,

and, of course,
bringing the children with her.

Bringing the children?

You're a brave man
to be taking on that lot.

They're quite a handful, I understand.

In the top form at primary school, and
still expecting to be fed on demand.

- Children?
- Well, young Tristan and Isolde.

Never mind, Claude'll be popping in
fairly often to take them to The Ring.

They'll come home
whistling all the tunes.

You know, I wonder if my room...

might be a bit cramped for you.

It's funny, I have been wondering
whether these chambers are...

just what I'm looking for.

- Portia!
- Rumpole.

- Have a choc.
- Oh, I say! How absolutely yummy.

- Thank you.
- Bullingham gave them to me.

Ugh.

The Mad Bull is in love.
You are a femme fatale, Portia.

Don't ask me yet,
I'm not sure how it will turn out,

but I went to see him
entirely in your interests.

That's nice of you. What a coincidence!
I have seen somebody entirely in yours.

What are you doing here,
anyway, alone and palely loitering?

I was just waiting for someone.

- He's not coming.
- What?

Hearthrug is not coming, and
he is not coming into chambers either.

- Why not?
- Sorry, Portia.

I told him that you wanted to move
into his little gar�oni�rre in Battersea,

and bring the children with you.

Rumpole! I would never have done that.

I'm very glad to hear it.

Anyway, he turned deathly pale
and decided to cancel his subscription.

The rat.

It was Henry and Dianne
I was thinking of as much as you.

They don't deserve Hearthrug either.
None of you deserve him.

I was only considering...
a small adventure.

Ah, cheer up, Portia.

In the circumstances, I think the time
has come to order the Dom P�rignon.

Good heavens!

M�thode champenoise
is a zing of ze past. Ha-ha!

Yes.

Jack, a bottle of your best bubbles,
if you please.

- Nothing less than the dear old Dom.
- Very good, Mr Rumpole.

(Playing "The Ride of the Valkyries")

- Aye, Claudius!
- Ah, Rumpole, there you are.

Care for a glass of the vintage bubbly?

Extremely well, thank you.
I just took a telephone message for you.

If it's a murder tomorrow,
I'm not interested.

No, this was
a rather strange-sounding fellow.

He wasn't completely sober.
He said his name was Gerald.

Gerald. Of course.

Gerald! Yes?

- He was calling from London Airport.
- Where?

Would I give his thanks
to Mr Rumpole for the excellent tips,

and he was just boarding
a plane for a warmer climate.

Gerald said that?

Words to that effect, yes. Then he said
he had to go, they were calling his flight.

- Jack?
- Yes, Mr Rumpole?

Forget the Dom P�rignon.

Just pour us three glasses of...

Ch�teau Thames Embankment.

Small glasses, Jack.

Claude, I've just had an idea. There's
something you should do urgently.

What's that, Rumpole?

For God's sake,
take your wife to the opera.

Hello, darling.

(Slurring)
No, nothing. Not even a betting slip.

I trusted him, you see. Huh! So innocent.

We look after our clients,
but we're such fools about ourselves.

You mean you lost my hundred pounds?

It's not lost, Hilda.
I know exactly where it is.

It's on its way to a warmer climate,
with about 300,000 friends.

The 100 pounds I spent
on the new hearthrug?

Oh, that 100 pounds is still in the
account at the Caring Bank, Hilda.

Coloured red.

I'm not sure that I ever wanted to sit
with you on a hotel veranda all day

drinking planters' punch.

Oh. Well, perhaps not.

- We might have run out of conversation.
- Yes.

Indeed, we might.

So, things could be worse.

- They are.
- What?

- They are worse, Hilda.
- What else have you done?

Well, I promised Detective Inspector
Bellman that I had done my last case,

and I told a jury exactly
what I thought of the Mad Bull,

in open court.

Rumpole.

Daddy would be ashamed of you.

- That's one comfort.
- What did you say?

Your daddy's long since been called to
account before the benches in the sky.

I only hope he could explain
his abysmal ignorance of bloodstains.

- Rumpole?
- Yes, Hilda?

- What are you going to do tomorrow?
- Tomorrow?

I hope you're not going to retire. I hope
you're not going to hang round the flat.

You will be taking your usual tube,
won't you, at 8.45?

To hear is to obey.

"'Courage! ' he said,

"and pointed toward..."

Temple tube station.

- Ah, Henry!
- Mr Rumpole!

Any chance of a...

small brief
at the Uxbridge Magistrates Court?

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