All language subtitles for Rumpole s06e04 Sad.eng

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Bail, Mr Rumpole?
You're applying to me for bail?

That is the purpose of my visit
to Your Lordship's Chambers.

(Rumpole) 'Does he think
I dropped in for a chat? '

Bail having already been refused
in the magistrates' court

and by my brother judge
Mr Justice Entwhistle.

Is this a frivolous application?

Only if it is frivolous to allow
the innocent their freedom, My Lord.

(Judge) I am not a jury.

(Rumpole) 'Worst luck.'

(Judge) Emotional appeals
will carry very little weight with me.

'Ha! You can say that again.'

When you use the word innocent,
I assume you refer to your client.

I'm referring, My Lord, to all of us.

We are all innocent until proved guilty
by a jury of our peers,

or has the golden thread of British
justice become tarnished of late?

Mr Rumpole, I see that
your client's name is Timson.

So it is, My Lord, but I would use
precisely the same argument

were it Horace Rumpole
or indeed Mr Justice Graves.

- It's intolerable.
- Oh, quite intolerable.

Conditions for prisoners on remand
were better 100 years ago.

I mean intolerable that you should
address me in such a manner.

I don't imagine
I'll ever need you to defend me.

'You just never know, old darling.'

No doubt bail is opposed
by the prosecution.

- Do you oppose it, Mr Harvey Wimple?
- I do indeed, My Lord.

There you are, Mr Rumpole.
Bail is opposed by the prosecution.

On what precise grounds,
Mr Harvey Wimple?

On the grounds, My Lord,
that if he is left at liberty,

Mr Timson might commit an offence.

Do you hear that, Mr Rumpole?
If set at liberty,

your client might commit an offence.

Of course he might, My Lord.

Every man, woman and child
in England might commit an offence.

Is Your Lordship suggesting we keep
them all banged up on the off chance?

It's just not on, that's all.

Mr Rumpole, what is "not on",
as you so curiously put it?

Banging up the innocent, My Lord,

with a chamber pot and a couple of
psychopaths for an indefinite period,

while the wheels of justice grind
to a halt in a traffic jam of cases.

Do try to control yourself, Mr Rumpole.

Conditions in prisons
are a matter for the Home Office.

Of course, My Lord. I'm sorry.
I forgot.

They are of no interest
to a judge who refuses bail

and who has not spent a single night

locked up without the benefit
of a water closet.

- The application is refused.
- (Rumpole) 'Surprise, surprise.'

I add that I find the way in which this
matter has been argued lamentable,

and very far from being
in the best traditions of the Bar.

I may have to report
the personal and improper nature

of Mr Rumpole's argument
to the proper authorities.

Thank you for your able assistance,
Mr Harvey Wimple.

(Door closes)

(Hilda) Had a good day, Rumpole?

Thank God, Hilda, for
your wonderful sense of humour.

- Look at your face.
- Thank you, I prefer not to.

I have no doubt
it is deeply marked with tragedy.

Whatever's happened?

"I could a tale unfold," Hilda,

"Whose lightest word would harrow up
thy soul, freeze thy young blood,

"Make thy two eyes like stars
start from their spheres,

"Thy knotted
and combined locks to part

"And each particular hair
to stand on end,

"Like quills upon
the fretful porpentine."

Oh, go on, I bet they wouldn't.
What you need, Rumpole, is a change.

I do. A change from Mr Justice Graves!

Ha! What a contradiction in terms.

Mr Injustice Graves, it should be.

For two pins, I'd jump on a banana boat
and sail into the sunset.

Oh, Rumpole, I'm so glad
that's what you'd do... for two pins.

What's the matter?
You're strangely sympathetic.

Er... Do you know
what I've been thinking?

- What?
- We need a second honeymoon.

- The first one was bad enough.
- It wouldn't have been,

if you hadn't thought
we could do the South of France

on the fees of a short robbery.

Well, it was all I had
at the time.

Anyway, you should not
have ordered lobster.

Why go on honeymoon
and not order lobster?

Of course you can order lobster.
Nobody's stopping you from ordering it.

You just shouldn't complain when
we have to leave three days early

and sit on the train with two
drunken matelots on top of us.

On our second honeymoon, I shall
order lobster when we're on the cruise.

On the what?

There's still a bit of Aunt Tedda's money
left, and I've booked up for it.

No, Hilda, certainly not.

I know exactly what it will be like.
Bingo on the boat deck.

We fly to Venice
and we join the boat there.

We need to get away,
Rumpole, to look at ourselves.

Do you think that's altogether wise?

The soft Mediterranean.

The sound of music across the water,
the stars,

and you and I by the rails,
finding each other, Rumpole.

You can find me any time.
Just yell out "Rumpole".

You said you'd fly into the sunset
for two pins.

No, no. A figure of speech, Hilda.
A pure figure of speech.

Let us get one thing
absolutely clear.

No power on earth
will get me on a cruise.

(Long blast of ship's horn)

Why are you wearing that, Hilda?
Do you expect to steer this thing?

(Hilda) Isn't that San Marco?
It must be.

Oh, Rumpole, isn't that the most
beautiful sight in the world?

- Oh, no, it can't be.
- I'm sure it is San Marco.

Angels and ministers of grace,
defend us. It's him!

Courage! I remember you saying it's
the first essential in an advocate.

Courage, yes, but not total lunacy.

Life at the Bar may have its risks,

but no legal duty compels me to spend
two weeks shut up in a floating hotel

with Mr Injustice Gravestone.

But I don't see
what you think you can do about it.

Oh, it's perfectly simple, Hilda.
I shall abandon ship.

Excuse me.

I've just discovered that I am allergic
to Graves. I mean, allergic to ships.

It would be most unwise
for me to travel.

The slightest seasickness
could prove fatal.

- We're only just out of port.
- Well, exactly.

I could probably just wade ashore,
couldn't I?

- I've just had the most terrible news.
- You're welcome to telephone, sir.

- I'm afraid that wouldn't help.
- We'll fly you back from our next port.

- Next port?
- Yes, sir. Greece in three days.

OK, sir?

(Knock on door)

Oh, I say! What tremendous fun,
Rumpole! Do listen to this.

"Happy Hour in the Old Salt's Bar.
Fancy dress ball.

"Live it up
in an evening of ocean fantasy.

"Lecture by Howard Swainton,
best-selling mystery writer,

"on 'How I think up my plots."'

- Three days...
- Oh, do cheer up, Rumpole.

"5:30, Captain's 'Welcome, Folks'
cocktail party.

"8:45, dinner dance." I shall wear
the long black dress from Debenhams.

Captain's cocktail party?

Exchanging small talk and Twiglets
with Mr Injustice Deathshead?

No, thank you very much.
I shall lie doggo in the bedroom.

- Cabin.
- Cabin.

You can't possibly do that.
What am I going to tell everyone?

Tell them I've come down with mumps.

Oh, no, he may take it into his head
to visit the sick.

He may want to come and gloat
with grapes. Tell him I'm dead.

(Rumpole) Tell them a last-minute
case kept me in England.

Rumpole, don't you think you're being
the tiniest bit silly about this?

If anyone should ask,
you are here entirely on your own.

Now, remember... Please, Hilda.

(Piano plays)

What is your line of business,
Mr Swainton? Are you retired?

You don't know what Howard does?
You ought to walk into the shop.

The shelves are groaning with his
best-sellers, aren't they, Howard?

I seem to know what goes with the
public. My motto is, keep 'em guessing.

A spot of sex and a bit of
mayhem every half-dozen pages.

Howard won two Golden Daggers.
"Time" called him "the genius of evil".

Let's just say
I'm a writer with a taste for mystery.

I suppose since I've been concerned
with the greatest mystery of all,

I've rather lost interest in detective
stories. I... I do apologise.

- And what is the greatest mystery?
- Bill means going into the Church.

It's what I've always wanted,
after a lifetime in insurance.

- You've joined the awkward squad?
- Sorry?

The army of reverend pinkos always
preaching morality to the government.

Why don't you chaps
mind your own business?

Well, I suppose, er...
morality is my business now.

Of course, it used to be insurance.
I came to the best things late in life,

the Church and, er... and Mavis.

We're on our honeymoon.

Pleasure combined with business.

We're going as far as Athens. I'm going
to be padre to the Anglican community.

I don't suppose
you're a honeymoon couple?

As a matter of fact, I'm Howard's
personal assistant, Linda Milson.

Oh, well. Perhaps we're the only
honeymoon couple on board.

Well, what do you think about that?

Actually I... um, that is we, are
on honeymoon too, in a sort of way.

- Really? Oh, jolly good.
- What sort of a way is that, Mrs?

Rumpole. Hilda Rumpole.
Well, second honeymoon, actually.

We were married years ago
just after the war.

Rumpole was a young man at the Bar.

Do you know,
we were really quite poor then.

We had to return early when I ordered
lobster. Killing to think of it now!

I can't remember a time
when I couldn't afford lobster.

(Mavis) Which is your husband,
Mrs Rumpole?

- He's not here.
- (Swainton) Not here?

(Hilda) No. You see,
something rather unexpected turned up.

- You're on honeymoon on your own?
- Excuse me.

- Strange woman.
- Fantasy, no doubt.

- Come again?
- Pure fantasy. Hasn't got a husband.

I say, you don't really think that,
do you?

Howard has the most extraordinary
insight into the human mind.

Rumpole, will you make your mind up?
Are you in hiding or are you not?

I can't get a drink in the cabin.

All the stewards are
at the captain's cocktail party.

Why don't you come in?
You could meet a famous author.

Are you mad? He is in there.

Probably getting laughs about the
number of my clients he's locked up.

Really, this is no way
to spend a second honeymoon.

Bring me out a couple of glasses
of the bubbles, please.

What's on
those funny little bits of toast?

It's not the criminals
one minds dealing with.

On the whole, they're perfectly
well-mannered and respectful.

No, I needed a complete rest
from a certain barrister.

We get the same thing in our job.

The young chaps
think they know everything.

Well, as a matter of fact,
it's the old one

who knows he knows everything.

Excuse me, Captain.
Er... Letters to write.

Research is the key to my success.
I spend six months researching a book.

You'll want to come to the lecture.
He is fascinating on research.

I'm working on a new one at the
moment. I call it "Absence of Body".

Someone disappears on a cruise ship.

Corpus delecti, yes. Isn't that
where they can't find the body?

Exactly. Pretty neat title,
don't you think?

(Swainton) What's that odd
woman up to now?

Out in the rain, enjoying a drink
with her imaginary husband.

I don't know why
you're frightened of him.

You don't cower before him
in court from all you tell me.

Cower? Of course I don't cower.

I can treat the old Deathshead
with lofty disdain in front of a jury.

I can thunder my disapproval of him
at a bail application.

I have no fear of the man
in the exercise of my profession.

It's the threat of that awful phoney
friendliness that I can't stand.

- I think you're being silly about this.
- That's it, Hilda.

It's the dreadful affability,

and that is why, Hilda,

I have fled Mr Injustice
down the nights and down the days.

"I fled Him,
down the arches of the years,

"I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
of my own mind;

"and in the mist of tears I hid from Him,
and under running laughter..."

Not much laughter for me on a
second honeymoon without a husband!

Don't wait up for me!

(Slams door)

Oh, Mrs Rumpole.

- We're neighbours.
- Yes. Er... so it seems.

(Mavis) Isn't that nice?

Our cabin's really lovely.
Would you like to see it?

- Oh, well, I...
- Oh, dear, Mrs Rumpole, come on.

- Pay us a visit.
- Oh. (Chuckles)

It's all so very tastefully
done, isn't it?

We've even got a telephone.
Er... Oh, I don't suppose we'll use it.

You don't want to phone people up all
the time, do you? Not on a honeymoon.

Oh, what a pretty girl. Your daughter?

Um... Well, not exactly.

(Rumpole groans)

Oh... Oh, excuse me.
You go on to dinner.

I'll catch you up later.

I just wanted to warn you.

If you see Graves at dinner, lie low.

But he'll know me
from the Ballards' wedding.

That's the terrible danger.
Just don't encourage the blighter.

Don't you dream of dancing with him!

You never know what I might dream of.

(Band plays slow waltz)

They dance frightfully well.

Don't you think
he dances rather too well for a vicar?

I don't know what you mean
by that exactly.

Howard looks below the surface
of things. That's his great talent.

Ah! My husband's danced me
off my feet!

Mine was on my feet
when we used to dance.

We were just saying. You do that
unusually well for a vicar.

Ah. Well, don't forget,
I was in insurance.

- No, I hadn't forgotten.
- Are you a dancer, Mrs Rumpole?

Oh... No, thank you, no.
Not this evening.

Are you looking for someone?

Mmm... Yes, a judge, actually
that I've met before.

I'm sure he was at the captain's
cocktail party but I don't see him now.

- A judge?
- He used to be just down the Bailey.

Now he's been put up to
the High Court, scarlet and ermine.

A red judge. Sir Gerald Graves.

Oh, terribly sorry. How... How very
careless of me. I'm so sorry.

Graves...

(Rumpole) "'Like one,
that on a Ionesome road

"'Doth walk in fear and dread,

"'And having once turned round walks
on, and turns no more his head;

"'Because he knows, a frightful judge
Doth close behind him tread.

"'Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:

"'Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze,
On me alone it..."'

Argh!

(Hilda) There he is.

- Who?
- Mr Justice Graves.

He's gone.

He must be an early bird.

- Good morning.
- Good morning to you.

Well, Bill, how's Mavis this morning?

Not too good, I'm afraid.
She's not, er, not quite the ticket.

- The what?
- She's not quite up to scratch.

- You mean she's sick?
- On her honeymoon?

- Do tell her, we're all so sorry for her.
- Thank you. That's very kind.

Hilda, might I have the sugar,
please? Thank you.

How's your husband, Hilda?
Have you heard from him lately?

- Well, yes, I have.
- Still busy, is he?

- He's on the move all the time.
- Gee, I hope your wife gets better.

If it's nausea, I've got homeopathic
capsules. I could drop them in.

That's very kind. I'm not sure. I think
she'd like to be alone for the moment.

- A shame. So full of life last night.
- That's exactly what I thought,

so full of life.

(German announcer on PA system)

Judge!

It is Sir Gerald Graves, isn't it?

Hilda Rumpole.
We met at Sam Ballard's wedding.

Married the matron
from the Old Bailey and surprised us.

Mrs Rumpole. Of course.
You're here... on your own?

On my own in a sort of way.

I see, yes.
Your husband's not about?

No, no. Definitely not about.

You see,
Rumpole has a very busy practice.

I believe you had him before you.
I don't know if you remember?

Your husband's appearances
before me, Mrs Rumpole,

are... quite unforgettable.

How sweet of you to say so.

We judges all agree there is simply
no advocate at the criminal Bar

in the least like Horace Rumpole.

- A one-off, is that what you say?
- Without a doubt, yes.

(Mutters) One-off,
we're all agreed on that.

Yes, I'm sure you're right.
That's maybe why I married him.

He's a bit of a one-off sort of husband.

You'll forgive me, Mrs Rumpole,

I've absolutely no idea
what Rumpole is like as a husband.

Of course not. How silly of me.

You don't know what it's like to go
on one honeymoon, let alone two.

No idea at all, I'm delighted to say.

But I will tell him all the nice things
that you said about him.

- You'll tell him?
- When I next see him.

Oh, I see. Back in England?

Or wherever.
It may encourage him to break cover.

To do what, Mrs Rumpole?

Well, to come out into the open
a little bit more.

Would it surprise you to know

that Rumpole is
a shy and retiring sort of person?

- Hilda!
- Yes, Rumpole, here I am.

Rumpole, my dear old fellow.

Your good lady
told me you weren't about.

Er... Not about? No, I wasn't. No.

Not got your sea legs yet?

The judge was sweet enough to say
your appearances were unforgettable.

- Oh, yes? How terribly sweet.
- (Hilda) And like no one else.

I honestly meant it, old fellow.
You are absolutely Sui generis.

Yes, to mention but a few.

Even though you have so little Latin.

What was the last case you did
before me?

It was a bail application, My Lord.

Of course it was.
You should have been there.

We had a good deal of fun,
didn't we?

Oh, yes, a riot! Yes. Yes.

Timson laughed so much
in Brixton Prison

he couldn't empty his slop bucket.

(Judge) He will have his little joke,
Mrs Rumpole.

A great one for his little joke.

Now I've met you, there's no reason
why we shouldn't have a drink.

Shall we say after dinner
in the Old Salt's Bar?

Five past nine exactly.

If Your Lordship pleases.

Old Salt's Bar.
Look what you've done now.

I had to flush you out somehow. I had to
get you to take part in your honeymoon.

Poor Mavis getting sick like that,
she's missing all the fun.

Tonight, Hilda,
the sick are the lucky ones.

- (Bill) Who is it?
- It's Hilda Rumpole.

- Is Mavis still poorly?
- Um...

- (Bill) With you in a moment.
- Oh, don't let us disturb you.

(Bill) No, it's absolutely
no trouble.

- Excuse me.
- Yes.

Oh. Visiting the sick?
We all seem to have the same idea.

Yes. Er... This is my husband.

Ah, is it really? I am surprised.

Mr Howard Swainton,
the Howard Swainton.

- How do you do?
- I'm the Horace Rumpole.

Your wife's been telling us
you're a barrister.

- An Old Bailey hack.
- We wondered when you'd turn up.

Oh, why?
Are you in some sort of trouble?

Mavis is still a little groggy.
She just needs to rest quietly.

Yes, of course.
Give her our love.

But I came bearing gifts.
I do hope they'll cheer her up.

That's kind. I'm not sure she feels...

Mavis?

A few ocean-going roses
and my latest in paperback.

Oh, I'm awfully sorry.
How terribly clumsy of me.

I think you should go now.
Mavis does want to be perfectly quiet.

Yes, of course. I... do understand.

Come along, Rumpoles.
Shall we see you later?

Oh, yes, of course.

I do hope she'll be better tomorrow.

They said someday you'll find

All who love are blind

When your heart's on fire

You will realise

Smoke gets in your eyes

Is he someone you crossed
swords with at the Old Bailey?

Swords? Oh, nothing so gentlemanly.
Let's say, er, chemical weapons.

The old darling's summings-up
are pure poison gas.

Oh, come on. He was absolutely
charming about you on the boat deck.

What's up with the claret?
Is it glued to the table?

Are you sure you haven't had enough?

Oh, you're remarkably punctual.

Oh, Judge. Sir Gerald Graves. Howard
Swainton, the Howard Swainton.

- Pleased to meet you.
- Glass of champagne.

- And Linda, his personal assistant.
- Good evening.

Bill Britwell, the Reverend Bill.

(Judge) How do you do?
(Hilda) Everyone, Sir Gerald Graves.

Ah... Five past nine exactly.

Silence, court's in session.

Our second night at sea.
I'm sure we're all enjoying it.

Oh, best time we've had since
the Luton axe killings, My Lord.

What was that you said, Rumpole?
I said absolutely thrilling, My Lord.

I'm afraid you...
you'll have to excuse me.

- So soon?
- Can't you relax? Forget your troubles.

Have a drink with a real judge.

I have to get back to Mavis.

- His wife's not been well.
- She's not quite the ticket.

I'm sorry. I hope
she's well enough to join us tomorrow.

I'm sure she hopes so too.
Give her all our best wishes, Bill.

- The judge is thinking of her.
- Oh, yes. Very kind of you.

Please, don't let me break up the party.

Rumpole was just telling us
about your little set-to in court.

Yes? We do have a bit of fun from
time to time, don't we, Rumpole?

Wasn't quite how he put it.
Of course, I do understand.

Barristers are
the natural enemy of judges,

judges and, er... well, my lot,
detective story writers.

We all want answers,
we all want to ferret out the truth.

We all want to tell the world
who's guilty.

Well put, if I may say so, Mr Swainton.

In your tales, the mysteries are always
solved and the criminal pays.

Enormous royalties, I have no doubt.

Tell me, Swainton,

are you working on some wonderful
new mystery to delight us?

Well, yes,
as a matter of fact I am.

- Oh, do tell us.
- Ssh. Hilda, don't encourage him.

Would you like a request for Gloria?
She'll sing anything reasonable.

Oh, er... Gloria de La Haye?

That wasn't the name.

- If you write the song'a name, sir?
- Oh. Yes, yes.

(Graves) I'm afraid crime's
never far away in this wicked world.

- There you are.
- (Linda) Tell them about the new book.

A woman on a ship, on a cruise
with her new husband.

She is supposed to be ill, but in fact
she's tucked up in bed fully dressed.

I see. The plot thickens.

It's the truth, you see, Judge.
It's so much stranger than fiction.

Horace Rumpole was a witness to the
fact when we visited Mrs Mavis Britwell.

You mean
she wanted you to believe she was ill?

Or someone wanted us to believe
she was ill.

Of course, one doesn't want
to make rash accusations.

Oh, doesn't one? One sounds as if
one was positively longing to.

No doubt you've some sort of
explanation to offer.

Perhaps the Reverend Bill's got a thing
about sleeping with women in twin sets.

Please! Don't be disgusting!

(Linda) That is the great thing about
Howard, his gift of observation.

(Rumpole) He can see a best-seller
coming at 200 yards?

(Swainton) I'm not thinking about
bestsellers here.

(Linda) Every paper in the world
wants to speak to Howard.

(Swainton) Embarrassing.

(Band starts playing jazzy song)

Who's that kickin' up a noise?

My little sister

Who's that giggling with the boys?

My little sister

Whose lemonade is laced with gin?

Who taught the vicar how to sin?

Knock on the door

(Three drumbeats)

And she'll let you in

My little sister

- Extraordinary song.
- Yes. Takes you back, doesn't it?

I mean, it takes me back.

Who took our puppy to the vet?

That was last night
and she's not home yet

My little sister

(Faint sounds of singer
and romantic song now)

Soft night.
The stars, the sound of music.

And you and I by the rail,
finding each other.

- Tell me, Rumpole...
- Mmm?

What do you think the Mediterranean's
trying to say to us?

It's probably trying to tell you
it's the Adriatic.

Isn't there anything that you feel
romantic about?

- Of course there is.
- Ah, there you are.

I knew it. What exactly?

Steak and kidney pudding.

The jury system.
The presumption of innocence.

- Anything else?
- Of course, yes. I almost forgot.

What?

Wordsworth.

It seems like only yesterday that I was
a young girl and you proposed to me.

No, it's longer than that.

And you asked Daddy
for my hand in marriage.

- And he gave it to me.
- Daddy was always so generous.

- Tell me, Rumpole...
- Mmm.

Now that we're alone...

Oh, I'm afraid we're not.

- Not what?
- Alone. Look, down there.

What an extraordinary thing to do.

Perhaps a little... eccentric.

(Hilda) Throwing photographs into
the sea, with the frames still on!

Yes, that does indicate
a certain urgency.

Sleep well, Hilda.

When I was in their cabin,
I saw that the photographs had gone.

Oh, very observant.

You see, I'd seen them before,
when I first visited,

and one of them
was their wedding photograph.

Can you imagine anyone throwing
their wedding photograph overboard?

Perish the thought. Goodnight, Hilda.

And on their honeymoon, too!
Can you imagine anyone doing that?

(Mutters) Only if
she'd ordered lobster.

(Hida) What did you say?

Er... I said,
only if he'd thought he'd lost her.

Oh, do you think so?
Do you really think so, Rumpole?

I don't think it's any of our business.

The other photograph
was of a young girl.

Really rather pretty.

She seemed somehow familiar, as
though she might have been famous.

- Rumpole?
- Yes?

Can you imagine
why a clergyman would do that?

I can't imagine why anyone should ask
me to imagine anything.

Quite extraordinary.

'Unless other people
start imagining something.

'Ah... '

Photographs, you say?
In silver frames?

- That's what it appeared to be.
- Why would a man do such a thing?

Ask yourself that, members of the jury.

Ah, Rumpole, there you are.

Why would a man throw
photographs into the sea?

That is indeed
the question we have to ask.

Is the court in a secret session,
or can anyone join in?

No, do. With your long experience
of the criminal classes,

you may be able to suggest a solution.

I'm on holiday.

I have a suggestion.
Suppose he wanted to...

- He being the Reverend Bill?
- Yes. If he is a reverend?

Lots of con men, I believe,
go on these cruises.

That is an entirely unacceptable
suggestion by the prosecution.

There is not a shred of evidence...

Please, Mr Rumpole, let Mr Swainton
complete his submission.

- Oh, is that soup?
- Bouillon.

Thank you very much.

Suppose Bill wanted to remove
all trace of the person in the photos?

Er... Two persons. Hilda told me
there were two photographs.

Two different women,
his wife and a young girl.

Are you suggesting he wanted
to remove traces of two people?

- Is that the prosecution's case?
- Oh, please, Mr Rumpole.

It hasn't come to a prosecution... yet.

His wife?
This is most interesting.

One photograph was of his wife?

Now, why would he
want to throw that into the sea?

Oh, God knows.
Perhaps it didn't do her justice.

Or was it a symbolic act?

- A what?
- He got rid of the photograph

because he means to get rid of her.

That is a most serious suggestion.

Balderdash. Product of a mind
addled with detective stories.

Where do you think Mavis Britwell is?
Still in bed with her clothes on?

Why don't you go down and take
a peep through the keyhole?

No, I wasn't thinking of that.

I was just thinking, the steward
does the cabin along our corridor

at about this time. If we happen to be
passing, we might just see something.

We shouldn't have long to wait.
They'll do the Britwells next.

Oh. Good morning, Judge.

My dear Britwell.
And how's your wife this morning?

- Well?
- Um...

I'm afraid no better, no better at all.
She needs to stay in bed very quietly.

Yes.

If you'll excuse me.

There you are, you see?
She's in bed quietly.

I don't think we can accept that
evidence with no corroboration.

Ah, Mrs Rumpole. Perhaps you'd allow
us to be your guests for a moment.

Don't help the prosecution.

- It's in a terrible mess, I'm afraid.
- (Judge) We can put up with that

in our quest for the truth.

- Can I help you, sir?
- Sorry. Must have the wrong cabin.

- They all look so alike.
- Particularly those with one occupant.

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

Till the blue skies
drive the dark clouds away

- He told us a deliberate lie.
- Distinctly said she was in the cabin.

Well, in my view,

Britwell's evidence must be accepted
with extreme caution on any subject.

- I don't see why.
- Ah, the perpetual defender.

A large glass of red, please, Nicky,
the "Chateau Bilge Water".

We all tell the odd lie
when the occasion demands.

Speak for yourself, Rumpole.

Oh, didn't you tell my wife that you
had no idea that she was onboard

when you met her on deck
the other morning?

I may have said that.

I saw you at the cocktail party.

As soon as you caught sight
of Mrs Rumpole, you left the room.

- Rumpole, that is a grossly improper...
- Oh, yes, improper argument, yes.

No doubt you will report it
to the relevant authorities.

- Gentlemen, gentlemen.
- Yes, and players. Thank you, Nicky.

We may tell a white lie occasionally,
but we have to face facts.

Mrs Britwell
has apparently disappeared.

"In the midst of the world
she was trying to say

"In the midst
of her laughter and glee

"She slowly and silently vanished away
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see."

What action should we take?

Who exactly is the Boojum?
Or the Snark, come to that?

If we were sure, of course, we could
inform the police at the next port.

It might be a case for Interpol.

I have a suggestion to make, Gerald,
if it's all right with you?

Tomorrow I'm giving my lecture on how
I get plots. I presume you're coming?

- Oh.
- I wouldn't bet on it.

I may add something. Keep your eyes
on Bill Britwell when I say it.

You mean observe his demeanour?

That's what you do in court, isn't it?
I mean, you've had lots of practice.

Let's see if Britwell looks guilty.
Do you think that's an idea?

It's not entirely original. It's a bit
dated. Shakespeare used it in Hamlet.

- Did he really?
- Oh, yes.

It'd be more effective in a Swainton.

Oh, Lord, excuse me.

A bottle of my usual to take away,
Nicky, the old and tawny.

Oh, and a couple of glasses could you
let us have? They keep getting broken.

- Miss Gloria de La Haye.
- Hello.

Oh, aren't you the gentleman
who requested the old song?

I haven't heard you sing that
for a long time.

- Music halls don't exist now, do they?
- Worse luck.

Oh, it's a drag, this is,
doing an act afloat.

It turns your stomach
when the sea gets choppy.

And there's not much life in here,
is there?

I am prepared to scream

if one more person
requests "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes".

I want to say, "It soon will, dear,
at the crematorium."

After the war, I used to go to
the Metropolitan in the Edgware Road.

- Oh, you went to the old Met?
- Mmm.

Who's that kicking up a noise?

(Both) My little sister

Who's that giggling with the boys?

My little sister

Oh, that was my act.
The long and the short of it.

Betty Dee and Buttercup.

You were Buttercup's straight man,
weren't you?

Or should I say straight person,
these days?

Wasn't there an alleged comic
on the same bill?

He had a rather embarrassing
drunk act, if I remember.

Was there? I don't recall exactly.

And, Buttercup, such a pretty girl.
Whatever happened to her?

I can't help you there, I'm afraid.
We never kept in touch.

Is that my old and tawny?
Thanks, Nicky.

Oh, allow me.

(Rumpole) Goodnight.

Two glasses.

(Swainton) It is a common mistake to
believe no conviction for murder...

Excuse me.

(Swainton) can take place
unless a body has been found.

The old idea of the corpus delecti
as a defence

has been laid, like the presumably
missing corpse, to rest.

The defence is dead and buried,
if not the body.

Some years ago, a steward
on an ocean-going liner

was tried for the murder
of a female passenger.

It was alleged that he had made love to
her, either with or without her consent,

and pushed her through a porthole
out into the darkness of the sea.

Her body was never recovered.

The defence relied heavily
on the corpus delecti,

without a body.

The barrister paid to defend the steward
said there could be no conviction.

The judge and the jury
would have none of it.

The steward was condemned to death.

Although luckily for him, the death
sentence was then abolished.

This case gave me the germ of an idea
for a new tale

which I'm about to preview
to you tonight.

I call it "Absence of Body".

(Swainton) "'Would you like to come
on a cruise, darling? '

"Magnus had seemed his old charming
self when he asked her..."

- You saw that, Rumpole?
- Yes.

- Evidence of guilt.
- Or terminal boredom.

Ssh!

(Swainton) "Dancing and
watching the waves..."

(Hilda) Rumpole, you look
quite romantic.

Oh, do you think so?
Jolly Roger Rumpole of the Bailey.

There he is.

You wouldn't think he'd have the nerve
to come out dancing tonight.

There's something
I think you should remember.

- What's that?
- When I went temporarily missing,

no one accused you of murder,
did they?

- Ahoy there.
- Oh.

- You must be getting sick of it.
- Er... What?

- People asking, "How's your wife?"
- They're very kind, very considerate.

Ah, but it must be spoiling her trip.

- Mavis being ill?
- Yes.

Oh, yes, it is, rather.

- Mr, er, Mr Justice Graves.
- The judge?

He's very worried about your wife.

Oh, why? Why should he be worried?

Well, because of her illness, I suppose.
He wants to see her.

Why should he want to do that?

Well, you know what judges are like.

They're always poking their nose into
things that don't really concern them.

Shall we see your wife tonight
at the fancy dress?

Oh, I'm afraid not.
Mavis won't quite be up to that.

Pity. I'd have thought she'd find
that sort of thing irresistible.

(Hilda) Rumpole!

Is it going too far?

'Rule Britannia, Hilda rules the waves.'

(Band plays "Isn't She Lovely?")

We've sent a signal
to the harbour police to be safe.

A wise precaution, if I may say so.

Before any question
of passengers disembarking,

we ask him to produce his good lady.

- Is that the form?
- More or less, yes.

It might be an idea, Judge, if you were
present when we confront him.

Of course. I'd be delighted.

I'll bet you would.

The Reverend Bill is dressed
as Bluebeard. How appropriate.

Please don't start imagining things.
You're beginning to sound like a...

- Judge!
- Judge, you look magnificent.

Mrs Rumpole, might I have the honour
of this dance?

- Hilda!
- Thank you. What tremendous fun.

Betty Dee and Buttercup.

Some people
seem to enjoy looking ridiculous.

- That's Gloria de La Haye.
- The oldest schoolgirl in captivity.

(Linda) Who's the little one?

(Swainton) Must be her accompanist,
the man who plays the piano for her.

An alleged vicar dancing with an alleged
accompanist in drag. How disgusting.

No, it's not the accompanist. Do you
want an answer to your little mystery?

- You know what he did with his wife?
- Yes, I think so.

- Could I borrow your associate?
- Yes, of course.

For a little while.

Would you mind engaging the vicar for
this dance, for about ten minutes?

- Well, I don't...
- No, please... Please.

- (Linda) May I that fancy stepping?
- Oh, well, yes, of course.

I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer.

Let's get some fresh air, Buttercup.

Betty Dee and Buttercup.

You were Buttercup, weren't you,
when you were a young girl?

I've seen that photo
Britwell threw into the sea.

There wasn't really any need for that,
was there?

(Buttercup) I don't know
what you mean.

I'm talking about me
being the only one who remembers

that you were once
half of a music-hall act.

Nobody else knows.

Bill can preach his sermons
to the Anglicans of Athens.

Not one of them will give a toss
about Betty Dee and Buttercup.

- (Buttercup) What do you want?
- To set your mind at rest.

What about?

About the other part you played
down the Old Bailey.

Oh, a long, long time ago
when we were all very young,

even before I did
the Penge bungalow murders.

A lovely girl married to a drunken
brute of a husband who beat her,

"Happy" Harry Harman.

He used to do a drunk act on the halls,
didn't he?

Drunk acts are rarely very amusing.

I remember reading about that case
in the "News Of The World".

I desperately wanted that brief.

He beat you.

You stabbed him in the throat with a
pair of scissors in the dressing room.

But you should never have got
five years for manslaughter.

I would have got you off and
not a dry eye in the jury box,

even though the efficient
young counsel for the prosecution

was an icy-cold fish
called Gerald Graves.

No, it's all right.

- He's not going to remember you.
- (Buttercup) Isn't he?

No. Lawyers and judges hardly ever
remember faces they sent to prison.

- (Buttercup) Are you sure?
- Of course I'm sure.

You can come out of hiding now.

Oh, come on.

There.

Oh, isn't it pleasant
to see Mrs Britwell up and about again?

But she'd completely disappeared.

Not at all. She merely went to stay
with her old friend Gloria de La Haye

for a while, that's all.

Mrs Britwell didn't, um,
didn't look familiar to you?

No. No, I can't say she did. Why?

'OId men forget.'

Yet all shall be forgot.

What did you say?

- Oh, I said what trouble you've got.
- Trouble?

You're not making yourself clear.

You practically accused Reverend Bill

of shoving his dear wife
through the porthole,

then reported that story
to the captain

who no doubt wired it
to the police on shore.

That's pretty good basis for an
action for defamation, wouldn't you say?

- Defamation?
- Remember, I offered to defend you.

Call on my services at any time.

Rumpole, you don't honestly think...

My dear Judge,
I believe you're innocent, of course,

until you're proved guilty.

An important principle
to keep in mind on all occasions.

Rumpole!

Ah, there's my wife.

Well, Hilda, what do you say?

Shall we split a bottle
of "Chateau Hellespont"

and smash a few plates together?

- Yes, of course.
- Sorry to leave you, Judge,

but we're on our second honeymoon.

Isn't that Rumpole all over?
He's incurably romantic.

And there's absolutely no danger
of my wife disappearing.

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