[audio logo] [theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [car door closes] Dad!

Dad!

Breakfast, Dad!

Coming!

Special Branch.

He's mine.

Stop!

[gunshots] Ah!

[cat mews] [theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Morning.

When you're at Bogstead, Tristan, you won't be able to lie in bed until a quarter to 8:00.

You'll have to get up really early when you go away to school, Tristan.

Oh, do shut up, Isolde.

You know, when I was at Bogstead, we used to be woken up at half past 6:00 for early school and had to break the ice in the doorway basins-- You have told him that, Claude, quite often.

--and run three times round Tug's Patch before church on saints' days.

Did you enjoy that?

Good heavens, no.

I absolutely hated it.

Why on earth do you imagine Tristan's going to enjoy that?

Tristan's not going to enjoy it.

You don't enjoy Bogstead, exactly.

You're not meant to enjoy it.

But, you know, if I hadn't gone there, I wouldn't have got into Winchester.

And if I hadn't got into Winchester, I'd never have been to New College.

And I'll tell you something, Tristan, if I hadn't been to Bogstead, Winchester, and New College, I'd never be where I am today.

Which might be just as well.

Whatever do you mean by that?

[chuckles] You'll love it, though, Tristan-- egg on fried bread for breakfast on Sundays.

That comes as an absolutely super treat.

Would you eat that toast up, Isolde, darling?

You've got to build up your strength for Bogstead.

Phylli, you may not have noticed this, but Isolde's a girl.

They don't have girls at Bogstead.

Oh, I see.

It's a boy's world, is it?

I didn't say that.

Oh, poor old Isolde.

She's going to miss all the fun of breaking the ice at 6 o'clock in the morning and running three times around Tug's Patch on Saints' Day.

Poor deprived child, she might even grow up to be a Queen's Counsel.

CLAUDE: Come on, Phylli.

Well, of course, I'm terrifically glad you've been made a QC.

I think you've done jolly well.

Yes, for a woman.

But it's just not quite the thing, you know-- well, to crow about it.

I'm sorry, Claude.

I don't think I know what the thing is.

Bye-bye, darling.

Have a super day.

Oh, Claude.

Darling, could you take the children?

I'm defending Cy Stratton at the West Middlesex.

Cy Stratton?

Will you get his autograph, Mum?

No, I don't think so.

Isolde, darling.

You don't ask for autographs from people you defend.

Mwah.

It's just not the thing, old chap.

Where's the little chap, then?

Upstairs, love.

Oh.

Matthew Culp?

We're going to take you somewhere.

You'll be looked after.

My father looks after me.

Cy Stratton is, of course, a household name known throughout the world from a string of successful films.

The bench won't, I'm sure, punish him for his fame.

He's entitled to be treated as any one else found at London Airport, with a small amount of cannabis for his own personal use.

At the time, he was under considerable strain, having just completed a new film, Galaxy Wives.

And may I say this, Mr. Stratton is absolutely opposed to hard drugs.

He is a prominent member of the Say No to Dope committee of Los Angeles.

I do, in these circumstances, most earnestly appeal to you, sir-- you and your colleagues-- you will do justice to Cy Stratton.

But let it be justice tempered with that mercy which is the hallmark of the West Middlesex Magistrates' Court.

CY STRATTON: Fined 300 pounds.

Hell, I had that in my pants pocket.

Yes, they might have given you two months.

You wouldn't have had that in your pants pocket.

Have you got time to crack open a bottle of Dom Pérignon?

Not really.

No.

- Come on.

- I'm sorry.

We do have work to do, you know, at the bar.

What was the verdict, Mr. Stratton?

CY STRATTON: 300 pounds, that's all.

You've got to get me home, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, yes, when you've been found delivering automatic rifles to a known terrorist.

The name is Rumpole, though, darling-- not Houdini.

I Can't be kept away, not from my boy.

Your boy?

Matthew.

His son, Mr. Rumpole.

RUMPOLE: Oh.

It's in the proof of evidence.

12 Last birthday, wasn't he, Mr. Culp?

We've been together ever since his mother took off.

3 and 1/2 Matthew was then.

She said I had nothing romantic in my nature whatsoever.

And then she took off with the manager of Tesco's, 20 years older than me if he was a day.

Can you understand that?

Oh, I suppose some people may find romance in Tesco's.

Well, ever since then, my son and I, we've-- we've made it a sort of rule, you see, to look after each other.

That's why I work from home.

Yes, dealing in what?

Antiques, bric-a-brac, objet d'art, anything that will make a few bob.

Well, you know how it is.

Stolen property?

I never thought it wise to ask too many questions, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, I feel like that sometimes about my practice at the bar.

And you know how it is.

Well, living over the shop is better for Matthew.

It means we can keep an eye on each other.

Yes, Mr. Culp.

Let us leave Matthew out of this for the moment, and let us return to this little matter of the charges against you under the Firearms Act.

Now, in January last, a man rang and arranged a meeting.

He said he was from the Loyalist League for Welfare and Succor of Terrorist Victims in Northern Ireland.

Did this philanthropic gentleman have any sort of a name at all?

Banks?

He said he was a Mr. Banks.

He wanted some space.

The shop's quite big, and I undertake storage for people.

I make a few bob that way.

There's a notice about it in the news agents.

How would you describe him?

Tall?

I'd say average.

Yeah.

Well, fat, thin?

Average.

Average clothes?

Business suit.

Of course.

Glasses with gold rims-- tinted lenses, as I recall.

Had you seen him before?

Never.

RUMPOLE: Or again?

No.

I said I'd store his packing cases, and he paid me three months in advance.

Oh, yes?

How much?

STANLEY CULP: 500 pounds Oh oh.

STANLEY CULP: Well, that was his figure.

Who was I to say no?

Business hasn't been that brilliant.

How would they deliver them?

In a van.

Two blokes brought them.

They seemed heavy to lift.

Ah, weighed a bit, did they, for cotton, wool, and bandages?

I never knew what was in them.

So you said, Mr. Culp.

Then later on, he telephoned.

Who, Banks?

Yeah.

He said a man from Ireland would be there to arrange collection.

He gave me a name-- MacRobert.

You didn't know that MacRobert was a member of a paramilitary organization?

Of course not.

All right.

What happened when the man from Ulster arrived?

Well, as I say, he rang the bell downstairs.

I went and let him into the shop.

I showed him where the packing cases were, and he said he'd fix up to have them collected.

He said he wanted to open one up and have a look-see.

And did he?

No, we didn't get that far.

The door burst open.

Ah, yes.

And the Special Branch was amongst you.

MacRobert made a dash for it.

Then I heard the shot.

And MacRobert is in no position to tell us anything about the mysterious Mr. Banks.

It's where they put Matthew, Mr. Rumpole.

Don't worry, Mr. Culp.

He's being well looked after.

He's been taken into care.

Me too.

We're both in care.

That's it, isn't it?

And it won't suit either of us.

You see, we're used to looking after each other.

Yeah.

[background chatter] Is that you, Rumpole?

Good heavens, no.

It's the Lord High Chancellor popped in to read the gas meter.

What are you talking about, Hilda?

Shh.

Rumpole, it's Boxey.

Yes, I noticed, coming up out of the underground.

No, no, no.

Boxey Horne.

You must have heard me mention my second cousin, Cousin Nancy's youngest.

Hilda, we've spent interminable evenings talking about your complicated family.

Is that Horace, back from the treadmill?

[cackles] Boxey?

Yes, of course.

Now, you will behave yourself, won't you, Rumpole?

BOXEY: Oh, oh, oh.

Good old Horace, back from the office, same time every evening.

I bet you could set your watch by the old feller, can't you, Hilda?

Well, no.

Not exactly.

BOXEY: Hilda gave me some of this, um, plonk of yours, Horace.

Oh, yes, the Chateau Thames Embankment-- oh, the '88.

- Mm.

We'd have been glad of this back on the farm in Kenya.

- Really?

- Oh, yeah.

RUMPOLE: Oh, really?

Might have run a couple of tractors on it.

Ha!

Get Boxey a whisky, Rumpole.

I expect you'd like a nice, strong one.

Thank you, Hilda.

Thank you.

Boxey couldn't get into The Travellers Club.

- Blackballed?

- No.

Full up.

Hilda was good enough to say I might camp here for a couple of weeks.

Weeks?

Yes.

Well, I've been knocking around the world, Horace, while you were off on your 9:00 to 5:00 in a lawyer's office.

RUMPOLE: Not office, chambers.

It would never have suited old Boxey.

We called him that because of this beautiful brass bandbox he had when he set out for darkest Africa.

Yeah, I've always been a rover, Horace.

All my worldly goods were in that old box-- tropical kit, mosquito net, and dinner jacket to impress the natives, and family photographs, including one of cousin Hilda looking so young and alluring.

Oh.

You took me to Kenya with you in your box?

Many's the time I've sat alone, listening to the strange sounds of the African night and looked at your photograph.

HILDA: Oh, Boxey.

You have been looking after Cousin Hilda, haven't you, Horace?

- Looking after her?

Oh, she's in charge.

Oh, sweet, sweet girl, Cousin Hilda.

I've always thought she needed looking after.

But then I suppose I had itchy feet, you know, couldn't resist the-- the call of Africa.

What-- what were you doing, exactly?

Something like finding the source of the Zambezi, were you?

- Well, no.

No, not exactly, no.

I was in, um [mimics spraying] I was in coffee.

All your life?

Well, most of it.

With the same firm?

Yeah.

Well, one has certain loyalties, you know, Horace.

You've never seen dawn over Kilimanjaro, have you, Horry, eh?

No.

Oh, pink light on the snow, zebra stampeding.

Oh, well.

What time do you start work?

Well, after my boy got my bacon and eggs, coffee, and Oxford marmalade, then I'd-- I'd ride around the plantation.

About 9:00?

Yeah, about then, I suppose.

What time do you knock off?

Around sundown, you know, get a chair in the veranda.

Shout for a whisky, a large one.

About 5 o'clock?

Why do you ask?

The old routine.

What's that, old man?

What a rover you've been.

Oh.

Have you ever been tiger shooting, Horry?

No, but I've shared the occasional corridor with Judge Bullingham.

That's risky enough.

Yeah, it's the best sport in the world.

You tie an old goat to a tree and you lie doggo.

Your loader says, one tiger coming.

There she is, eyes glittering through the undergrowth.

She starts to eat the goat, and you aim just above the shoulder.

And [mimics gunshot].

Oh!

Oh, dear.

There, Rumpole, what do you think of that?

I think it's bloody hard luck on the goat.

[chuckling] I remember when we used to go to dances at Uncle Jacko's.

Boxey was quite young then.

He used to bring his dancing pumps in a paper bag.

He was simply marvelous at the Veleta.

Wonder he didn't join the Royal Ballet.

Rumpole, you're jealous.

No, I just thought he might have found the custom that was there a bit more interesting than coffee.

That's all.

In those days, I got the distinct feeling that Boxey had taken a bit of a shine to me.

Oh, we look before and after.

We pine for what is not.

A definite shine.

How different my life would have been if I had married Boxey and seen Africa.

Yes, my life would have been a bit different too.

Oh, yes, of course it would.

No one to make sure I didn't linger too long in Pomeroy's after work.

No one to stop me having a second helping of mashed potatoes.

Magical.

What did you say, Rumpole?

Uh, tragical, of course.

Any chance putting the light out, Hilda?

Boxey Horne, come to stay with us.

So much to think about.

In his heart, Tristan is absolutely thrilled about going to Bogstead.

It makes him feel terrifically grown up.

Did Boggers make you feel grown up, Claude?

I can't say I've noticed it.

Phylli, please.

Anyway, what's the point of having children if you're going to send them away?

For long terms of imprisonment?

They haven't even broken the law, most of them.

Rumpole, that was not helpful.

Oh, I think it was extremely helpful.

Tristan should be with his father-- and with me, of course.

Phyllida, please.

Not in the clerk's room.

I don't mind if Henry hears that.

I'm quite sure Henry would agree with me.

Wouldn't you, Henry?

- Flowers for Erskine-Brown?

RUMPOLE: Oh, Claude, you have an admirer.

I say.

Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Oh.

Thank you.

Are they from anyone in particular?

Oh, no.

No.

Flowers just seem to drop on me by accident from the sky.

Do try not to be silly, Claude.

It might be a satisfied client.

Matter of fact, it is.

Oh, Portia, really?

Who is it?

Oh, just someone I kept out of prison, no one tremendously important.

I've never had a gift from a satisfied client.

Come to that, I've not had many clients either, satisfied or otherwise.

Oh, well, I suppose it's better to have no clients than those that aren't satisfied.

Oh, blast.

I'm in the bunker.

Henry, what have I got on this afternoon?

Oh, a-- a 2:30 con.

PHYLLIDA: Yes.

Old Dicky Duckworth had a satisfied client once, some sort of Middle Eastern prince who was supposed to have got a nippy from Lance Corner House in pawn, and Dicky turned up at Bow Street and got him off.

Huh.

Do you know what this chap sent him as a token of his appreciation?

An Arab stallion.

Oh oh.

Well, Dicky Duckworth only had a small flat in Lincoln's Inn.

Oh, well, no one's ever given me an Arab stallion.

I should think if they had, I wouldn't have known how to-- now, how do I get out of the bunker?

Oh-- - Now, look here.

Do you mind?

Superintendent-- TOM: Sorry.

--Rodney to see Mr. Ballard.

CY STRATTON: You're a free spirit, Phyllida, I can tell that.

Underneath that stern legal look, your spirit is free.

PHYLLIDA: Is it?

CY STRATTON: That's why I thought we'd go crazy and picnic.

Dom Pérignon, like I promised.

You're looking great.

So are you.

CY STRATTON: No kidding, great-- great hair, great shape, classy nose, great legal mind.

[laughs] Don't be silly.

I honestly want us to spend more time together, get to know each other a little.

I get great vibes from you, Phyllida.

Oh.

I asked you here because I have a proposition to put.

Perhaps you shouldn't.

CY STRATTON: Why?

You shouldn't.

I need you, Phyllida.

You may think you do.

I know I do, desperately.

Don't exaggerate.

I swear there's no one else who can do the things I'd expect of you.

They haven't the-- the versatility.

What, um, would you expect of me, exactly?

Only take over the entire legal side of Cy Stratton Enterprises-- real estate, audio visual exploitations, cable promotions.

I want your cool head, Phyllida, and your legal know-how.

Oh, is that what you want?

Come to the sunshine.

I'll find you a house on the beach.

I have got two children, you know-- CY STRATTON: The kids will love it.

--and a husband.

He's a lawyer, too.

Maybe we can use him.

What do you say?

You don't send children away from home in California, do you?

We should spend some time together.

Yes, I'll think about it.

Can I have a sandwich?

We can spend more time together.

That's all it takes.

Good afternoon.

Having a picnic?

Oh, Probert.

Hi.

You remember Cy Stratton?

Of course, illegal possession.

A satisfied client?

[FAINT OPERA MUSIC FROM HEADPHONES] Claude.

Claude?

Darling, don't you ever long to go to work in an open-neck shirt and cotton trousers?

Good heavens, no.

In an open-neck shirt and cotton trousers, the judges can't even hear you.

You'd be quite inaudible and sent up to the public gallery.

No, I don't mean that, Claude.

I mean, don't you ever long for the sun?

Oh, I see.

Do you want me to book up for Viareggio again?

All right then.

Not just a holiday, Claude-- a change in our lives.

Shh.

Phylli, it's the "Liebestod."

You're interrupting the love duet.

I think it's been interrupted for some time.

Look, I think it's only fair I should tell you this, Claude.

You see, there is someone I might want to spend more time with.

- [hums] - Claude.

Hmm?

I might want to spend more time with someone, hmm, in, um-- well, you know, a different sort of life.

It's not that I'm in love in the least.

It's nothing to do with that.

But, you know, sometimes I feel I never want to go back into chambers.

Chambers?

Hmm.

I know you do.

There was a letter for you, looked important.

So I brought it home with me.

It's from the Lord Chancellor's office.

For me?

Good heavens.

Why ever me?

[tapping] I have called this chambers meeting for two reasons.

The first is to congratulate, um, Phyllida Erskine-Brown, who has received gratifying news from the Lord Chancellor's office.

She has been made a recorder.

And so, from time to time, during the intervals of her busy practice, will sit in as a criminal judge.

Oh, Portia-- a Danielle come to justice.

Thank you very much.

As a matter of fact, this comes as a bit of a shock.

Of course, we all know the Lord Chancellor is anxious to promote women.

So perhaps, Phyllida, you found the law a little easier than it has been for some of us.

Yeah, I suppose we might have seen you as Lord Chancellor by now, Ballard, if you'd been born Samantha instead of Sam.

My second duty is a less pleasant one.

Something has occurred which, in a respectable barristers chambers, is quite inexcusable.

An officer of the Special Branch called to see me in conference.

He walked into the clerk's room and was struck on the ankle by a golf ball.

I need hardly say who was responsible.

- Uncle Tom?

- Yes, I know.

I know.

That's why I asked Uncle Tom not to attend this meeting.

Yes, he's been playing golf in there for as long as I can remember.

It wasn't Uncle Tom's fault.

I distinctly heard him shout fore.

Well, he shouldn't be shouting fore or anything else.

The clerk's room is for collecting briefs and discussing with Henry a chap's availability.

It is not for shouting fore and-- and driving off into people's ankles.

- He wasn't driving off.

- He was driving off.

RUMPOLE: He wasn't driving off.

- He was driving off.

He was getting out of a bunker.

In any event, he shouldn't be practicing golf in the clerk's room.

It is quite unnecessary.

Of course it is.

Well, I'm-- I'm-- I'm glad you admit it.

It's like great poetry.

That's unnecessary.

You can't eat it.

It doesn't make you money.

I suppose there are some people, Ballard, who can get through life like you without Wordsworth's sonnet "Upon Westminster Bridge."

What we're discussing here is the quality of life.

Uncle Tom adds an imaginative tone to what would otherwise be a dusty, dreary little clerk's office full of barristers, biscuits, and briefs.

Uncle Tom and his golf balls are, in my considered opinion, a quite unnecessary health hazard.

I am asking him to vacate his room.

You're going to ask him to leave?

Exactly that.

If Uncle Tom goes, I go.

That would seem to make the departure of Uncle Tom even more desirable.

[laughs] Boxey, oh, you are-- [indistinct conversation] ♪ You take the high road ♪ ♪ And I'll take the low road ♪ ♪ I'll be in Zimbabwe before you ♪ ♪ Me and my true love will never meet again ♪ ♪ On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Limpopo ♪ Rumpole, have you been drinking?

Not more than usual, Hilda.

I have news for you.

I have news for Boxey.

My feet itch.

What on Earth do you mean by that?

Do you know I can smell that hot wind of Africa?

I can hear the scream of parrots and the chatter of monkeys in the jungle.

I want to see the elephant and the gazelle troop shyly down to the waterhole at midnight.

[groans] Do you know, Boxey, old darling, you-- you have inspired me.

I'm leaving the bar.

You talk nonsense.

Yes, I've handed in my resignation.

You've done what?

I have informed our learned head of chambers, soapy Sam Ballard, Queen's Counsel, that I no longer wish to be part of an organization that will not tolerate golf in the clerk's room.

- Uncle Tom.

- Of course.

I've never understood why he had to play golf in the clerk's room in any case.

Because nobody sends him any briefs, Hilda.

Do you think he wants to be seen doing nothing?

Anyway, I've handed in my resignation.

There's only one more case.

I intend to defeat Ballard on a little spot of illegal gun running in Notting Hill Gate.

And then, travels Rumpole east away.

[scoffs] He's joking.

Definitely joking.

Aren't you, Rumpole?

I wish I could come back with you, Horace, but-- No, Boxey.

Good heavens, no.

You can't do that.

Somebody's got to look after Hilda.

[whimsical flourish] Now, come on, Rumpole.

You're not really leaving us.

Oh, who knows?

That depends on Ballard-- oh, and on Hilda's long-lost cousin who rejoices in the name of Boxey Horne.

Boxey?

Yeah, a man who turned his back on dull responsibility and chose darkest Africa.

Do you know, Portia, there is no subject on which a man can be more genuinely boring than darkest Africa?

[scoffs] Hilda says she might have married Boxey.

And I might not have married Claude.

Ah, how "we look before and after.

We pine for what is not.

Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught.

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought."

I might have had a husband full of energy and jokes with a taste for adventure-- someone unconventional, a rebel who hasn't been to Winchester.

Oh, Portia, really?

What do you mean?

Well, mightn't I have been a bit old for you?

[both chuckling] Now, why did you ask me for this drink?

Well, apparently there's a bit of an east wind blowing between you and Claude on the subject of young Tristan's education.

Yes, well, I don't see why the family has to be split up.

Exactly.

A boy needs his father.

And his mother, don't forget.

That's the worst thing that can happen, families being separated and torn apart.

I mean, society has some very unnatural laws and morals.

Well, look, Rumpole-- I mean, handing a young boy over for other people to bring up?

That's got to be avoided at all costs.

Would you tell Claude that, please?

I certainly will.

Family togetherness-- here's to it, Portia.

I hope you support it when you sit in judgment.

Drinking champagne at lunchtime with a drug addict?

It was only a small amount of dope for his own use, actually.

The point for you to understand is what you've done to Phyllida as a woman.

What I've done?

Well, don't tell me you haven't driven her to it.

If a woman does something like that, it's always the husband's fault, isn't it?

And if a man does something like that?

Well, then, it's always his fault.

[sighs] That's where they were sitting.

Here?

Don't you understand?

Phyllida's just rebelling against your enormous power.

My enormous what?

Sexual domination.

Liz, Phyllida's a Queen's Counsel.

She wears a silk gown.

She's about to sit as a recorder in judgment at the Old Bailey.

I'm still a junior barrister with a rough old gown made of some inferior material.

How can I possibly dominate her?

Because you're a man, Claude.

You were born to dominate.

It's obvious that you should think I'm mad, and that she's mad too.

Our behavior looks idiotic, cheap, anything you like.

But it's true.

This magic that has happened is so true that everything else, all the ordinary ways of behavior look shabby and unreal beside it.

My heart's bumping.

I'm trembling like a-- - Thumping.

HENRY: What's that?

"My heart's thumping."

Otherwise very good.

Henry.

Rehearsing, were you?

Oh, yes, Mr. Rumpole-- the Bexley Thespians.

We're putting on tonight at 8:30.

By Noel Coward, sir.

We like his stuff.

I do happen to have the starring role.

With your usual co-star, I suppose?

Yes, I shall be playing opposite Ms. Osgood from the Old Bailey list office, as per always.

Ms. Osgood, who arranges the court hearings, a talented actress, no doubt.

Elizabeth Osgood has a certain magic on stage, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, remind me to send her a bouquet on opening night.

She also has considerable power in the list office.

Oh, and as for our Portia's debut on the Old Bailey bench, I thought it might be nice if Ms. Osgood could give her something deserving of her talents, now she's got a starring role.

No doubt you had something in mind, sir.

Regina versus Culp, a drama of gun dealing in Notting Hill Gate, likely to run and run.

Could be Portia's road to stardom.

Why don't you mention it to your fellow thespian during a break in rehearsals?

Oh, Uncle Tom.

Still golfing?

Ballard wants to see me?

Oh, yes.

When?

Any time at my convenience before the end of the month.

Do you think he's fixed me up with a junior brief?

Would you like that?

Well, I'm not sure.

I haven't exactly kept my hand in at the law.

Who cares?

Your putting is coming along no end.

[both chuckling] Phylli, I know exactly why you had lunch with that actor chap.

Do you?

Yes, because of my enormous power.

Your enormous what?

My natural male dominance.

You feel it overshadows you.

Claude, are you feeling entirely well?

I'm sorry about it, Phylli.

I'm really sorry about this habit of domination.

I suppose I can't help it.

It's a curse, really.

Men just don't know their own strength.

Claude, darling, I have to decide on the shirts you want to buy.

When we went out for dinner with the Arthurian Daybells, you asked me to remind you whether you liked smoked mackerel or not.

So I did.

Do I?

Not very much, no.

Oh, that's right.

You seem to suffer from terminal exhaustion directly your head hits the pillow.

Can you tell me exactly how you are exercising this enormous power over me?

Can you give me one single instance of your ruthless determination?

I suppose it's just the male role.

I'll try not to play it, Phylli.

I honestly will.

[chuckles] Oh, Claude.

Maybe I ought to stay here and look after you.

Well, you'll have to stay here now anyway, won't you?

Why?

Because you tell me to?

No, no.

No, because of your new responsibilities.

Superintendent Rodney, as an officer of the Special Branch, have you ever heard of the Loyalist League for the Welfare and Succor of Terrorist Victims in Northern Ireland?

Not till your client told us they sent him these packing cases.

Or of the man who presumably runs that philanthropic organization, a Mr. Banks?

Not till your client told us his story.

A story you believed?

If I had, we wouldn't be here, would we, Mr. Rumpole?

Mr. Rumpole, what does it matter what this officer believes?

It's what the jury believes that matters, isn't it?

Your ladyship is, of course, perfectly right.

A Daniel come to judgment-- yay, Daniel.

Tell me, Superintendent.

Did my client, Mr. Culp, give you a description of the man, Mr. Banks, who came to his shop and asked him to store some packing cases for him?

Superintendent, you may refresh your memory from your notes if you wish to.

Thank you, milady.

Yes.

Culp said, Mr. Banks called on me and asked me to store some medical supplies.

He was a man of average height.

He had gold rimmed glasses with tinted lenses.

Ah, tinted lenses.

Well, you know perfectly well who that is, don't you?

Excuse me, Mr. Rumpole, I have absolutely no idea.

Oh, really?

Hasn't the Special Branch made every effort to find this elusive Banks?

Have you sought him here, Superintendent?

Have you sought him there?

Milady, it is my duty to object to this line of questioning.

Your duty, Mr. Ballard?

My patriotic duty.

Milady, this case involves the security of the realm.

The activities of the Special Branch necessarily take place in secret.

Their inquiries cannot be questioned by Mr. Rumpole.

What do you say, Mr. Rumpole?

What do I say, my lady?

I say that despite what Mr. Ballard apparently believes, this trial is not taking place behind the Iron Curtain.

We are in England, my lady, breathing English air.

And the-- the Special Branch is not the KGB.

It is simply a widely traveled department of the dear old Bill.

And I would be very much obliged for an answer to my question.

The whereabouts of this man Banks is vital to your defense, is it?

My lady, it is.

And you wish me to make a ruling on the matter?

The first of many wise judgments that I'm quite sure your ladyship will make in many other cases.

Then, in my judgment-- Fingers crossed, Ms. Probert.

--Mr. Rumpole may ask his question.

A wise and upright judge, how much more elder art thou than thy looks?

Yes.

Well, Superintendent?

We have not been able to trace either Mr. Banks or any Loyalist League of Welfare.

Much good did that do you.

Oh, wait for it.

I've not finished yet, Comrade Ballardsky.

Who told you, Superintendent, that a dealing in arms was likely to take place at Mr. Culp's shop that morning at 9 o'clock?

Uh, my lady.

Yes, Mr. Rumpole, I don't think this officer can be compelled to give the name of his informer.

Very well.

Did your informer-- let us call him Mr. X-- did Mr. X arrive with you and the other officers in the police car?

My lady.

I don't think you can take the matter any further, can you, Mr. Rumpole?

Well, let me just ask this with your ladyship's permission.

Did a man wearing gold-rimmed spectacles with tinted lenses get out of the police car and walk away before the arrest took place?

I am not prepared to answer that, milady.

You can tell the judge all that?

I've got to.

I've got to help Dad out.

Oh, but you do know who the man was.

Perhaps he was an officer of the Special Branch who asked Mr. Culp to store some packing cases for him, who told Mr. Culp that they contained medical supplies, and who arranged for MacRobert, who wanted to buy arms for his Ulster terrorist, to walk into your trap.

All I can tell you is that the cases of arms were in the shop, and MacRobert called for them.

Did MacRobert meet Mr. Banks?

I can't say.

And the jury will never know because MacRobert has been silenced forever.

Detective Inspector Blake saw him in the act of pulling out a weapon.

He fired in self-defense.

Yes, I dare say he did.

But it leaves us a little short of evidence, doesn't it?

The little lad's just longing to go into the witness box.

Are you going to call him?

Fortunately, I am in a position to call a witness later, who will give us some more information about this damned elusive Banks.

Please, Rumpole, don't swear in court, particularly in front of a lady judge.

OFFICER: Calling Matthew Culp.

RUMPOLE: Now, then, Matthew.

Do you remember a man coming to ask your father to store some boxes for him?

I was in the shop.

RUMPOLE: You were in the shop when he arrived?

Yes.

He said he was Mr. Banks, and I went to fetch Dad from the back.

He was mending something.

Matthew, do you think you could just speak up a little so Mr. Rumpole can hear you?

Do you remember what the man looked like, Matthew?

He had those gold-rimmed glasses, and they were colored.

What were colored?

The glass in them.

And did this man talk to your father?

Yes.

I went upstairs to finish my homework.

I see.

And did you see the man again?

Oh, yes.

When?

When the policemen arrived for Dad, Mr. Banks got out of the police car.

He got out of the police car.

And what did he do then, Matthew?

He walked away.

Thank you.

Now, just wait there a moment, will you?

Matthew, are you very fond of your father?

We look after each other.

Oh, yes.

Yes, I'm sure you do.

And you want to look after him, don't you?

You want to look after him in this case?

I'd like him to come home.

BALLARD: Yes.

Yes, I'm sure you would.

And have you and your father discussed this business of Mr. Banks getting out of the police car?

I told Dad what I saw.

And did your father tell you he was going to say the police had set up this deal through Mr. Banks?

He said something like that.

So does it come to this-- you'd say anything to help your father's defense?

Oh, my lady, that's completely uncalled for.

Yes, Mr. Rumpole.

Matthew, are you sure you saw a man with glasses get out of the police car?

Yes, I am.

PHYLLIDA: And apart from the fact that he had gold-rimmed glasses with tinted lenses, can you be quite sure it was the same man who came into your father's shop and said he was Mr. Banks?

You can't be sure, can you?

Please, Mr. Ballard.

Just think about it, Matthew.

There's absolutely no hurry.

I think it was the same man.

You think it was?

You think it was, but you can't be sure.

Well, he looked the same.

He was the same.

Was he, Dad?

Wasn't he?

Yes, I don't think we should keep Matthew in the witness box a moment longer.

Have either of you two gentlemen got any further questions?

No, milady.

No nothing at all, milady.

PHYLLIDA: Thank you.

Thank you very much, Matthew.

You can go now.

Did I let you down, Dad?

Phyllida?

In a meeting?

Mrs. Erskine-Brown is sitting as a judge.

We're doing an important case at the Old Bailey, sir.

CY STRATTON: Isn't she too pretty to be sitting as a judge?

You know, I don't think the Lord Chancellor considered that when he made Mrs. Erskine-Brown a recorder.

A judge, huh?

Well, I got to get the red-eye back to the Coast tomorrow.

Tell her I dropped by, will you?

Hey, that's a great gimmick.

Judge?

Excuse me.

Do you work in this office?

I happen to be the head of these chambers, yes.

You mean you run the shop?

One could say that, I suppose.

That's a great gimmick you got there, the old guy playing golf in reception.

I bet that's a real talking point to all the customers.

Yes, I'm sorry.

I'm going to put a stop to all that.

Are you crazy?

Wait till I let them know out on the Coast.

There's this British lawyers office, I'll tell them, where they keep an old guy to play golf in reception, kind of traditional.

You'll get so much business from American lawyers.

They'll all want to come in here, and they won't believe it.

Business?

You think Uncle Tom will bring in business?

You wait till I spread the word.

You won't be able to handle it.

Ah.

[forced laughter] CY STRATTON: A judge?

I never went with a judge.

It might be kind of daunting.

Hmm.

Temptation is, if you're a bachelor like me, living up country for any length of time, is to take a native woman.

Fellas, did you know?

Oh, yes.

I'll not disguise the fact.

Plenty of fellows did.

And they were perfectly nice women, hmm, in some cases.

Great church girls, you know, walk around the place singing "Onward Christian Soldiers" at you all the time.

But I never took one.

No, no, not a native woman.

No.

No, I had something to live up to, you see.

Boxey, old fella, I used to say-- to myself-- I don't think Cousin Hilda would quite approve of that.

Oh, Boxey.

I don't suppose I'd have minded.

Well.

[groans] Ah, jambo, bwana.

How about a [non-english]?

What, old chap?

Oh, just brushing up the Swahili, old dolly.

Case ends tomorrow.

Got to make plans for the future.

Shooting tiger in Kenya, I can't believe it.

The future?

What on Earth are you talking about, Rumpole?

Oh, nothing you'll need worry about, Hilda, darling-- not now you've got Boxey to look after you.

Members of the jury, the defense case is that these arms were planted by the police on an innocent man to trap MacRobert.

Mr. Rumpole has said that the arms were deposited in the shop by a Mr. Banks, who was, in fact, a police officer in plain clothes, and that Mr. Culp was simply told that they were medical supplies.

Now, do you accept young Mathew's identification of Mr. Banks as the man in the police car?

He thinks it was Mr. Banks.

But if you'll remember, he couldn't be sure.

Now, members of the jury, the decision on the facts is entirely for you.

If there is a doubt, Mr. Culp is entitled to the benefit of that doubt.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): A fair judge, an upright judge-- always a terrible danger to the defense.

[laughter] MAN: Do you find Stanley Joseph Culp guilty or not guilty of distributing prohibited weapons?

WOMAN: Guilty.

My lady, I ask you not to impose a prison sentence in this case.

And I ask you for a reason that may have considerable force with your ladyship.

Now, whoever is guilty in this case, one person is absolutely innocent.

Young Matthew Culp has committed no crime, no offense, and has broken no law.

He is a hard working, decent little boy who loves his father and who wanted to help him.

But if you sentence Culp to prison, you sentence Matthew as well.

You sentence him to years of council care.

You sentence him to years as an orphan because his-- his mother has long since left the family.

You'll cut him off from the only family he knows, his father.

I ask your ladyship to consider that and to say no prison for this foolish father.

Yes.

Thank you, Mr. Rumpole.

Thank you for all your help.

If your ladyship pleases.

MAN: Will the defendant please stand?

Mr. Culp, I have listened most carefully to all your learned counsel has said and said most eloquently on your behalf.

Unhappily, all the crimes we commit, all the mistakes we make, affect our innocent children.

I am very conscious of the effect any prison sentence would have on your son, to whom I accept you are devoted.

Hopeful.

However, I have to protect society, and I have to remember that you were prepared to deal in murderous weapons which might have left orphans in Northern Ireland.

Not hopeful.

The most lenient sentence I can impose on you is one of three years' imprisonment.

Take him down.

HILDA: Rumpole?

Hmm.

What are those for, Rumpole?

Oh, they're sticking about somewhere.

In memoriam, Horace Rumpole.

HILDA: Boxey's gone, Rumpole.

Oh, really?

You amaze me.

HILDA: I went out shopping after breakfast.

And when I got back, he was nowhere to be found.

Oh.

HILDA: I bought him two chops for dinner.

Oh, don't worry.

I'll eat them for him.

HILDA: He didn't even say goodbye.

Oh.

HILDA: Why do you think Boxey would do a thing like that?

Oh, well, certainly he wasn't running away from the prospect of looking after you, Hilda.

Heaven forbid.

He was always such fun when he was young, was Boxey.

Ah, "we look before and after.

We pine for what is not."

Do you think that Boxey ad become a bit of a bore in his old age?

"Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught."

Not going to Africa, Hilda.

No, I didn't think you were.

Oh.

No, I shall never see the elephant and the gazelle gathering at the waterhole or the zebra stampeding at dawn.

I shall get no closer to Africa than Boxey did.

What on earth do you mean by that, Rumpole?

Oh, all that rubbish about evening dress to impress the natives.

I bet he got that straight out of Rider Haggard.

And, Hilda, there are absolutely no tigers in Kenya.

Boxey asked me for 1,000 pounds to start a small holding with battery hens.

You didn't give him anything?

Out of the overdraft?

Don't be so foolish, Rumpole.

I don't believe he's been further south than Bognor.

So you're staying here?

Mm.

Ballard told Uncle Tom to carry on golfing.

He thinks we'll get a lot of work from the American lawyers.

I lost that case against Ballard.

Yes, I thought you did.

You're not nearly so unbearable when you lose.

So we'll have to get along without Boxey.

Oh, good heavens.

However shall we manage?

As we always do, I suppose.

Just you and me together.

Yes.

Nothing ever changes, does it, Hilda?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): [sighs] Nothing changes very much at all.

Erm, Tristan, darling?

Yes, Mum?

Look, I don't think we'll be going to California.

Good.

Good?

Why is it good?

Well, I couldn't go to Bogs if we went to California.

Darling, you don't really want to go to Bogstead?

- Of course I do.

- But why?

It sounds dreadful.

It sounds fun.

Darling, don't you want to stay here with us?

Well, not all the time.

Not all the time?

Darling, why ever not?

Well, Dad's always got those operas in his ears.

I mean, he doesn't talk to one much.

Well, I'm here, Tristan.

Now, don't tell me I don't talk.

Oh, no.

You talk, all right.

But you're always reading your briefs.

Always?

Please try and be quiet, Tristan.

I'm reading my brief.

That's what you always say.

Do I?

Tristan, look, darling.

I promise you faithfully I will talk to you all the time, whenever you want.

I'll talk to you for as long as you like.

Will you?

What shall we say?

Well, um, whatever you want to say.

I mean, I can tell you about what I've been doing, being a judge and all that sort of thing.

I think I'd find more to talk about with the chaps at Boggers.

RUMPOLE: Oh, Gwyneth Evans said, oh, really?

I could have sworn his lips moved.

[laughter] Rumpole, I have been wanting to say to you I'm sorry about Culp.

Ah, never plead guilty.

All done.

Yes, well, I was-- Just doing your job, I know.

Yes, I was.

Deciding what's going to happen to people, judging them, condemning them, sending them down stairs, not a particularly nice sort of a job, is it, really?

Every day I thank heaven I don't have to do it.

Shouldn't I have become a recorder?

Is that what you're trying to say?

Of course not.

Of course you should, yes.

It's just that I thank God I don't have to do it.

Hmm.

Well, maybe you're lucky.

Yes, I suppose I am.

I do enjoy the luxury of defending people, helping them, keeping them out of chokey by the skin of my teeth.

Mind you, I've said a few hard words in my time.

But fortunately, "take him down" is an expression I've never had to use.

Rumpole, you can't possibly imagine I enjoyed it.

Of course you didn't.

I didn't suggest that for a moment.

You had your job to do, and you did it so bloody fairly that my man got convicted.

He was just caught in that trap, like the rest of us.

Cheer up.

I'm going to buy you a large glass of Pomeroy's plonk.

Oh, I'm much obliged to your ladyship.

Oh, by the way, what's going to happen to young Tristan?

Is he going to pay his debt to society, too, is he?

I don't know what you mean.

He is going to Bogstead.

That's what I mean.

Your ladyship passed judgment in favor of my learned friend Claude Erskine-Brown, did you?

Well, no.

Not exactly.

As a matter of fact, young Tristan passed judgment on himself.

[chatter] Right.

Goodbye.

Oh, cheerio, old chap.

Give my love to Tug's Patch, and enjoy the smashing fried bread on Sundays.

Now, you will write, won't you, darling?

- Yes, Mum.

- You won't forget to write?

No, Mum.

Please, Mum, Not in front of the other chaps.

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