All language subtitles for Rumpole s07e04 son.eng

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(Footsteps)

Rumpole!

Rumpole!

Yes?

- Can you hear something?
- Yes.

- What?
- I can hear you, Hilda, you.

(Loud slam)

Rumpole!

- What is it now?
- There's someone in the flat.

- Yes, we are. We usually are at night.
- Ssh!

Don't shush me!
I didn't start this conversation!

- Don't you hear?
- Hear what?

- Sounds.
- Be not afraid, Hilda.

The flat is full of noises, sounds
and sweet airs that delight and hurt not.

Sometimes
a thousand twangling instruments

will hum about thine ears
and sometimes voices

that if I then had waked after long sleep
will make me sleep again... I hope!

No doubt
one of your business associates.

- What do you mean?
- A burglar!

Why don't you go and find out
what he's after?

- No need to disturb the fella.
- Are you afraid?

There is no burglar.
You've been dreaming.

- Prove it.
- I can't. I'm asleep.

Or is that a job you'd rather leave
to a woman?

(Footsteps)

Oh!

All right, guv, it's a fair cop!

Just like you to make a joke
out of burglars!

The TV set still seems to be with us.

- Did you leave that window open?
- Yes. No.

I can't remember.
I'd make a terrible witness!

Ah!

- That is odd.
- What is?

My brief for the Queen
versus Joby Jonson.

No one's stolen that.

- No, but...
- But what?

I left it in my briefcase. Somebody's
been at it. That's not my bow!

It isn't how I leave a brief
I was working on.

Chequebook,
Mrs O'Thingummy's money untouched.

- There's nothing missing.
- Something is.

What?

Proof of evidence of Joby Jonson,
alleged robber of pensioners.

His statement of defence, such as
it was, has melted into air, into thin air.

So somebody WAS here?

Yes, you're usually right, of course.

Somebody was.

Any sort of news in the paper, Philly?

Some sort of news. War in Bulgaria,
earthquakes in South America,

new threat of global warming.

No, I mean important news.
The list of the new QCs, for instance.

Ah, well... Look for yourself.

No. No, I don't want to look for myself,
Philly.

I'm not brave enough to look for myself.

I don't think I could put up
with another disappointment.

"The list of new Queen's Counsel
will be announced next month.

"It's expected to include..."

Me?

"Tabitha Merryweather, the brilliant
Ghanaian women's civil rights lawyer."

- Nothing to say I'll get it.
- You've asked often enough!

- Only five times.
- You'll probably get it for persistence.

- We all know you got it first time.
- Bit of a fluke actually.

No, not a fluke.
It's because you're a woman.

Doin' your fitness classes, is you, Joby?

Getting into shape to beat up
someone else's granny?

Brave boy.
Goin' three rounds with an old lady...

- I never.
- Are you arguin' with us, boy?

I haven't been convicted.

Oh, he's innocent! Hear that, Snouty?

They got you down as a granny basher.
Do you wanna argue?

Not here with you, Snouty. Just in court.
My brief's gonna get me off.

Oh, leave it out, will you?

You put your hands up in court.
You've got no alternative.

Trust us, sunshine.
You've got no better brief than we are.

- Ah, Erskine-Brown.
- Ballard.

Your name cropped up
when I was speaking to old Keith

from the Lord Chancellor's office.

Did it, Ballard? Did it really?

He was interested in my views, as Head
of Chambers, on your application for silk.

Interested? Was he really interested?
They're taking my application seriously?

Naturally. Keith was saying it's become
an annual event. Like Christmas!

You mean they look forward to it?

Let's say they give it
their serious consideration

and I was able to let him have my views,
fairly fully.

Thank you very much, Ballard.

Yes. I said I did not think there would be
any repetition of the incidents

in which you'd been involved in,

such as the complaint lodged
by our new typist, Miss Clapton.

You told Keith from the Lord
Chancellor's department about Dot?

Yes. I felt it was my duty.

Evidence the Lord Chancellor might
have to consider of your lack of gravitas.

- My lack of what?
- Bottom.

It might indicate
that you are not fundamentally sound.

You said that to Keith
from the Lord Chancellor's department?

And I said it in your own best interests.

You pompous prick!

- I don't think I heard that.
- Oh, yes, you did.

If you don't know what it means,
I suggest you ask Dot Clapton.

It's a view of your character quite
commonly held at Number 3 Equity Court.

Pompous... what exactly?

- What have you done to your face?
- Accident.

Oh, yes? Mistook it for an ashtray,
did you?

That's right, yeah.

We can help you complain
to the Governor.

Leave it out. You leave it out an' all!
You want to get me killed or something?

No, strange as it may seem, Joby,
we're trying to get you off!

Now, then...
"A Mrs Louisa Parsons, aged 75,

"living at an end house, No.1 Pondicherry
Road behind Euston Station,

"answered a ring at her front door
on the morning of October 19th.

"A youth was there who said,
'You still living here? ' and then ran off.

"Later, a person she identifies as the
same youth, his face partially covered,

"again rang her doorbell, and
when she answered it, forced his way in,

"punched her in the face and stomach..."
Charming!

"...tied her up, kicked her, broke most of
the crockery and some of the furniture,

"and left with Mrs Parsons' post office
savings book with a balance of �5.79.

"She later identified the defendant
Joby Jonson

"at an identification parade
in Euston nick."

That is the first time I set my eyes
on the old bat, at the ID parade.

Joby, it might be as well
when you're giving evidence

to resist the temptation
to call the victim "an old bat".

It is not likely to endear you
to the jury.

Have you got a spare copy of Joby's
statement? Mine walked in the night!

The defence is an alibi,
if you remember.

- You read what I said?
- Yes, Joby, of course I did.

Over the last few months
it's been my sole bedtime study.

"So far as I can remember..."
That's a promising start!

"At the time Mrs Parsons was attacked,

"I was hanging about near the superloo
in Euston Station

"with three girls who were singing
and dancing a bit."

Mr Bernard says
that you was a brilliant brief.

Can't you even get me off on this?

I may well be a brilliant brief, Joby,
but I am unable to walk on water

or transmute base metals into gold.

Nor can I make use of a so-called alibi

which ignores
the most important evidence!

- What's that meant to be then?
- Your palm print on Mrs Parsons' door.

Yeah, well...

I'm not for puttin' me hands up.
As long as that's clear!

I don't care what they says!
Have you got that?

Not exactly the most likeable
young man, Mr Rumpole!

Mr Bernard, that is the understatement
of the year.

Do you know what's deteriorated
since the good old, bad old days?

The character of our young offenders.
Where have all the Artful Dodgers gone?

And where are
all those cheerful cockney pickpockets

who had thumbs in their waistcoats and
said, "Whatcha, me old cock sparrow?"

It was a sad day for England

when the Artful Dodgers
turned into the Joby Jonsons.

- Dot...
- Yes, Henry?

I couldn't have better staff than you.

A senior clerk could not wish
for more efficient staff or more pleasant

and I've done my best to make you
feel at home in Equity Court, but...

A barristers' chambers
is a barristers' chambers.

- Got some criticism of my typing?
- Your typing is almost perfection.

- Or the speed I get the fee notes out at?
- You get them out at the speed of light.

What I wanted to say was, well...

Barristers! Some of them are
what I suppose you'd call old-fashioned!

- (Phone rings)
- Old-fashioned?

Museum pieces still in Y-fronts
and braces!

Yeah, hello?

(Laughter)

Something amusing you,
Mr Erskine-Brown?

No, no. Really nothing, Dot. Honestly.
It's just that...

Well, I haven't had much
to laugh at recently. That's all.

I say, Dot, congratulations!

That's what chambers need -
someone to make a statement.

We're not all clones. We're not all
imitation male lawyers in pin-stripes.

We're the sisterhood of free spirits!

Are you, Miss Probert? I'm trying
to get on with Mr Inchcape's typing.

Dot, a couple more pages
of the particulars of negligence.

I'll make them my top priority.

Mr Rumpole, it's the office of
the Under-Secretary at the Home Office.

Wonders if you could call in
for a brief word?

Tell him we'll try and fit him in
with my other engagements.

I'll have to call you back when I find
a window of time in Mr Rumpole's diary.

- Henry...
- Yes, Mr Ballard?

I'm calling a chambers meeting
on a most serious situation.

I hope you will all be able to attend.

I don't know. Depends on my business
with Her Majesty's Government.

Tom Mottram, Under-Secretary,
Home Affairs,

with special responsibility for prisons.
I try to keep them in!

Horace Rumpole, counsel
for the defence. I try to keep them out!

Very good. Wasn't that good? Elspeth
Dodds, Parliamentary Private Secretary.

- Hello.
- Do come and sit down, Mr Rumpole.

You may have wondered why
I asked you to drop by. Please...

Thank you.

It's about a young lad
called Joby Jonson.

Oh, really?

I'm a constituency MP.
I hope a good one.

I've had Joby Jonson's mother at my
surgery week in, week out, poor woman.

- She really is quite distracted.
- I expect she is.

I told her I'd see
he was properly defended.

I'm delighted you're appearing for him.

You'll see he doesn't make things worse
by putting up some stupid defence.

- Can I tell her he's well looked after?
- Yes, he's having the time of his life!

Banged up for 23 hours a day

in a seven-foot cell
with a couple of chamber pots

and a sworn enemy who passes the time
by stubbing cigarettes out on his face.

And, of course,
Joby Jonson is entirely innocent.

Innocent? That's interesting.
Is that your view?

As innocent as we all are

until 12 fellow citizens come back
into court and tell him he's guilty.

You're giving us your courtroom
performance. Good. Isn't it, Elspeth?

Very good indeed.

I was trying to point out the conditions
endured by prisoners on remand.

Oh, worse than 100 years ago.
We know that. Don't we, Elspeth?

Only too well. And our minister
would be the first to agree with you.

Then why doesn't he do something
about it?

Unfortunately, we live in a democracy.

We listen to the instructions
of our masters with the votes.

So we leave prison reform
to the private sector. People like you.

- And Seb Pilgrim.
- Who?

You don't know Seb? He runs YERT.

Runs what?

Youth Enterprise Reform Trust. You
must've heard of Sir Sebastian Pilgrim.

He's a splendid fellow.
He carried his bat for England.

He does wonderful things
with hopeless cases like Joby Jonson.

Teaches them cricket, gives them pride
in themselves, reforms their characters.

- You two should get together.
- Do you think so?

I've never carried my bat for anywhere.

(Alarm goes off)

Hilda! What's wrong?
Is there an air raid?

Don't be silly. It's perfectly simple.

You just press 34896
and the yellow button

and you see it's... quiet immediately.

What else have you installed?
Death rays, man traps?

Will you sit in the kitchen all night
with a double-barrelled shotgun?

You have to give the criminal classes
a chance to earn a living!

- Oh, hello.
- Good afternoon, Mr Rumpole.

Kensington CID, DS Appleby.
Your wife called us in again.

Seems the villains have turned against
you. Been losing their cases, sir?

Very amusing.

I insisted Mr Appleby came
to look for fingerprints.

- Tea, Mr Appleby?
- Thank you.

A very thorough investigator.
She knows my job better than I do.

Yes, Mrs Rumpole is one
of nature's detective superintendents.

Don't worry about it. Almost certainly
a professional wearing gloves.

And didn't take anything of value?
Just some of your papers?

Who'd be interested in that?

(Phone rings)

I've been wondering about that myself.

Hello? Yes, Rumpole speaking.

What? Sir Sebastian Pilgrim wants
a word with me? What about?

Joby Jonson?
Yes, all right. Join the queue.

- A pompous prick?
- I called him that.

Our Head of Chambers.

And the next table was full of solicitors.

That was the most persuasive
and accurately phrased speech

you ever made down the Old Bailey,
and the shortest.

He told Keith that I have no bottom.

He's got enough for both of you.

That I wasn't fundamentally sound.

I should tell the Lord Chancellor
a few home truths about our leader.

The fact that he's a smarmy, hypocritical,
God-bothering vegetarian?

No, the time for action has come,
the hour of decision.

Oh... Philly,
what does that mean exactly?

It means, Claude, I am on the case.

Mr Rumpole?

- That's me.
- I'm Fred Bry.

I've come to take you
to Sir Sebastian Pilgrim.

Thank you.

Yours, Mr Rumpole!

- No, I'm sure it's yours.
- Fancy a go at the wicket?

Not in the least.
I'm allergic to any form of sport.

Except for teasing Her Majesty's judges.

You're very famous among our lads.

- You're not allergic to a drink, I hope?
- I thought you'd never ask!

I'm sorry, Mr Rumpole. The lads
have voted this a smoke-free zone.

What are you running here?
A monastery?

Very funny. Delightful wit. That's what
old Tom Mottram told me about you.

No, I don't make the rules. The boys do.
Self-discipline is the name of the game.

- I thought it was cricket!
- No alcohol, no smoking.

And if anyone is found dropping an E...

- A what?
- Ecstasy.

Anyone indulging in any sort of drug
gets a hard time from the other fellas.

It's no good imposing rules from above.

How's the coffee?

I'm afraid we're not
up to your gastronomic standards.

We have more important things
to think about.

Yes, like Joby Jonson.

Ah, yes, Joby.
I must admit I'm worried about Joby.

Most people seem to be.

What we find here is that the first step to
reform is to admit to what you've done.

- If only to your mates.
- Plead guilty?

Even if you only admit it to yourself.

Look over there,
what we call our quiet corner.

- What is it, a prayer meeting?
- Yeah, something like that.

The lads over there
are coming out with all their crime,

they talk it through,
and Fred tells them where that leads.

- Your driver?
- And Fred should know.

He'd done six years for robbery
when I took him on.

So you believe confession's good
for the soul?

- Don't you?
- Oh, perhaps.

It's not much good at keeping you
out of the nick.

If you could just get him to admit
what he's done, if only to himself,

to face up to it
and not to tell any silly lies,

it could be the beginning
of his way back to reality.

Or the beginning of about five years
in chokey!

He's come here often. He's had his
talking sessions with Fred and the others.

I just don't want to write him off
as one of my failures.

- I'm sure we want what's best for him.
- I'm sure.

Tell me, what can I do to help?

Well, I could call you
as a character witness.

More impressive than a shrink
or the vicar.

"I call Sir Sebastian Pilgrim
who carried his bat for England."

You can count on me, Mr Rumpole.
You can count on me.

You were talking about Joby?
You and Seb?

Oh, erm, yes, we were. Yes.

A big disappointment to us, Joby.
Terrible disappointment.

We did our best with Joby -
Seb and me. We both tried hard.

So, it's over to you now, Mr Rumpole.

Get the boy to own up
to what he's done. It's the only way.

Certain standards of civilisation
have to be kept at Equity Court.

We couldn't have people
turning up in war paint.

No, Sam. You're absolutely right.

Thank you very much,
Mrs Erskine-Brown.

- I don't see why not.
- What, Rumpole?

I don't see why not! I'm all for anything
that adds drama to the surroundings!

If you'd come in this morning
wearing war paint,

waving an assegai on your way
to a bloody summons...

Rumpole, we are at something
of a crisis in Equity Court!

We could be off down the slippery slope
towards...

What?

- Suede shoes.
- What?

There are men in Miles Crudgington's set
who go into chambers in suede shoes.

- Shock, horror!
- You see where this can lead to!

Yes, Sam,
that is the most terrible warning.

I agree with you, Ballard. 100�% .

Dot was making an unacceptable
statement of female submission.

It was nothing but a kind of harem signal

to any would-be sheikh foolish enough
to take her up on the offer.

Dot's nose, not to put too fine a point
on it, is politically incorrect.

Erskine-Brown,
do you not have an opinion on this?

I don't imagine I have enough bottom
to express an opinion.

- Enough what?
- Gravitas.

- Ballard doesn't think I've got enough.
- Gravitas?

Sounds like a breakfast food!
Sorry, must be off.

Can't spend any more time on this
discussion, fascinating though it may be!

I suggest we leave all further action
in this matter to our Head of Chambers.

I'm sure Sam will deal with it
with his usual wisdom.

- Are you feeling quite well, Portia?
- Perfectly well.

I'm positive Sam can be trusted
to have a tactful word

in the appropriate quarter,
can't you, Sam?

Oh, Inchcape!

You... You didn't say what you thought
about the rich ornament

in Dorothea Clapton's nostril.

To be honest,
I never even noticed it was there.

- Did you not?
- No.

How very interesting.

Hello, Dot. I just popped in
to see what's on for tomorrow.

I wanted your advice.

I don't have any opinion. I suppose it
does add a touch of colour to chambers.

- What adds colour?
- Nothing in particular.

About my dad.
He lives not far from here actually.

I thought you and Henry hailed
from Bexleyheath.

My mum lives there.
They split up when I was seven.

- I'm sorry to hear that.
- It wasn't a great tragedy.

My dad's an awkward customer. Calling
him bloody-minded is a compliment!

They want to do a new
development down his street,

but he won't sell his house.

Tells them he's too old to move,
tells them to sod off!

Well, that's property law, Dot.

It's hardly my "specialit� de la maison".
If he had committed a murder...

Perhaps he will
if they go on asking him to sell up!

They send people round
telling him he's got to move.

They ring on his doorbell all hours.

It must be highly irritating.
Where does he live exactly?

- MacGlinty Terrace.
- Oh, yes.

Round behind Euston Station.

Do you know the area?

I think I might do, yes.

You were superb today, Sam.

- Thank you, Mrs Erskine-Brown.
- Phyllida.

- Yes, of course. Phyllida.
- Think nothing of it.

What I admired was how you dominated
the proceedings, yet everything was fun.

I try to make our meetings enjoyable.

And you succeed.
I suppose it's just your personality.

Really?

All these years that you and I have been
the only two silks in chambers,

do you know,
we've never had lunch together?

- Doesn't that strike you as strange?
- No. Not really.

You're a member of Inner Temple,
I'm at Gray's Inn,

so we never had lunch
in the same place.

Sam, why don't you invite me?

All right then, Phyllida. I will.

There's a very nice health food bar
in Fetter Lane.

Oh, that doesn't sound
terribly romantic to me.

- What about the Savoy Grill?
- The Savoy Grill?

That's the one.
I thought you'd never ask!

There's a profile of one of your friends
here. You ought to be proud of him.

- What friend is that?
- Not one of your criminal classes.

Not one of your burglars who entered
by the fire escape to rob us.

This is someone to be proud of.
You might invite him to dinner.

Invite who to dinner?

Sir Sebastian Pilgrim,
one-time all-rounder for England.

Spends much of his time trying to reform
young criminals. You don't do that.

- That isn't your sort of thing.
- Neither is cricket.

He's also a brilliant businessman,
Chairman of Maiden Over Holdings.

Seb told his shareholders,
"I believe in England."

Good for him. I suppose the rest of us
think it's a figment of our imagination!

He was in partnership with Tom Mottram
until Mr Mottram joined the government.

They're planning to build
a multi-storey hotel and shopping centre.

Tom Mottram! Do they say where this
monstrous carbuncle is to be dumped?

- Are you thinking of investing?
- Perhaps a little of my time.

Behind Euston Station.

I've been away such a lot doing these
boring big cases all over the world,

- I didn't realise what I was missing.
- What were you missing?

Well, to be honest, Sam,
my Head of Chambers.

- The Head?
- Well, in a word, you.

I do think about you quite a lot when
I'm all alone in places like Hong Kong.

You think about me in Hong Kong?

- You don't mind?
- No, Mrs Erskine-Brown.

Phyllida.

You can think about whoever you like,
but I've never been to Hong Kong.

Oh, yes, you have. In my thoughts.

Really?

I didn't know.

Sam, I can see you've had lots of
practice chatting up women over lunch.

Not really, no. I quite often send
Miss Clapton out for sandwiches.

I've asked Henry to have a tactful word
with her about the subject we discussed.

- Her nose?
- Yes, exactly.

Splendid. Takes a real man
to act as decisively as that.

Claude believes he might do better with
the Lord Chancellor if he were a woman.

- I think that's very silly.
- So do I.

- Claude couldn't possibly be a woman.
- He'd find it very difficult.

He should settle down to being himself.

I think that's what he's afraid of.

He said you had a chat about
his application with dear old Keith.

Yes, he didn't seem too pleased.

He used an expression
I couldn't repeat in a public place.

Yes, he called you a pom...

Phyllida, Phyllida! Pas devant le waiter!

- Is this champagne?
- Of course it is.

- Did I order it?
- Of course you did.

I think you wanted to celebrate the fact

that we're going out together
at long, long last.

Causes a rather curious sensation
in the nose.

Forgive Claude.
He had a deprived childhood.

That's the sort of language
chaps pick up at Winchester! Hmm!

You, erm... You didn't think
he ought to take silk?

In his own best interests, Phyllida.

You're fibbing.
You were thinking entirely of me.

- Was I?
- You thought I'd get less leading briefs

with Claude competing, hmm?

Look, I want to be entirely honest with
you, now we've become real friends.

Do you?

Of course I do.
And I want you to be the first to know.

I shan't be looking for leading briefs
in future.

- You shan't?
- I'm leaving the Bar.

- Phyllida!
- For good. I've made up my mind.

Don't look so sad.
I'm not leaving the country.

We'll still be able to meet.

And you know what might make it
really easy for me?

Easy?

If Claude were away in, let's say,
Hong Kong,

doing leading briefs
for long periods of time,

you and I could have lunch together.

You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Yes, Phyllida, I believe I would.

Well, look, do me a small favour.
Help us both.

How?

Just pick up the phone to dear old Keith
in the Lord Chancellor's office.

Tell him there is no objection to Claude
being wrapped in silk, even if he's a man.

That would make it easier
and help you and Claude?

It would help you and me, Sam,
considerably.

Here's to us both.

Regina versus Jonson coming up next,
Mr Rumpole.

- Yes, indeed.
- Doesn't look like a winner.

No, and be warned, Mr Bernard.

We are up against one
of the most subtle tacticians -

the "artfullest" dodger
down the Old Bailey.

- Who's that, Mr Rumpole?
- Mrs Phyllida Erskine-Brown, QC.

The Portia of our chambers.

A silk to prosecute. They're putting us
up before the red judge.

I heard a whisper our boy
was getting star treatment.

Mugging is the flavour of the month.

The powers that be want to show
they're all terribly concerned.

Never despair,
there are still a few things we can do.

- Such as?
- Just routine enquiries.

Here you are. There!

Get in touch with a Mr Clapton
of MacGlinty Terrace.

That's round near Euston Station.

See how far that is
from Pondicherry Road, would you?

Oh, and discover everything you can
about these people.

What, Maiden Over Holdings?

Maiden Over Holdings, yes. And any
estate agents that they might employ.

Oh, and while we're still on the subject
of young Dawkins...

And Dawkins.

Dawkins? Who's Dawkins, Mr Rumpole?

Oh, John Dawkins,
the original Artful Dodger.

Let us not forget that he was part
of a much wider organisation

being run from
old Fagin's thieves' kitchen.

Have you had much experience
with this judge, Portia?

Graves? No, never been before him.
Have you?

To my deep regret.

(Clerk) Silence in court! All stand!

(Rumpole) Mr "Injustice" Graves is
an absolute four-letter man!

He's humourless, tedious,
unsympathetic and unjust.

In a word, our judge is a complete pain
in the fundament!

Mr Rumpole, it may come
as a surprise to you to know

that the acoustics in this court
are absolutely perfect

and my hearing is exceptionally keen.

And I can hear absolutely every word
that is spoken

on counsels' benches.

See what I mean?

Henry! It's still there. I saw it
this morning, the undesirable ornament.

You were going to speak
to Miss Clapton.

Didn't the meeting decide
you would do that?

Yes, and I deputed the task to you,
Henry.

No, sir, that is well outside
clerking duties.

It's not for me to make personal remarks
to valued staff.

Very well, I shall have to do it myself,
but not now.

I'm due before the recorder
in ten minutes.

- Is Mrs Erskine-Brown in this court?
- Yes, prosecuting Mr Rumpole.

I expect she'd appreciate it if I popped
my head in and said "good morning".

We say that Jonson viciously attacked
this lady,

old enough to be his grandmother,

and robbed her of what were no doubt
her small lifetime's savings.

Five pounds seventy-nine pence.

Did you say something, Mr Rumpole?

I was just reminding my learned friend
that the amount concerned is �5.79.

Mr Rumpole, I have no doubt
we shall be hearing from you later.

Now I think we might let
Mrs Erskine-Brown open her case

without any more frivolous interruptions.
Yes, Mrs Erskine-Brown?

Yes... Mrs Erskine-Brown?

It remains to be seen
what sort of defence, if any,

will be put forward for Jonson.

It is alleged that while
this appalling attack was taking place,

Jonson was dancing with some girls
from Manchester

outside the superloo at Euston Station.

What is a superloo exactly?

It is, I believe, my lord,
a kind of superior lavatory.

A kind of SUPERIOR lavatory, hmm...

'MacGlinty Terrace, there we are,
turning off Pondicherry Road.'

Right behind Euston Station!

- Did you say something, Mr Rumpole?
- Nothing more at the moment, my lord.

Some weeks later, Mrs Parsons,
did you attend an identification parade?

I did. The police officers were kind
and made me a cup of tea.

Did you identify the youth
who visited you twice on the 19th

and attacked you the second time?

- There he is.
- You are pointing to Joby Jonson.

Thank you, Mrs Parsons.

I managed to get copies of the letters
to your friend Mr Clapton.

Not a friend. Just the father
of a friend. Thank you.

I suppose you have questions,
Mr Rumpole?

Mrs Parsons, do you own
your little house in Pondicherry Road?

My husband saved for it.
He was a booking clerk at the station.

Were you not offered a lot of money
for that house?

I wasn't going to move,
no matter how often they asked me.

Now, Mrs Parsons,
you say that on that morning,

a young man rang at your front door

and said, "Are you still living here,
Mrs Parsons?"

Yes, he did.

Did you think there was any connection

with the repeated requests
to sell your house?

- Not at the time, no.
- My lord, the witness can't speculate.

We should leave such flights of fancy
to my learned friend.

My sentiments entirely. Move on
to the next matter, Mr Rumpole.

Nice one, Portia.
You've got him eating out of your hand!

Mr Rumpole...

I didn't hear that.

Did you not, my lord?
Must be the acoustics.

Mrs Parsons, later that day, a young man
rang at your door, then he attacked you.

I heard the bell and thought, "He's back.
I'll give him a piece of my mind!"

You weren't frightened
when you answered the door?

Not then, no.
I was when I saw him, though.

Oh. Why?

He had this... What do they call it?
"Ballycava..."

A balaclava, yes.

Yes, you say in your statement
that the caller's face was hidden.

It was hidden a bit, yes.

Well, Mrs Parsons,
how do you know it was the same boy?

Right, Joby, confession time.

Confession is good for the soul,
they say.

Admit it. Somebody told you
to go to Mrs Parsons' house and say,

"Are you still living here, Mrs Parsons?"
And scarper.

- What did you do in the afternoon?
- I told you.

Yes, for once, I believe you.

Dropping an E you bought
from some girls from Manchester,

which led to some unseemly folk dancing
outside the superloo in Euston Station.

And doubtless a horrible reaction
of shivering, thirst,

and a certain loss of memory.

How comes you know so much
about doing an E?

How come Mr Rumpole knows
about everything?

I know you went to that house in the
morning. Your palm print was on the door.

Mrs Parsons saw you
and picked you out.

I know you didn't go there in the afternoon
because the group you work for

were so desperate to find out
our defence, they burgled my flat.

They're scared you'll tell the truth

that another lad came after you
and did the serious business.

You'll have to tell the truth
before this case is over.

What's this group you're on about?

Don't you play games with me, sunshine.
You know perfectly well who I mean.

- You are Sir Sebastian Pilgrim?
- I am.

And needing no introduction to us,
I'm sure.

At least not to those who witnessed
your century against Pakistan at Lord's

in your final test.

I have no doubt the jury remember.

And do you run an organisation

called The Youth Enterprise
And Reform Trust,

allegedly to help young men
who have fallen into criminal ways?

Once again, Sir Sebastian, your
wonderful work with YERT is well known.

I do run that organisation
to help delinquent boys.

I don't know why
Mr Rumpole says "allegedly".

No doubt a slip of the tongue. Wasn't it?

Not exactly, my lord, no.

If I may go on,
my meaning will become clear.

Are you also the Chairman
of Maiden Over Holdings

which plans a development
behind Euston Station

- of a large hotel and a shopping centre?
- I am.

Weren't you having trouble
with certain householders

who refused to sell their homes to you

to make way for
this magnificent development?

- No particular trouble.
- Were you not? Usher!

Do you employ, among others, a firm
of estate agents called Jebber & Jonas?

The name's familiar.

- Do you employ them or not?
- From time to time.

Is that a letter from Jebber & Jonas

to a Mr Peter Clapton
of MacGlinty Terrace,

asking him to sell his home
to make way for a new development?

- It would appear to be so.
- Was that your hotel development?

I don't know anyone else
with similar plans.

Perhaps no one else is so anxious to
invest in the future of this great city.

And was a Mrs Parsons of
Pondicherry Road another householder

who refused to sell her house
to your company?

- I really don't remember.
- Do try.

In any event, I'm sure she was made
a very fair offer.

Sir Sebastian, do you hold the view

that delinquents should admit
what they have done?

Yes, I believe
that is the start of reform.

Do you want Joby Jonson
to tell the truth about this case?

Yes.

Very well. He came to your club

after having been in trouble
over some minor matters?

Yes. My lord, I thought
there was some good in the lad.

I hoped he might be a useful spin bowler.

Not so useful as you, Sir Sebastian,

if we remember the Australian wickets
in 1975!

Went down like ninepins,
members of the jury!

And a useful messenger to send around
about your company's business.

- Of course not.
- Why not, Sir Sebastian?

I don't wish to be unkind,
but Joby's not the brightest lad,

not a boy you could trust
with any business.

What sort of boy would you trust?

I don't know what you mean.

Who did you choose to terrorise Mrs
Parsons into selling her house to you?

What?

Isn't that the sort of job you offer
to enterprising young men?

That is an absolutely ridiculous
suggestion. There's no truth in it at all!

Mr Rumpole, confine yourself to
questions about your client's character.

Delighted, my lord.
Always anxious to please.

Well, I'm glad we can agree
about some things.

Joby Jonson's talents
are strictly limited.

Good enough perhaps to send round
before lunch with a final warning,

but the afternoon attack had to be done
by another prot�g� in a balaclava helmet!

Mr Rumpole, this is quite intolerable

if you persist in trying
to involve this distinguished gentleman

in the terrible crime
of which your client stands accused.

That is not how we play the game
in these courts.

I'm so sorry, my lord. I have never
entirely understood the rules of cricket!

Oh, Dot! Give my regards to your dad.
Tell him he's been a great help.

- Are you going to win?
- I have hopes, dare I say, great hopes!

Tell him to watch out for young men
in balaclava helmets.

I reckon Dad can look after himself.

- Good, good. By the way, Dot...
- Yes, Mr Rumpole?

We had a meeting about that ornament
in your nose.

- You never?
- Yes, we did.

Nothing much was decided,
but Dave Inchcape...

- Yes, Mr Rumpole?
- He said he'd never even noticed it.

Oh, Phyllida,
I did it a couple of weeks ago.

Congratulations. Did what exactly?

Spoke to Keith
from the Lord Chancellor's office.

I told him that recently Claude had been
showing a good deal of gravitas.

- How about bottom?
- Quite a lot of that too.

Good. I'm glad you put that right.

- Phyllida... Phyllida!
- Hmm?

So how about lunch? Honestly, it really
is very nice in the health food bar

and there's a little corner table.

I wouldn't have to send a taxi back
to chambers like last time

for an extra sub from petty cash!

Sorry, Ballard, I'm going to be too busy
for lunches out in the foreseeable future.

Could I just glance at "The Times"?

Oh, I say! Fabulous day!

Absolutely fabulous!

Keep the change.
Buy yourself a drink, old chap.

Two drinks if necessary.

With the compliments of one of Her
Majesty's Counsel, learned in the law.

# It's a hap-hap-happy day
Toodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-ay... #

Jonson, the jury have reached a verdict
with which I entirely agree.

You chose, through your representative,
Mr Rumpole,

to make an entirely unwarranted attack

on a great British sportsman
and public figure.

A man who has devoted his life
to the reform of youths such as yourself.

Unhappily, you have proved
to be quite unreformable.

You will be detained for five years.

Take him down.

Bowled out, Bonnie Bernard,
by the bloody umpire!

(Types away furiously)

Excuse me, sir. Thank you.

(Claude) Rumpole!
Hello there, dear old Rumpole.

- You've read "The Times" today?
- No, I've had other things on my mind.

The silk list. I shall be leading you.
I shall be sitting in front of you.

Well, after today's result,
I probably deserve it.

It's gone. Thank you, Henry.

I said nothing, it not being my place
to advise staff on such matters.

Yes. No doubt
she understood my feelings

and now we have Miss Clapton's nose
in a state of decency.

- That's another problem solved.
- My sole success!

Oh, Erskine-Brown, congratulations.

Thank you. It seems
that gravitas is no longer called for.

No, I meant your wife.
You must be very proud.

- What about Philly?
- Haven't you seen the front page?

No, I was only looking for the silk list.

Good heavens! Well, she never told me.

She never told anyone,
not even her clerk.

Oh, Portia, how thou art translated!

So that's what she meant when she said
she was leaving the Bar.

(Clerk) Silence in court! All stand!

If your ladyship pleases...

Yes, Mr Erskine-Brown?

Your ladyship has, of course, with
your ladyship's usual firm judgment,

put your finger upon the very nub
of this case.

Mr Erskine-Brown, if you have a point,
please get to it.

(Phone rings)

Yes? Yes, Rumpole speaking.

Oh, Detective Sergeant Appleby.
No, no, I don't mind you ringing late.

Hilda!

Ssh, Rumpole, I'm meant to be asleep!

You were right about the fingerprints.
They found one!

Hilda, are you awake?

I am now.

Thumbprint from someone sent down for
robbery with violence many years ago,

who drives for the great cricketer
and reforms the young, Fred Bry.

It was Fred Bry
who entered our premises by night.

You know what this means, don't you?

It means the case of Joby Jonson
is not entirely over!

In which case, I'm very glad
I had that burglar alarm installed.

Good night, Rumpole.

- Hilda...
- Yes?

- Are you still awake?
- Yes, unfortunately.

Thank you for insisting about
chasing up those fingerprints, Hilda.

It just goes to show how important it is
to have a woman on the case.

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