All language subtitles for Rumpole s06e01 Carte.eng

Subtitles downloaded from www.OpenSubtitles.org

Un, deux, trois!

Monsieur.

We got an injunction to stop
the Great Elk Bank floating the shares

and they had to let us take over
the Winnipeg Soap Company

at the bottom of the market.

Cleared about $4 million
for my clients.

(Hilda) Oh, did you hear that?

You've never cleared $4 million
for your client, have you, Rumpole?

You should be a company lawyer,
like Cousin Everard.

I'll stick to crime.
It's a more honest type of robbery.

Oh, nonsense!

Robbery has never got us a dinner
at La Maison Jean Pierre.

If Cousin Everard hadn't come
from Saskatchewan,

we'd never be here.

Yes, indeed,
from the town of Saskatoon.

There, Hilda, all the way from...
Where?

- Saskatoon.
- Saskatoon, Hilda.

Such wonderfully elegant
surroundings here.

Think of it, Rumpole.

It takes Cousin Everard from Saskatoon
to introduce us to gracious living.

Oh, we have several fine dining
restaurants in Saskatoon now, Hilda.

- And igloos and Eskimos.
- (Hilda) What did you say, Rumpole?

- "That's good news, heaven knows."
- What are you staring at, Rumpole?

I thought I spotted something familiar
in the twilight.

Madame et monsieurs,

tonight, Jean Pierre recommends
for the main course

la po�sie de la poitrine du canard
aux c�leri et �pinards cru.

Po�sie... That's poetry, Rumpole.

Tastes better than that Wordsworth,
I shouldn't be surprised.

Tell us about it, Georges.
Whet our appetites.

This is just a few wafer-thin slices
of breast of duck

marinated in a drop or two
of Armagnac, lightly grilled,

and served with a celery remoulade
and a few leaves of young spinach.

And mash.

- Mashed spuds come with it, do they?
- (Hilda) Shh! Rumpole!

I will have the po�sie.
It sounds delicious.

A culinary experience, Hilda.

Yes, a po�sie for me too, please.

- And for monsieur?
- Hmm?

Oh, I'll have a posy... posy...
of um...

...steak and kidney pudding, not pie,

mashed potatoes and a large scoop
of boiled cabbage and mustard, please.

- English, if you have it.
- (Hilda) Behave yourself!

This pudding is not on our menu.

Oh? "Your pleasure is our delight."
That's what it says.

Couldn't you ask cookie
to pleasure me? Along those lines.

"Cookie"? I do not know
what monsieur means by "Cookie."

Our ma�tre de cuisine is Jean Pierre
O'Higgins himself.

- He is in the kitchen himself.
- How convenient!

Have a word in his shell-like.

Excusez-moi un petit d'instant.

Merci.

- More salt.
- OK.

A customer has ordered steak
and kidney pudding with mashed spuds.

- Go on, Georges, you're having me on.
- Incroyable, mais, c'est vrai.

Bloody cheek! Ice-cold insolence!

Got to get some discipline
into the punters.

Point him out.
I know how to deal with him.

Claude, is there anything wrong?

No, no, Tricia,
absolutely nothing at all.

- What are you doing with that menu?
- The menu? Why?

Not doing anything with it
in particular.

We have ordered, hours ago.

Oh, no! Your wife's not here, is she?

I always seem
to be bumping into people's wives.

Philli? No, she's doing
some town planning in Cardiff.

It's not Philli I'm worried about, not
that I'm worried about anything.

I say, it is fun here, isn't it?

Look, Claude,
I'm not just a pretty face.

I have been a solicitor for five years.

I know about offenders, and you have
the look of a man hiding from the law.

Hiding? From the law?

Good heavens, no.
From a lawyer, perhaps.

I say, you can't see a smallish,
stoutish person, can you?

Next to a formidable lady?

Good heavens, Claude. Isn't that
old Rumpole from your chambers?

Is he...
Is he glancing in our direction?

Not at all. He seems
to be congratulating the cook.

Am I to understand that there are
no mashed spuds for my delight?

Look here, my friend,
I don't know who you are...

This is Horace Rumpole,
the criminal lawyer.

- It's great to...
- Criminal lawyer, eh?

Well, don't come and commit
your crimes in my restaurant.

If you want mashed spuds, I suggest
the caff at the end of the street.

Now, that is a helpful suggestion.

You might get a few bangers
and a bottle of OK sauce.

That suit your delicate palate,
would it?

Oh, very well indeed.

I'm not a great one
for wafer-thin slices of anything.

No, you don't look it.
Now, let's get this straight.

People who come to my restaurant
damn well eat as I tell 'em to.

And no doubt, you win them all over
with your irresistible charm.

- Listen to me, Mr...
- Oh, Rumpole.

- He's my husband, actually.
- Your husband?

You have all my sympathy,
you unfortunate woman.

- Listen to me, Mr Rumbole...
- (Mouths)

This is a gourmet restaurant.
This is La Maison Jean Pierre.

I have three stars in the Michelin.

I threw out an Arabian king because
he ordered filet mignon well-cooked.

I have sent film stars away in tears

because they dared to mention
thousand island dressing.

I am Jean Pierre O'Higgins,

the greatest culinary genius
now working in England.

Jean Pierre O'Higgins?
Now, there's a very interesting name.

Your fame has spread to Saskatoon.

You were featured
in our Gracious Living magazine.

True, and let me tell you,
Mr Rumbole...

(Mouths)

I started my career with salads
at the H�tel du Lac, Geneva.

I studied at La Grande Bouffe in Lyons
under the great Ducasse.

I was r�tisseur in Le Crillon, Boston.

I've run this restaurant for 20 years,
and have never, let me tell you,

never in my whole career,
served up a mashed spud.

Un, deux, trois!

(Tricia screams)

Please, don't scream!

I say, old darling, they had
a live mouse on that table over there.

Is that your sp�cialit� de la maison?

I'll get you a coffee.

(O'Higgins) Thanks, Mary.

"Chateau Duddon, the Lake District's
most luxurious hotel,

"a paradise of gracious living."

Everard wants to take me up there
for a break.

"Sole listener Duddon...

(Cutlery rattles)

"To the breeze that played
with thy clear voice

(Crockery clangs)

"I caught the fitful sound that wafted
O'er sullen moss and craggy mound

"A paradise in gracious living!"

How Wo...

How Wordsworth would have painted it.

A break from what, pray?

From you, Rumpole.

Don't you think I need it?

What a disastrous evening
when Everard took us out.

Do you think so? I rather enjoyed it.
(Chuckles)

Britain's greatest cook laboured
and brought forth a monstrous mouse.

(Guffaws) People would pay
good money to see that.

- You had to disgrace me, in public.
- Come along, my dear old thing.

There's no disgrace in a good,
honest-to-God steak and kidney pud,

with or without mash.

You did it because you have to be
a character, all the time.

Well, I don't think I can put up with
your character much longer, Rumpole.

- My dear old...
- And I am not your dear old thing!

Not any more.

I was, once, perhaps,

but I am not
your dear old thing any more.

My dear... No.
No, I shouldn't have said that. No.

All right, I won't say it. What do you
mean about my being a character?

You have to be one, all the time,

with your cigar ash
and steak and kidney pudding

and Pomeroy's ordinary red

and arguments,
always arguments, in public.

Why do you have to keep doing it?

Arguing in public
has been my whole life, Hilda.

Well, it's not mine, not any more.

Everard doesn't argue in public.

Well, now, if you're talking
about a fellow that lives on

wafer-thin slices of lightly-grilled
duck's breast

together with a little raw spinach,

he probably hasn't got the energy
for an argument.

- Thank goodness.
- You like that?

Yes, I do.
That is why I agreed to this trip.

- Trip?
- Yes.

Everard and I are going to tour
all the restaurants with rosettes,

York, Bath and Devizes.

Oh, yes? Oh, yes?

And what about Mrs Everard?
Left her behind in Saskatoon, has he?

Everard lost his wife
many years ago, Rumpole.

- Walked out into the snow.
- What did you say?

Got to go.
I have a conference in chambers.

Yes, well, when I'm off,
you can mash all the spuds you want.

Oh, my d...

Hilda, you're not serious
about this eating jaunt, are you?

Hurry up, or you'll be late.

I'm sure you can't wait
to argue with someone.

- Exit, pursued by a mouse.
- Oh, it's you, Rumpole.

Horace...

You may have noticed me
at Maison Jean Pierre.

Noticed you, Claude? Of course not.

You were with a young lady

who screamed
like a banshee with toothache.

No-one
could possibly have noticed you.

That was purely
a business arrangement.

A pretty rum way of doing business.

The young lady
was Miss Tricia Benbow,

my instructing solicitor
in the VAT case.

I've had considerable experience
in the law.

If you wish to entertain solicitors
to tout for briefs,

it's not a good idea
to put a mouse in the plat du jour.

Good heavens!
You don't imagine I did that?

The whole thing was a disaster,
an absolute tragedy,

which may have appalling
consequences.

Sir Erskine-Brown...
Your wife on the telephone, sir.

Oh.

Philli, how's Cardiff?

No, I haven't been out
in the evenings.

I stayed at home and cooked myself
an omelette.

- Henry...
- No, no, I'm not bored, no.

Perfectly all right.

Henry, something extremely serious
has happened.

- Someone's nicked the nailbrush.
- How did you guess?

Well, that corresponds
to your idea of serious, Ballard,

besides,
I happen to notice these things!

Odd that you knew
what I was talking about.

Not guilty, My Lord.

Didn't your God-bothering society meet
here last week?

The Lawyers as Christians Committee
met here. What of it?

"Cleanliness is next to godliness."
Isn't that their motto?

The devout
are notorious nailbrush nickers.

- Think about it.
- Nickers?

Yeah...

My client, Mr Rumpole, first consulted
me on another matter.

His marriage is on the rocks.

Some marriages are seldom off them.

Particularly so, as in this case,
if the wife's of foreign extraction.

It's been my experience you can't beat
foreign wives for being vengeful.

In this case, extremely vengeful.

- Hell hath no fury, Mr Pinhorn?
- Exactly, Mr Rumpole.

You've put your finger
on the nub of the case.

I haven't done a matrimonial in years.
My divorce may be rusty.

We're not giving you the divorce.

We're sending that to Mr Tite-Smith.

Oh, well, good luck to right little
tight little Tite-Smith.

The matrimonial is not my client's
only problem.

When troubles come, Mr Pinhorn,

they come not single spies,
but in battalions.

- He has something else on his plate?
- On his plate?

(Laughs) That's very apt, that is,
and apter than you know.

Don't keep me in suspense.
Who is this mysterious client?

I won't divulge his name
in case you refuse to act for him,

although he's not short of money.

Huh! Horace Rumpole
refuse a money brief?

(Laughs) Oh, no, no.

He was afraid you'd taken against him,
so he's coming to appeal to you.

I've asked Henry to have him shown up.
Henry!

Mr O'Higgins, sir.

Is it Horace Rumpole?

I rely on you to save me.

You're the man to do it,
the great criminal defender.

Oh, I thought
I was the criminal in your restaurant.

I have to tell you, Mr Rumpole,
your courage took my breath away.

Do you know what he did, Mr Pinhorn,
what he had the pluck to do?

Only order mashed spuds
in La Maison Jean Pierre.

A thing no-one has dared in all my
time as ma�tre de cuisine.

I tell you, Mr Pinhorn, a man
who could do that to Jean Pierre

couldn't be intimidated by
all the judges of the bench.

No.

What do you say then,
Mr Horace Rumpole?

Will you take me on?

Well, I'll have to think about that.

Be honest. Is it my personality
that makes you hesitate?

Do you find me objectionable,
Mr Rumpole?

Mr O'Higgins,
I find your restaurant pretentious,

and your portions skimpy.

Your customers regale themselves
in a dim, religious atmosphere,

more fitting to evensong
than a good night out.

I find you an opinionated
and self-satisfied bully.

However, unlike you, I am on hire to
even the most unattractive customer.

Just listen to that.

How's that for eloquence?

We've picked the right one here,
Mr Pinhorn.

You haven't done away
with this vengeful wife, have you?

I should have, but no,
Simonne is still alive and suing.

- Isn't that right, Mr Pinhorn?
- It is, Mr O'Higgins.

I received a telephone call
from the environmental health officer.

My client is being charged

with offences relating to dangerous
practices at La Maison

under the Food
and Hygiene Regulations 1970.

"Wee, sleekit, cow'rin,
tim'rous beastie,"

the cause of panic in his breastie.

- The mouse.
- This is it, Mr Rumpole.

How wonderful!
We will elect for a trial by jury.

(Guffaws)

At least we'll give them a few laughs,
Mr Pinhorn,

even if we can't get you off,
Mr O'Higgins.

(Speaks Italian)

Right, that's you, spaghetti face.

(Speaks Italian)

The comis waiter, Alberto Pasquale.
He's Italian.

He saw nothing
until they took off the cloche.

- Been with you long, has he?
- About a year. Works hard.

Make a good manager.

So, now, he takes the dishes out,

to the station waiter.

(O'Higgins) Gaston LeBlanc.
He's been with me forever.

Works all the hours God made,

a sick wife, a kid at university.

Does all sorts of jobs,
even on his night off.

He looks under the covers
to see what's what.

Gaston said
there were only two plates.

He checked one
and it was the gentleman's order.

- No side order of mouse.
- Exactly.

He gave the other to Alberto
who took it to the lady.

And then the reputation

of England's greatest
ma�tre de cuisine crumbled to dust.

Nonsense. You're forgetting
the reputation of Horace Rumpole.

I'd better go out
and keep those Ionely people company.

So, what's our defence?

Oh, we'll cook up something
in the end.

You know, it's extraordinary,
Mr Pinhorn,

the power that can be wielded
by one of these smaller rodents.

You mean it's wrecked the business?

No, no. It's making Jean Pierre
O'Higgins be polite to his customers.

Good morning, Mr Rumpole.

Oh, top of the morning to you,
Mrs Rafferty.

Mrs Rafferty, am I a character,
in your humble opinion?

- Are you a what, Mr Rumpole?
- A character.

There was this old fellow Dalrymple we
had in chambers donkeys' years ago.

You remember, he had an absolutely
filthy flat just off Chancery Lane.

He led a cat around
on a length of pink tape.

He dried his socks
in front of his electric fire?

- Yes. You remember him?
- No.

Well, everybody's very proud
of old Dalrymple.

"Ho, ho!" they'd say,
"Dalrymple, what a character!"

One day,
our head of chambers came in.

He said, "They've binned Dalrymple.

"Caught him climbing into
the divorce court in his pyjamas.

"Certified insane."

Am I a character,

Mrs Rafferty?

Well... each to his own, Mr Rumpole.

That's what I always say.

- Mrs Rafferty...
- Sorry, sir?

What's that in your hand?

- Oh, this little fellow?
- Yes.

It was lying
on the floor of the toilet.

Not much of a brush,
but it does the job, sir.

It may not be much of a brush, but I
know somebody who'd be glad of it.

You want it as a gift, sir?

Not exactly as a gift, Mrs Rafferty,
more of a sort of surprise,

that is if you can spare it.

Well, now, you're quite a character,
aren't you, Mr Rumpole?

You don't want to know. It's something
you don't want to hear about.

- It's the same with battery hens.
- Battery hens?

Nobody wants to know, that's all.

But surely, Liz,
battery hens don't get Ionely.

Perhaps they do.

There's an awful lot
of Ioneliness about,

especially amongst old people.

Rumpole. You're all alone.

Oh. Well, yes, I was, yes.

Do you always have breakfast
by yourself?

Ah, it's not always possible.

- It's a lot easier now, of course.
- Now? Why now, exactly?

Well, now my wife's left me.

- Hilda?
- Mmm.

- She's left you, Rumpole?
- Er... yes.

As you would say, Miss Probert,

she's no longer sharing
a supportive relationship with me

in any meaningful way.

But where's she gone?

Oh, she's gone off
looking for gracious living

with her cousin Everard
from Saskatoon.

He's got as many jokes in him
as the Dow Jones average.

- She's gone off with another man?
- That's about the size of it.

Rumpole, why?

Because he is rich enough to be able
to afford very small portions of food.

- Rumpole...
- Yes?

You know Dave Inchcape and I

founded the YRLS,
the Young Radical Lawyers?

We don't only mean to agitate for law
reform, although that's part of it.

We want
to go into community work as well.

We could get someone to look
at your front door.

My front door? Whatever for?

Well, I suppose...
just to count the milk bottles.

Oh. (Chuckles)

(Knock on door)

(Claude) Morning, Ballard.
You're an early bird.

One doesn't like this,
but it's the only way.

- You want to catch the worm.
- Worm? What worm?

A worm in chambers?
What do you mean?

Nothing at all.
Just a figure of speech.

One gets worried
about standards of hygiene.

I'm briefing this restaurant business.
It makes one think.

Well, yes. It's been making me think.

I wanted to have a word
about the Maison Jean Pierre.

- A chain. It's the only answer.
- Just my luck that it was my table.

I'm a fairly well-known member
of the bar.

Henry will have to find
a small padlock.

I don't want my name
associated with a ridiculous...

The fellows in chambers
aren't going to like it.

Rumpole will say a great deal,
but the chain is the answer.

- The what, Ballard?
- Yes. Yes.

Get a new nailbrush and then chain
it up so that nobody can take it.

Can I have your support
in taking stern measures?

Oh, yes, Ballard. I'm right behind you.
Of course you can.

In this restaurant case, will you need
to call the couple who got the mouse?

The couple? Yes.

The mouse was served,
appalling lack of hygiene,

to a table booked
by Mr Claude Erskine-Brown and guest.

Now, he'll be a vital witness.

- You will be a vital witness.
- That's just it. I can't be a witness.

- There's no way I can be a witness.
- Why not?

My name will get into the papers,
and Philli will know I had dinner.

Why shouldn't she know
you were having dinner?

Most people have dinner.
It's nothing to be ashamed of.

Ballard? Sam. You're a married man.
You should understand these things.

Of course I'm married,
and Marguerite and I have dinner.

But I wasn't having dinner
with Philli!

I was dining with a solicitor.

- This was your guest?
- Yes.

- A solicitor?
- Of course.

He apparently leapt on a chair,
held down his skirt and screamed.

Ballard,
the solicitor was Tricia Benbow.

You don't imagine I'd spend a hundred
quid on Mr Pinhorn, do you?

- Patricia Benbow?
- Yes.

The blonde one
who wears all the bangles?

That's the one.

- She's a woman.
- Yes.

- And your wife knew nothing of this?
- And must never know.

Thank you, Ballard.
Thanks awfully, Sam.

Keep my name out of this.

I'll do the same for you, old boy.

- That won't be necessary?
- No? Well, thanks anyway.

- But you will have to give evidence.
- Sam!

Don't you Sam me!
It's all part of the same thing.

Sharp practice over the nailbrush,

failure to assist the authorities
in an important prosecution.

You had better prepare to give
evidence

and to be cross-examined by Rumpole
for the defence.

Do your duty
and take the consequences.

Bastard!

We thought of a way
of cheering him up.

What's the idea, Miss Probert?

Well, actually, it's social work.

Afternoon, all.

Fig Newton.

Mr Pinhorn said Mr Rumpole
would like to tell me about a job.

Take a seat, won't you, Mr Newton?
I'm expecting Mr Rumpole from court.

Much obliged.

(Liz) He must be going out
of his mind, all alone every night.

Shh, Liz!

- (Liz) Hello, Rumpole. Had a good day?
- Oh, perfectly charming.

His Honour, Judge Graves rose from
the tomb to give my client five years.

Ferdinand Isaac Gerald Newton,
private investigator extraordinaire.

- How are you, Fig?
- Oh er... not so dusty.

- You have a little job for me?
- Oh, yes, indeed.

A word with you.

There is a very posh restaurant
called La Maison Jean Pierre.

You need a second mortgage
to eat there.

A couple of the waiters,
I'd like to know what they do.

Gaston LeBlanc...

You coming to Pomeroy's, Rumpole?

No. Sorry, Dave. Duty calls me
to another watering hole.

And Alberto Pasquale.

(Sings in Italian)

Keep your stinking hands off her!
She doesn't want to know you.

- Mary can't stand the sight of you!
- (Speaks Italian)

- Imbecile? Who's an imbecile?
- (Speaks Italian)

- I've had enough of you!
- (Shouts in Italian)

Leave it out! One mouse and you
behave like a bunch of lunatics!

Haven't you wrecked this place enough?
Are you going to slaughter each other?

Am I interrupting anything?

Only the collapse
of a great restaurant.

- Aren't we meeting in court?
- I had some questions.

I thought I'd call in on my way home.

My wife's away at the moment,

and I've forgotten
to get anything in for dinner.

Are you hungry, Mr Rumpole?

A little terrine Jean Pierre?

How about
un petit coup de champagne?

Oh, I thought you'd never ask.

They fight over her, Mr Rumpole.

Ah, the young Mary Skelton exercises
a very powerful attraction.

- She doesn't exactly look the type.
- Maybe she has a warm heart.

Simonne looked the type.
She had a heart like iced consomm�.

Oh, yes, your wife.
A vengeful woman, was she?

Why would she be vengeful to me,

when I am a particularly tolerant
and easy-going type of individual?

I... We're not open yet!

What do you think we'll be serving?
High tea? Cretins!

It's not as though
I'm a difficult man.

Oh, no, of course not,
a very parfait, gentle cook.

A great artist needs admiration,
of course.

He needs almost incessant praise.

And with Simonne, the admiration
flowed like cement, did it?

Had some experience of wives?

A lifetime's experience, you might say.

You'll have to fill all these tables
to pay Simonne's alimony, won't you?

Well, not exactly. After the divorce,
she'll own half the restaurant.

Ah... Now,
that was not made clear to me.

Simonne, she was the one
with the business sense.

But she's French, so she insisted
on us getting married in France.

- Was that wrong?
- No. It was right, for Simonne.

They have a thing there
they call community property.

I had to agree to give her
half of everything if we broke up.

But you know all about the law.

Well, no, not all about it.

Often, knowledge of the law's
a handicap to a barrister.

You are going to get us out
of this little trouble, Mr Rumpole?

- The business of the mouse.
- Oh, the mouse.

The mouse
is the least of your worries.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

Well, the animals will be arriving.
It's almost feeding time.

Zim Saladin! Haroota mahroopa!

And hey... oop!

"For oft, when on my couch I lie

"In vacant or in pensive mood

"They flash upon that inward eye

"Which is the bliss of solitude."

(Doorbell rings)

She's back!

Ah, Hilda...

- (Rock music)
- Party, party, Mr Rumpole!

Surprise party, Rumpole.
Cheer you up in your Ioneliness.

My wife's having dinner at the mansion
house of the South London Mayors.

No consorts allowed, thank God.

And I hear
Mrs Rumpole's done a bunk, sir.

- No, not exactly a bunk, Henry, no.
- Which is why we're on the loose, eh?

- Makes you feel young, don't it?
- Not particularly young, Henry, no.

What could the Lord Chancellor know
about being pregnant

and your boyfriend's been arrested
for doing dope.

(Phone rings)

Very little, I should imagine. Yes.

- That's the telephone.
- The police, I shouldn't wonder.

- I'll get it.
- Oh, thank you.

Thank you.

Yes, officer? Oh, Hilda!
Oh, hello.

(Ballard) Members of the jury, many
of you may find this case shocking,

concerning, as it does...

'His Honour, Judge Gerald Graves,
never a friend to Rumpole.

'Look, he's looking at me now

'as though I were a porridge saucepan
that hasn't been washed.

'No doubt he lives
on a diet of organic bran, iced water

'and colonic irrigation.

'Huh! The last person in the world
to laugh this case out of court.

'Ah, well.
I'll have to do my best without him.'

In this highly-expensive,

allegedly three-starred restaurant,
members of the jury,

the environmental health officer
discovered cracked tiles,

open waste bins,
gravy on the ceiling...

- On the ceiling, Mr Ballard?
- Yes, My Lord.

Obviously not a short-order cook.

Absence of nailbrushes
in hand basins...

(Gasps) Horror!

All this is bad enough,
but on the night of May 18th,

a common house mouse was served
up to a customer's dinner table.

No doubt, we're dealing,
Mr Ballard, with a defunct mouse.

Again, alas, no, My Lord.
The mouse in question was alive.

And kicking.

Need one ask if an establishment is
in breach of food hygiene regulations

if it serves up a mouse?

As proprietor of the restaurant,

Mr O'Higgins is, say the prosecution,
absolutely responsible.

Whomsoever he seeks to blame in his
employ, he must take the consequences.

- I will call my first witness.
- Who is this pompous imbecile?

Shh! Quiet!

What are your full names, sir?

My Lord, may I write them down?
There may be some publicity.

- Aren't you a member of the Bar?
- Well, yes.

That's nothing to be ashamed of
in most cases.

Tell the jury who you are
in the usual way.

- Claude Leonard...
- No, do speak up.

Claude Leonard Erskine-Brown.

Leonard?
He's not owned up to that before.

Were you dining
at La Maison Jean Pierre?

Well, yes. Yes, I did just drop in.

- For dinner?
- Yes.

In the company of a young lady
named Patricia Benbow?

Ah, well, now, that is...

Mr Erskine-Brown, it seems
a fairly simple question to answer,

even for a member of the bar.

I was in Miss Company's Benbow,
My Lord.

- And were the plates covered?
- Yes, they were.

When the covers were lifted,
what happened?

- A mouse ran out.
- Do speak up!

- A mouse ran out, My Lord!
- Hickory, dickory, dock.

(Ballard) Thank you, Mr Erskine-Brown.

(Rumpole) Mr Claude?

Leonard Erskine-Brown.

- Is Miss Benbow a solicitor?
- Well, yes.

And is your wife a well-known
and highly-regarded Queen's counsel?

No. Mrs Erskine-Brown has sat here
as a recorder, members of the jury.

(Rumpole) I'm obliged to Your Lordship.

And is Miss Benbow instructed
in an important and forthcoming case,

that is the Balham minicab murder,

in which she intends to instruct
Mrs Erskine-Brown QC?

I... Is she?

Were you dining with Miss Benbow

in order to discuss the defence
in that case,

your wife being
unfortunately delayed in Cardiff?

Was I?

Well, weren't you?

Oh, yes, of course.

I remember now. Of course I was.

I did it all to help Philli. To help
my wife. Is that what you mean?

- (Ballard) My Lord...
- That is exactly what I mean.

Thank you, Horace.
Thank you very much.

Mr Rumpole,
when are we coming to the mouse?

Thank you, Your Lordship,
for reminding me.

- What sort of an animal was it?
- A small mouse, hardly noticeable.

A very small mouse, and ha...

hardly noticeable.

You first saw it when it emerged
from under the silver dish cover?

You couldn't swear
it got there in the kitchen?

(Claude) No, I couldn't.

Or if it was inserted by someone
who had access to the serving table?

Oh, yes, Mr Rumpole, you're
perfectly right. It might have been.

I take it you're not suggesting
this creature appeared

by some sort of miracle,
are you, Mr Rumpole?

No, My Lord, not a miracle.
Perhaps a trick.

But isn't Mr Ballard perfectly right?

For the purposes of this offence,
it doesn't matter how it got there.

A properly-run restaurant should not
serve up a mouse for dinner.

- The thing speaks for itself.
- Oh, a talking mouse, My Lord?

Mr Rumpole,
this is not a place of entertainment.

Remember, this is a most serious case
from your client's point of view.

We will continue with it
after luncheon.

- Well, the battle continues.
- This is a mysterious case.

It's more than mysterious, Mr Pinhorn.

There is no evidence of droppings,
no sign of mice in that kitchen.

No. The mouse was put under
the cover to ruin the business.

- Mrs O'Higgins?
- Oh, no. Certainly not.

She'd want the place to be
as prosperous as possible.

No, the guilty person

is someone who wanted Simonne
to get as little as possible.

So, what did this someone do?

You tell me, Mr Rumpole.

Broke a few small rules to begin with,

took away the nailbrushes,
the covers off the bins,

but they needed something sensational,

something
that would hit the headlines.

They remembered one of the waiters
had a talent for sleight of hand.

He had a spare-time job
producing livestock out of hats.

- Gaston LeBlanc?
- Exactly.

He put the mouse under the cover,
handed it to Alberto,

who passed it on
to the unfortunate Miss Benbow.

Consequence,
the ruin of the restaurant

and a poor investment
for the vengeful Simonne.

Whoever it was
must have paid Gaston very well.

Who are we talking about,
Mr Rumpole?

Ah, well, now, who had the greatest
possible reason for hating Simonne?

(Pinhorn) Who?

(Rumpole) Who other than our client,
the great Jean Pierre O'Higgins himself?

No! No! It's not true!

Jean Pierre knew nothing about it.

It was my idea entirely. Why should
she get anything out of him?

Well now, back into court.

Why don't you take a statement
from Miss Mary Skelton?

We'll call her as a witness.

I'm afraid
I left something here last night.

Yes, I think you did. It's in there.

Young Radical Lawyers?

I suppose that means free and easy
with other people's husbands.

What? You don't honestly imagine...

I don't have to imagine anything,
do I? It's obvious.

Don't think I fancy Rumpole, do you?

Well, I don't see why not.

Rumpole is a character, and some
people like that sort of thing.

Look, Mrs Rumpole, please listen.

Dave Inchcape and a load of us
gave Rumpole a party

to cheer him up because he was Ionely.

Well, he was missing you so terribly.

- He was what?
- Missing you.

I saw him at breakfast.
He looked so sad.

"She's left me," he said. "She's gone
off with her cousin Everard."

- He said that?
- He sounded broken-hearted.

He saw nothing ahead, I'm sure,

but a Ionely old age stretching out
in front of him until...

...until he couldn't take in the milk
any more.

Well, anyone could see
how much he was missing you.

Oh, well...
Thank you for telling me that.

I... really didn't know.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

Miss Mary Skelton, the cashier,
was in love.

She was in love with her boss, that
larger-than-life cook and character,

Jean Pierre O'Higgins.

People do many things for love.

They commit suicide. They leave home.

Sometimes, they simply pine away.

But it was for love

that Miss Mary Skelton
caused a live mouse to be served up

in the Maison Jean Pierre

after having paid the station waiter
a considerable sum

to perform the trick.

She it was
who wanted to ruin the restaurant

so that my client's vengeful wife
Simonne should get nothing out of it.

(Judge) Mr Rumpole...

But my client knew nothing of this plot.
He was entirely innocent.

Mr Rumpole, if a restaurant serves
unhygienic food,

the proprietor is guilty in law.

You are not concerned with the law,
members of the jury.

You are concerned with justice!

That is a quite outrageous thing to say!

On the admitted facts of this case,
Mr O'Higgins is clearly guilty.

No British judge has the power

to direct a British jury
to find a defendant guilty.

I warn you, Mr Rumpole, I shall tell
the jury that he is guilty in law.

His Honour may tell you that
to his heart's content.

What you do, members of the jury,

is a matter between God
and your consciences.

Can you, in all conscience,
find a man guilty

and condemn him to ruin

when he was as free of criminal intent
and conspiracy

as the innocent little mouse itself?

Can any of you? Can you?

The facts of the matter in this case
are in your hands

and your hands alone,
members of the jury.

My task is done.

The future
of that great ma�tre de cuisine,

Jean Pierre O'Higgins,

is in your hands and your hands alone.

(Applause)

(Woman) Mr O'Higgins!

- You were brilliant.
- I've got one or two left in me yet.

No, all that nonsense
about a brief for Philli.

- It was not nonsense, Leonard.
- Claude.

I rang Miss Benbow.

She is going to brief Philli
with the minicab murder.

Would Rumpole deceive the court?

- Am I getting a brief?
- She said nothing about that.

Well,
thanks for getting me out of a scrape.

Think nothing of it.

My life is devoted
to assisting the criminal classes.

I say, Rumpole.
This is the QC's robing room.

Yes. Holy ground. I promised
to give a pen to Boll... er... Ballard.

- Which is his locker?
- Over by the window.

Thank you.

There is nothing else for it.
I shall chain up the next one.

Chain it up? Come on, Ballard.
Isn't that a bit drastic?

If fellows and ladies in chambers
cannot be trusted,

I am left with no alternative.

I hate to do this, but tomorrow
Henry is being sent for a chain.

Yes. Look, hang on to that, will you?

Could I have 25p
for the Evening Standard?

Another restaurant may be in trouble.

Why are you
never provided with money?

Well, he...

That's... That's our old nailbrush!

- Oh.
- I'd recognise it anywhere.

- But it's black!
- Been cleaning shoes with it?

Of course not. How did it get in here?

Oh, evidence gets in anywhere,
old love, just like mice.

Cousin Everard about, is he?

- He had to go back to Saskatoon.
- Ah.

You knew I'd be back,
didn't you, Rumpole?

Well, I had hoped.

You couldn't manage without me,
could you?

- Well, I had a stab at it.
- Liz Probert said that you missed me.

Hilda, of course I missed you.

- Life without a boss...
- What did you say?

- I said you were a frightful loss.
- She said you were terribly Ionely.

I must say
I was glad to hear that, Rumpole,

because you don't very often say much
about your feelings.

Words don't come easily to me, Hilda.

Well, now that you are so pleased
to see me back,

why don't you take me out
for a little celebration?

I've become quite accustomed
to dining � la carte.

Ha! That's a... a very good idea.

I know a little place where
we can get it on the mou... house.

Un, deux, trois!

Steak and kidney pudding!

Oh, George, thank you so much.

Bon app�tit.

I suppose that's why
I enjoy your company, Rumpole.

- Oh, Hilda...
- Because you are a character.

You need me to tell you off
when you go too far.

Hilda, I've got what I want at last.

Mashed spud.

Best watched using Open Subtitles MKV Player

Repair and Synchronization by
Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0