[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [chatter] [speaking french] So we got an injunction to stop the Great Elk Bank floating the share issue, 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 think I'll stick to crime.

At least 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 all the way from Saskatchewan, we'd never be here.

Yes, indeed.

From the town of Saskatoon, Hilda.

There you see, Hilda, all the way from-- where?

Saskatoon.

RUMPOLE: 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?

Oh, I said, 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 [speaking french] Poesy.

That's poetry, Rumpole.

Tastes a good deal better than that old Wordsworth of yours, 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 royal spinach.

And mash.

And mashed spuds come with it, do they?

Shh, Rumpole!

I will have the poesy.

It sounds delicious.

A culinary experience, Hilda.

Yes, a poesy for me too, please.

And for monsieur?

Oh, I'll have a poesy-- poesy of steak and kidney pudding, not pie, mashed potatoes, and a large scoop of boiled cabbage and mustard, please.

English, if you have it.

HILDA: Rumpole, 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 maitre de cuisine is Jean-Pierre O'Higgins himself.

He was in the kitchen himself.

How very convenient.

Have a word in his shell-like, why don't you?

[speaking french] [french] [chatter] More salt.

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

Mashed spuds?

Go on, George.

You're having me on.

[speaking french] Bloody cheek!

Ice-cold insolence.

Ha!

Got to get some discipline into the punters.

Point the little bolshie out to me.

I know how to deal with him.

[speaking french] Claude, is there anything wrong?

No no, Tricia.

Absolutely nothing at all.

TRICIA: What are you doing with that menu?

The menu?

Why?

Well, 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.

Philly?

No, no, she's doing a spot of town planning in Cardiff.

No, it's not Philly I'm worried about.

Not that I'm worried about anything in particular.

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 do know about offenders.

And you have the distinct look to me of a man who's hiding from the law.

Hiding?

From the law?

Good heavens, no.

From a lawyer, perhaps.

I say from where you're sitting, 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 or-- Oh, this is Horace Rumpole, the criminal lawyer.

It's great to be a-- Criminal lawyer, eh?

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

If you want mashed spuds, I suggest you move down to the working-man's caff at the end of the street.

Now, that is a very helpful suggestion.

You might get a few bangers while you're about it 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, really.

No, you don't look it.

Now, let's get this straight.

People that come into my restaurant damn well eat as I tell them to.

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

Listen to me, mister-- Uh, Rumpole, he's my husband, actually.

Your husband?

You have all my sympathy, you unfortunate woman.

Now, listen to me, Mr. Rumpole.

This is a gourmet restaurant.

This is La Maison Jean-Pierre.

I have three stars in the Michelin.

I have thrown out an Arabian king because he dared to order 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.

[applause] 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.

JEAN-PIERRE: All this is true.

And let me tell you, Mr. Rumpole, I started my career with salads at the Hotel du Lac, Geneva.

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

I was rotisseur in Le Crillon, Boston.

I have run this restaurant for 20 years, and I have never-- let me tell you-- never in my whole career served up a mashed spud.

[french] TRICIA: [screams] Please, Tricia.

Don't scream.

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

Is that your speciality de la maison?

[huffs] I'll get you a coffee.

JEAN-PIERRE: Thanks, Mary.

Chateau Duddon, the Lake District's most luxurious hotel, a paradise of gracious living.

HILDA: Everard wants to take me up there for a break.

"Sole listener, Duddon!

To the breeze that played with thy clear voice-- [cutlery and crockery clanging] --I caught the fitful sound of wafted o'er sullen moss and craggy mound."

A paradise of gracious living?

How-- how Wordsworth would have hated it.

A break from what, pray?

From you, Rumpole.

Don't you think I need it?

What a disastrous evening we had when Everard took us out.

Oh, really?

Do you think so?

I rather enjoyed it.

[chuckles] Britain's greatest cook labored and brought forth a monstrous mouse.

[cackles] People would pay good money to see a trick like that.

You had to disgrace me in public.

Come along, my dear old thing.

There's absolutely no disgrace in a good, honest-to-God steak and kidney pud with or without mash.

You did it because you had to be a character.

Had to be one all the time.

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

My dear old-- HILDA: And I am not your dear old thing!

[clears throat] Not anymore.

I was once, perhaps, but I am not your dear old thing anymore.

RUMPOLE: My dear-- no, no, I shouldn't have said that.

No.

All right, I won't say it.

But what do you mean, exactly, about my being a character?

HILDA: Well, you have to be one, don't you?

All the time with your cigar ash and your steak and kidney pudding and Pomeroy's ordinary red and arguments, always arguments in public.

Why do you have to keep on doing it, Rumpole?

Arguing in public has been my whole life, Hilda.

Well, it's not mine.

Not anymore.

Everard doesn't argue in public.

[laughs] 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, probably hasn't got the energy for a good argument.

HILDA: Thank goodness.

You like that sort of thing?

HILDA: Well, yes, I do.

That is why I've agreed to go on this trip.

- Trip?

- Yes.

Everard and I are going to tour all the restaurants in England with rosettes-- York, Bath, and Devizes.

Oh, yes.

Oh, yes.

And what about Mrs. Everard?

Left her behind in "Saskatatoon," has he?

Everard lost his wife many years ago, Rumpole.

Walked out into the snow.

HILDA: What did you say?

Can't talk.

Got to go.

I've got a conference in chambers.

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

Oh, look, my dear-- Hilda, you're not serious about this eating jaunt, are you?

HILDA: You better hurry up, Rumpole.

You'll be late for your meeting.

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 the other night at La Maison Jean-Pierre.

Noticed you, Claude?

No, of course, not.

You were only in the company of a young lady who stood on a chair and screamed like a banshee with toothache.

No one could possibly have noticed you.

Now, that was purely a business arrangement.

A pretty rum way of doing business.

(STAMMERS) The-- the young lady was Ms. Tricia Benbow, my instructing solicitor in the VAT case.

Claude, I've had considerable experience in the law.

If you wish to entertain solicitors with the object of touting for briefs, it's not a good idea to introduce a live mouse into the plat du jour.

Good heavens!

You don't imagine I did that, do you?

The whole thing was a disaster, an absolute tragedy which may have appalling consequences.

Sir Erskine-Brown.

Your wife on the telephone, sir.

Oh!

Philly, how's Cardiff?

No, no, I haven't been out in the evenings at all, actually.

Just stayed at home and cooked myself an omelet, you know, that sort of thing.

- Henry.

CLAUDE: No, no, I'm not bored.

No.

Perfectly all right.

Henry, something extremely serious has happened.

Someone's nicked a nailbrush out of the loo.

How did you guess?

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

Besides, I happen to notice these things.

Odd that you should know immediately what I was talking about, Rumpole.

Not guilty, my Lord.

Didn't your God-bothering society have a meeting here last week?

The Lawyers as Christians Committee, we 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?

Yes.

CLAUDE: I'm trying to be sensible.

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

His marriage is on the rocks, not to put too fine a point on it.

It happens, Mr. Pinhorn.

Some marriages are seldom off them.

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

It's long been my experience, Mr. Rumpole, 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, as is your wont, of course.

Well, I haven't had a matrimonial for years.

My divorce may be a little rusty.

Oh, we're not asking you to do the divorce.

We're sending that to Mr. Tite-Smith at Crown Office row.

Oh, well, jolly 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.

Your client's got something else on his plate, has he?

On his plate?

[chuckles] That's very apt, that is.

And apter than you know, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, come on, Mr. Pinhorn.

Don't keep me in suspense.

Who is this mysterious client?

I wasn't to divulge his name in case you should refuse to act for him.

Although he's not short of money.

[scoffs] Horace Rumpole refuse a money brief?

[chuckles] No, no, no.

He was afraid that you might have taken against him so he's coming in person to appeal to you.

I've asked Henry if he'd be good enough to have him shown up.

Henry!

Mr. O'Higgins, sir.

Is it Horace Rumpole?

I rely on you to save me, Mr. Rumpole.

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

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

JEAN-PIERRE: [chuckles] I have to tell you, Mr. Rumpole, your courage took my breath away.

Do you know what he did, Mr. Pinhorn?

Do you know what this little fellow here had the pluck to do?

Only order mashed spuds in La Maison Jean-Pierre.

A thing no one else has dared to do in all my time as maitre de cuisine.

[chuckles] I tell you, Mr. Pinhorn, quite honestly, a man who could do that to Jean-Pierre couldn't be intimidated by all the judges of the Queen's bench.

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 is that for eloquence?

I tell you, we've picked the right one here, Mr. Pinhorn.

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

I should have long ago, but no, Simone is still alive and suing.

Isn't that right, Mr. Pinhorn?

It is, Mr O'Higgins.

It is indeed.

I received a telephone call from the environmental health officer.

My client is being charged with offenses relating to dirty and dangerous practices at La Maison under the Food and Hygiene Regulations, 1970.

"Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie."

The cause of panic in his breastie.

The mouse.

PINHORN: This is it, Mr. Rumpole.

How wonderful!

We will elect for a trial by jury.

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

[laughter] Even if we can't get you off, Mr. O'Higgins.

[speaking italian] Right, that's you, spaghetti face.

[speaking italian] The comis waiter, Alberto Pasquale, he's Italian.

We've got a statement from him.

He saw nothing until they took off the cloche.

Been with you long, has he?

About a year.

Works hard, wants to get on with the hotel business, make a good manager.

So now he takes the dishes out to the station waiter.

JEAN-PIERRE: Gaston LeBlanc.

Has been with me forever.

Works all the hours God made.

A sick wife, kid at university.

Does other sorts of jobs even on his night off.

RUMPOLE: He has to look under the covers to see what's what.

Gaston said there were only two plates.

He looked under one cloche and saw it was the gentleman's order.

No side order of mouse.

Exactly.

So he gave the other to Alberto, who took it to the lady.

And then the reputation of England's greatest maitre de cuisine crumbled to dust.

Nonsense.

You're forgetting the reputation of Horace Rumpole.

[chuckles] I'd better go out and keep those lonely people company.

So what's our defense?

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

[laughs] RUMPOLE: [laughs] You know, it's extraordinary, Mr. Pinhorn, the power that can be wielded by one of the smaller rodents.

You mean it's wrecked the business?

No, no, no.

It's making Jean-Pierre O'Higgins be polite to his customers.

[laughter] MRS. RAFFERTY: 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 used to have in chambers, oh, donkey's years ago.

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

He used to lead a cat around on a-- on a length of pink tape.

Gentleman who dried his socks in front of his electric fire?

Yes.

You remember him?

No.

Well, everybody's very proud of old Dalrymple.

[laughs] They'd say, Dalrymple, what a character!

And one day our old head of chambers came in and he said, they've binned old Dalrymple.

Caught him trying to climb into the divorce court in his pajamas.

Certified insane.

Am I a character, Mrs. Rafferty?

Well, each to his own, Mr. Rumpole.

That's what I always say.

[growls] Mrs. Rafferty.

Sorry, sir.

What have you got in your hand?

Oh, this little fellow?

RUMPOLE: Yes.

It was lying around on the floor of the toilet, so it was.

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

RUMPOLE: Well, it may not be much of a brush to you, Mrs. Rafferty.

But I know somebody who would be very glad of that.

You want it as a gift, sir?

No, not exactly as a gift, Mrs. Rafferty.

More of a sort of surprise, that is, if you can spare it.

MRS. RAFFERTY: Well, now, you're quite a character, aren't you, Mr. Rumpole?

See?

You don't want to know.

It's just 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 lonely.

Perhaps they do.

There's an awful lot of loneliness about, especially amongst old people.

Rumpole, you're all alone!

Oh, well-- well, yes, I was, yes.

Do you always have breakfast by yourself?

Oh, 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?

Mm.

She's left you, Rumpole?

Uh, yes, as you would say, Ms. Probert, she-- she is no longer sharing a supportive relationship with me in any meaningful way.

Well, where's she gone?

Oh, she's gone off looking for gracious living with her cousin Everard from Saskatoon.

That fellow has good as many jokes in him as the Dow Jones average.

You mean 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 have founded the YRLS, the Young Radical Lawyers.

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

We want to go into community work as well.

Well, we could always get someone to take a look at your front door in the mornings.

My front door?

Whatever for?

Well, I suppose just to count the milk bottles.

Oh!

[laughs] [knocking] CLAUDE: Morning, Ballard.

You're an early bird.

Erskine-Brown.

And one doesn't like to do this, but it's the only way.

I suppose you want to catch the worm.

The worm?

What worm?

Have we a worm in chambers?

What do you mean, exactly?

No, nothing.

Nothing at all.

Just a figure of speech.

One does get so worried about standards of hygiene.

You know, I'm briefed in this disgusting restaurant business.

Makes one think, you know.

It really makes one think.

Well, yes, it's been making me think, I must say.

I wanted to have a word with you about that evening at the Maison Jean-Pierre.

MR. BALLARD: The chain, it's the only answer.

It was just my terrible luck, of course, that it had to happen at my table.

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

Henry will just have to find us a small padlock or some such device.

CLAUDE: Naturally, I don't want my name associated with a-- well, a rather ridiculous-- Fellows in chambers aren't going to like it.

They'll say it's a restriction on their liberty.

Rumpole, no doubt, will have a great deal to say, but the chain is the only answer.

The what, Ballard?

MR. BALLARD: Yes, yes.

Get a new nailbrush and 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.

And in this restaurant case you're doing, I don't suppose you'll need to call the couple who actually got the mouse.

The couple?

Yes.

The mouse was served-- appalling lack of hygiene in a workplace-- to a table booked by Mr. Claude Erskine-Brown and guest.

Now, of course, he'll be a vital witness.

You'll be a vital witness.

Well, that's just it.

I can't be a vital witness.

There's no way I can be a witness of any sort.

MR. BALLARD: Why ever not?

Because if I am a witness of any sort, my name will get into the papers, and Philly will know I was having dinner.

Why on Earth shouldn't she know you were having dinner?

Most people have dinner.

It's nothing to be ashamed of.

Get a grip on yourself, Erskine-Brown.

Ballard.

Sam, you're a married man.

You should understand these things.

MR. BALLARD: Well, of course, I'm married.

And Marguerite and I have dinner on a regular basis.

But I wasn't having dinner with Philly.

I was having dinner with an instructing solicitor.

MR. BALLARD: This was your guest?

Yes.

MR. BALLARD: A solicitor?

Of course.

He apparently leapt onto a chair, held down his skirt, and screamed three times.

Ballard, the solicitor was Trisha Benbow.

You don't imagine I'd spend a hundred and something quid on feeding the face of Mr. Pinhorn, do you?

Patricia Benbow?

CLAUDE: Yes.

Is that the blonde one who wears all the clinking bangles?

CLAUDE: That's the one.

She's a woman.

CLAUDE: Yes.

And your wife knew nothing of this?

CLAUDE: And must never know.

Thank you, Ballard.

Thanks awfully, Sam.

I can count on you to keep my name out of this.

I'll do the same for you, old boy, any day of the week.

That won't be necessary.

No?

Well, thanks anyway.

It will be necessary, however, for you to give evidence for the prosecution.

- Sam!

Don't you Sam me!

It's all part of the same thing, isn't it?

Sharp practice over the nailbrush, failure to assist the authorities in an important prosecution.

You had better prepare yourself to give evidence and to be cross-examined by Rumpole for the defense.

Do your duty and take the consequences.

(QUIETLY): Bastard!

We thought of a wonderful way of cheering him up.

You could join us.

- Oh, yeah?

Well, what's the idea, Ms. Probert?

Well, actually, it's social work.

Afternoon, all.

Fig Newton.

Mr. Pinhorn said Mr. Rumpole would like to tell me about a little job he'd got in mind.

Yeah, take a seat, won't you, Mr. Newton?

I'm expecting Mr. Rumpole back from court immediately.

Obliged.

LIZ: He must be going out of his mind all alone every night in that flat in Gloucester Road.

DAVE: Shush, Liz.

LIZ: Hello, Rumpole.

Had a good day?

Oh, perfectly charming.

His honor, Judge Graves, rose from the tomb just long enough to give my client five years in chokey.

Ferdinand Isaac Gerald Newton, private investigator extraordinaire.

How are you, Fig?

Oh, not so dusty.

Mr. Pinhorn says 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've got to take out a second mortgage to have a meal there.

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

Gaston LeBlanc.

You're coming to Pomeroy's, Rumpole?

Oh, no.

Sorry, Dave.

Duty calls me to another watering hole.

And Alberto Pasquale.

[singing in italian] Keep your stinking dago hands off her.

She doesn't want to know you.

Mary can't stand the sight of you.

[speaking italian] - Imbecile?

- Eh!

Who are you calling an imbecile?

[speaking italian] I've had enough of you.

[arguing] Leave it out!

One little mouse, and you behave like a bunch of lunatics.

Haven't you wrecked this place enough already?

Are you going to start slaughtering each other?

Am I interrupting anything?

Only the collapse of a great restaurant.

Aren't we meeting in court, sir?

Well, I had a few questions.

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

My-- my wife's away at the moment, and I seem to have forgotten to-- to get anything in for dinner.

Are you hungry, Mr. Rumpole?

A little tureen Jean-Pierre?

How about [french]?

Oh, thought you'd never ask.

They fight over her, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, young Mary Skelton exercises a very powerful attraction.

She doesn't exactly look the type.

Well, maybe she has a warm heart.

Simone looked the type, as you would say, but she had a heart like iced consomme.

Ah, yes, your wife.

A vengeful woman, was she?

Why would she be vengeful to me, Mr. Rumpole, when I am a particularly tolerant and easygoing type of individual?

I-- oh, we're not open yet.

What the hell do you think we'd be serving?

High tea?

Cretins!

It's not as though I've ever been a difficult man, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, no, of course, not.

Very parfait, gentle cook.

Great artist needs admiration, of course.

He needs almost incessant praise.

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

Had some experience of wives, have you?

Oh, five times experience, you might say.

Well, now you're going to have to fill all these tables to pay Simone's alimony, aren't you?

Well, no, no, not exactly.

You see, after the divorce, she'll own half the restaurant.

Ah, now, that was not made entirely clear to me.

Simone, she was the one with the business sense.

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

RUMPOLE: Was that wrong?

No, it was absolutely right for Simone.

Because they have a thing there they call community of property.

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

Well, you know all about the law, of course.

Ah, well, no, not all about it.

I often think that knowledge of the law is a bit of 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.

Seems to me that the mouse is the least of your worries.

Well, thank you.

Thank you very much.

Well, the animals will be arriving.

It's almost feeding time.

[rain pitter-patters] Zim Saladin!

Haroota mahroopah!

And hey oop!

[laughs, applause] RUMPOLE: "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!

[raucous music] Party, party, Mr. Rumpole.

♪ ♪ Surprise party, Rumpole, to cheer you up in your great loneliness!

[giggles] ♪ ♪ My wife's at a dinner at the mansion house for South London mayors, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh!

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 tonight, eh?

Makes you feel young again, don't it?

Not particularly young, Henry, no.

I mean, what the hell does the Lord Chancellor know about being pregnant and your boyfriend's been arrested for doing dope.

[phone rings] Very little, I should imagine.

Yes.

INTENSE GIRL: That's the telephone.

The police, I should wonder.

I'll get it.

Thank you.

♪ ♪ Thank you.

Yes, Officer?

Oh, Hilda!

Oh, hello.

MR. BALLARD: Members of the jury, this is a case which many of you may find most shocking, concerning as it does-- (VOICEOVER) His honor, 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 up properly.

No doubt he lives on a diet of organic bran, iced water, and colonic irrigation.

[scoffs] The last person in the world to laugh this case out of court.

Oh, 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.

The ceiling, Mr. Ballard?

Alas!

Yes, my Lord.

Obviously, not a short-order cook.

MR. BALLARD: A complete absence of nailbrushes in the kitchen hand basins.

[gasps] Horror!

Now, all this is bad enough.

But on the night of May the 18th, a common house mouse was served up to a customer's dinner table.

No doubt we are dealing here, Mr. Ballard, with a defunct mouse.

Again, alas, no, my Lord, the mouse in question was alive.

And kicking.

Now, members of the jury, need one ask if an establishment is in breach of the food hygiene regulations if it serves up a living mouse?

As proprietor of the restaurant, Mr. O'Higgins is, say the prosecution, absolutely responsible.

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

[chuckles] I will now call my first witness.

Who is this pompous imbecile?

Shh!

Quiet!

What are your full names, sir?

CLAUDE: My Lord, may I write them down?

There may be some publicity.

Aren't you a member of the bar?

CLAUDE: Well, yes.

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

I think you'd better tell the jury who you are in the usual way.

Claude Leonard-- JUDGE GRAVES: No, do speak up.

Claude Leonard Erskine-Brown.

Leonard, he's not owned up to that before.

On May the 18th, were you dining at La Maison Jean-Pierre?

Well, yes-- yes.

I did just drop in.

MR. BALLARD: For dinner?

Yes.

MR. BALLARD: In the company of a young lady named Patricia Benbow?

(STAMMERS) 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 Ms. Company's Benbow, my Lord.

And when the main course was served, were the plates covered?

CLAUDE: Yes, they were.

When the covers were lifted, what happened?

Well, a mouse ran out.

Oh, do speak up.

A mouse ran out, my Lord!

Hickory dickory dock.

MR. BALLARD: Thank you, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

RUMPOLE: Mr. Claude Leonard Erskine-Brown.

Is Ms. Benbow a solicitor?

CLAUDE: Well, yes.

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

Mrs. Erskine-Brown has sat here as a recorder, members of the jury.

RUMPOLE: I'm obliged to your lordship.

And is Ms. 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?

And were you dining with Ms. Benbow in order to discuss the defense in that case, your wife being unfortunately delayed in Cardiff?

CLAUDE: Was I?

Well, weren't you?

Oh, yes, of course.

I remember now.

Of course, I was.

I did it all to help Philly, to help my wife.

Is that what you mean?

MR. 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?

Oh, yes.

I'm grateful to your lordship for reminding me.

Yes, what sort of an animal was it?

Oh, a very small mouse indeed, hardly noticeable.

A very small mouse and hard-- hardly noticeable.

And 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 in the dining room by someone who had access to the serving table?

Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Rumpole.

You're perfectly right.

It might have been.

No, I take it you're not suggesting that this creature appeared from a dish of duck breasts by some sort of miracle, are you, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: No, my Lord, not a miracle.

Perhaps a trick.

But isn't Mr. Ballard perfectly right?

For the purposes of this offense, 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?

[laughter] Mr. Rumpole, this is not a place of entertainment.

You would do well to remember that 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 has turned out to be a mysterious case, Mr. Rumpole.

It's more than mysterious, Mr. Pinhorn.

There is absolutely no evidence of droppings.

No sign of mice in that kitchen at all.

No, the mouse was put under the cupboard deliberately in order to ruin the business.

Mrs. O'Higgins?

Oh, no, certainly not.

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

She's going to get half of it.

No, the-- the guilty person is someone who wanted Simone to get as little as possible.

So what did this someone do?

You tell me, Mr. Rumpole.

Well, broke a few small rules to begin with, took away the nailbrushes, the covers off the refuse bins.

But they needed something sensational, something that would hit the headlines.

Luckily, they remembered that one of the waiters had a talent for sleight of hand.

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

Gaston LeBlanc?

RUMPOLE: Exactly.

He put the mouse under the cover, handed it to Alberto, who passed it on to the unfortunate Ms. Benbow.

Consequence-- the ruin of the restaurant and a poor investment for the vengeful Simone.

Whoever it was must have paid Gaston very well.

MR. PINHORN: Who are we talking about, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, well, now, who had the greatest possible reason for hating Simone?

MR. 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.

Now, why don't you take a statement from Ms. Mary Skelton?

There, we'll call her as a witness.

I'm afraid I left something here last night.

[clears throat] Yes, I'm afraid you did.

It's in there.

Young Radical Lawyers?

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

What?

You don't honestly imagine that-- HILDA: Oh, I don't have to imagine anything, do I?

It seems perfectly obvious, isn't it?

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.

Mrs. Rumpole, please, listen.

Dave Inchcape and I and a whole load of us came round to give Rumpole a party to cheer him up because he was lonely.

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?

LIZ: He sounded absolutely brokenhearted.

He saw nothing ahead, I'm sure, but a-- a lonely old age stretching out in front of him until-- until he couldn't take in the milk anymore.

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, Ms. 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 Ms. 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, Simone, should get nothing out of it.

JUSTICE GRAVES: Mr. Rumpole.

But my client knew nothing of this dire plot.

He was entirely innocent.

JUSTICE GRAVES: 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 Honor 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 maitre de cuisine, Jean-Pierre O'Higgins, is in your hands and your hands alone.

[applause] REPORTER: Mr. O'Higgins!

[chatter] Rumpole, you are brilliant.

I've got a win or two left in me yet.

No, no, I mean, brilliant, getting me off.

All that nonsense about a brief for Philly.

It was not nonsense, Leonard.

Claude.

Claude.

I rang Ms. Benbow.

She is indeed going to brief Philly with the Balham minicab murder.

You're suggesting Rumpole would deceive the court?

Oh, am I getting a brief, too?

No, she said nothing about that.

Oh, well, thanks anyway, Rumpole, for getting me out of a scrape.

Think nothing of it, old dear.

My life is devoted to assisting the criminal classes.

I say, Rumpole, this is the QCs robing room, you know.

Of course, yes.

Holy ground, yes.

I promised to give a pen back to Boll-- uh, Ballard.

Which is his locker, please?

Over there by the window.

Thank you.

[snap] There is nothing else for it, Rumpole.

I shall chain up the next one.

Chain it up?

Oh, come on, Ballard.

Isn't that a bit drastic?

If fellows and ladies in chambers cannot be trusted, I am left with absolutely no alternative.

Um, no, I hate to have to do this, but tomorrow Henry is being sent out for a chain.

Yeah.

Look, just hang on to that for a minute, will you?

Could you let me have 25 pence for the Evening Standard?

Another restaurant may be in trouble.

Why are you never provided with money?

Well, the-- that's-- that's our old nailbrush.

RUMPOLE: Oh!

MR. BALLARD: I'd recognize it anywhere.

But it's black.

What have you been doing?

Cleaning your shoes with it?

Well, of course not.

Well, 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 bit of a stab at it.

That nice Liz Probert said that you missed me dreadfully.

Hilda, of course, I missed you.

A life without a boss.

HILDA: What did you say?

I said you were a frightful loss.

And she said that you were terribly lonely.

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 very 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 a la carte.

Ha!

That's a very good idea.

I think I know a little place where we can get it on the mouse-- house.

[chatter] [french] Steak and kidney pudding.

Oh, George, thank you so much.

[chatter] Bon appetit.

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

RUMPOLE: Oh, Hilda.

Because you are a character, and you need me to tell you off when you go too far.

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

Mashed spud.

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