[audio logo] [theme music] ♪ [engine chugging] MAN (ON RADIO): So Matthew told the Police Federation the work of crime detection was becoming more and more frustrating.

And when you catch them, there's always some clever dick barrister who earns his living by finding a legal loophole.

It's the new one, Percy, that Detective Inspector Brush.

No bloody manners.

Old Whitey at least give you time to finish your breakfast.

What's in the garage, Percy?

There's nothing in the garage.

The lead from the Deptford job went last week.

[gasps] Electric blankets!

No, girl.

The electric blankets are not due until Saturday.

Don't worry.

Oh, good.

Open up, Percy.

What, are you interested in buying, my banger, Mr. Brush, are you?

- You want us to break it down?

Lovely old Austin.

One owner, the vicar of Gravesend.

And he only used it for funerals.

We know what you've got there, Percy.

We know exactly what you've got.

Nothing, I do assure you, Mr. Brush, what is not perfectly legitimate.

Jesus!

[barking] And finally, members of the jury, counsel for the defense in this case has chosen to challenge the police evidence, as he is entitled to do.

But you are entitled to form your own opinion of that evidence, quite independently of the views of learned counsel, however long he may have been practicing at the bar.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): The nudge nudge, wink wink summing up.

Why don't you just tell him Rumpole's passed it?

We all enjoy Mr. Rumpole's speeches.

We always find his little jokes most amusing.

But you and I have a more serious duty to perform.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER) Yes, and I'm only here to provide the light relief.

Bring on the dancing Rumpole.

So will you please go now and consider your verdict?

The only question for you is whether Melvin Glassworth is guilty as charged.

Mr. Jury Bailiff.

I swear that I will conduct the jury to some private place-- RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Please, old darlings, consider the feelings of an old man.

Give it more than five minutes.

Mr. Rumpole.

Uh, Mr. Rumpole.

Yeah?

Professor Kramer.

Oh?

I've heard a lot about you, sir.

Your fame has spread to America.

Oh, I shan't believe that.

Oh, yes, sir.

I practiced as an attorney myself for many years.

Oh, I see.

Of course, I didn't wear the rug.

The what?

The headpiece.

The horsehair peruke.

Oh, this.

Well, of course, you know, we're invisible without it.

You're what?

Oh, the judge can't see me unless I've got it on.

I must say, sometimes I'm tempted to remove it altogether and disappear entirely from view.

I can understand, sir, exactly how you feel.

Can you?

Well, the learned judge seemed to regard you as a senior citizen.

Well, I'm not all that senior.

And he's not all that learned.

I gave up the dust of conflict for the groves of academe.

What do they call an academic lawyer here?

Oh, they don't encourage bad language around the Bailey.

Head of the Department of Laws in the University of Baltimore.

- Mr. Rumpole?

Baltimore?

Did you say Baltimore?

They're coming back, Mr. Rumpole.

My son Nick's in Baltimore teaching sociology.

He's got his own small department now, and a new house.

1106 East Drive.

Do you know it?

Well, of course, he's the brains of the family.

They're back with a verdict, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, how extremely rude of them.

Well, I can see you're busy.

Our business will wait, Mr. Rumpole.

Well, I've got to go, Professor-- Kramer, Julius Kramer.

I shall be in touch.

RUMPOLE: Yes.

Back to the dust of conflict, Mr. Rumpole.

I have to tell you, it's great to be out of it.

Yeah, yeah.

Three years?

Take off one for omission.

That just leaves two.

Two years?

I suppose you want me to be grateful?

No, not exactly, Mr. Glassworth.

I'm a man of a certain fastidiousness.

I have to have two shirts a day, me.

Two clean shirts.

It's not an indulgence as far as I'm concerned.

It's a necessity.

Do they still have slopping out?

Yes, I'm afraid they do.

I've spent my life in the acquisition of beautiful objects.

I suppose that's what the three years were for.

Slopping out.

How could I live through it?

And the sickening sexual advances of beefy warders.

Oh, I wouldn't count on that, old darling.

What did you say?

Oh, nothing.

I'm sorry, Mr. Glassworth.

You're sorry?

You can go home, have a bath with a decent tablet of French fern, dry yourself on a warm, fleecy towel, use talcum powder and eau de toilette, you.

Well, I don't, actually.

Attacking the police, that wasn't a smash hit with the jury, was it?

RUMPOLE: No.

Or those little jokes in your final speech.

They didn't exactly bring the house down.

Look, the judge did go a little too far in his summing up, Melvin.

I'm sure we can think of an appeal.

You know what you ought to be thinking about, you?

Retirement.

That's what he ought to do, Mr. Turner.

He ought to bloody retire.

Yes.

There's a Mr. Turner.

On the phone, Mr. Brush.

I want your autograph, Percy.

I want this case barrister-proof.

That's my intention.

It's his lawyer.

Oh, yes.

Bound to be, isn't it?

Yeah?

Percy Timson?

No, I'm afraid I can't tell you where he's being held at the moment.

No, I'm not prepared to let him see a lawyer.

Yes, well, if he is an innocent man, he hasn't got a thing to worry about, has he?

All he's got to do is answer my questions fully and frankly.

You don't want me to stop him doing that, do you, Mr. Turner?

You may see your client, Mr. Turner, when we've completed our inquiries.

Percy's getting too old for it, Mr. Turner.

The whole family told him.

Too old for it altogether.

He ought to retire.

Fancy keeping Jesus in his lockup garage.

He's getting that careless.

Well, not sufficiently careless, let us hope, as to give Detective Inspector Brush his autograph.

We've got Noreen.

Oh, no.

We've got your wife, Percy.

We've got her downstairs.

You want a charge, do you?

Tell me, how long is it, exactly, since your old woman saw the inside of Holloway?

We want a statement In your own words, Percy.

What were his own words, exactly?

"I received the religious artwork in my garage, well-knowing it to be stolen by a person whose name I am not prepared to divulge."

No doubt on the advice of his bloody lawyer.

What lawyer?

"I was intending to dispose of the picture at the earliest opportunity."

All right.

Like when I went up The King's Elm on Saturday and met some of my contacts.

I want that in.

"Like when I went up The King's Elm Saturday and met some of my contacts."

Sign on the dotted line, Percy.

You will get Mr. Rumpole?

[chuckles] Now, look, Noreen-- Mrs. Timson.

Look, whatever Percy done, we want Rumpole.

Yes, that's the motto of the Timson family, isn't it?

We want Rumpole.

Hasn't it ever occurred to you, Mrs. Timson, that Rumpole himself might want to retire?

Can't go on forever, you know.

No one can do that.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER) "It little profits that an idle king, by this still hearth, among these barren crags, match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole unequal laws unto a savage race that hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me."

Professor Kramer.

Professor!

[grumbles] [door thuds] HILDA: Rumpole?

Yes!

"Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole unequal laws unto a savage race."

HILDA: Come and sit down, dear.

Yes, coming, oh, master of the blue horizons.

She who must be obeyed.

Ah!

HILDA: Are you tired, dear?

What did you say?

HILDA: I said, dear, are you tired?

Yes, how peculiar.

It's what I thought you said.

HILDA: Well, make yourself comfortable.

Look, why don't you put your feet up, hm?

And I'll get you a nice gin and tonic.

Feeling all right, Hilda?

A day in court is such hard, physical labor for a man of your age.

Oh, yes.

You take your life in your hands in the law.

There's always the chance of slipping down the last two steps of the gents' loo in Pomeroy's wine bar.

HILDA: [laughs] You don't want to die in harness, do you?

You remember poor old Daddy died in harness, didn't he?

Oh, really?

I thought he died in the Tunbridge General Hospital.

You don't want to drop dead in court.

What are you doing?

HILDA: I'm knitting.

RUMPOLE: Bed socks?

No.

No, it's for Ms. Trant's baby.

You know, your Ms. Phyllida Trant.

Your nice young girl in chambers.

Yes, our Portia.

She'll have to give up the bar now that she's got the baby.

Birth and death, they silence us all in the end.

What are you knitting for it, a dust sheet?

No, no, Rumpole.

It's a matinee jacket.

Oh, I've just remembered.

There's a letter for you.

Will the baby go to many matinees, do you think?

What's this?

Oh, Baltimore!

Baltimore?

Might be from Nick.

"From the desk of Professor Julius Kramer-- oh, yeah-- Baltimore University."

Oh, well, it's Nick's university.

What a coincidence.

"Dear Mr. Rumpole, your name has long been known to us as a legal luminary."

There you are, then.

"We would wish to invite you, and of course, your good lady, to visit us on campus during the autumn semester and deliver a series of lectures on the alienation factor in the psychological aspects of owner deprivation."

What on Earth does that mean, Rumpole?

[phone rings] - Owner deprivation?

I should think what it feels like to have your things nicked.

"We hope to hear favorably from you in the near future."

Yes?

RUMPOLE: "I look forward to--" Yes-- yes, it's Mrs. Rumpole speaking.

Oh, Nick!

Oh, yes, we were only just talking about you.

Yes, yes, he's here.

Rumpole, it's our son.

Nick, Nick!

Hello.

You sound very near.

I can't hear the Atlantic.

You what?

Coming to visit us?

Nick, that's marvelous!

Oh, yes, keeping busy, you know.

But we'll have a day out.

I'll take you to lunch down at the Bailey.

Good Lord!

It looks even older than I feel.

He's an extraordinarily talented baby for his age.

He has these long, prehensile fingers-- Oh, yeah.

--and an amazingly powerful grip.

Oh, well, that'll be for hanging on to his mother's tail as they swing from bow to bow.

I think he has a remarkably intelligent look.

I can't get Philly to see it.

Oh, no, quite remarkable.

I suppose he'd be picking up a few briefs any day now from the Chancery Division.

Horace, I just thought you might have been seriously interested.

Oh, no, no truly, Claude, I am.

I mean, with an expression like that, we should find him a place on the circuit bench.

Are these all your witnesses?

[laughs] RUMPOLE: (QUIETLY) They're my client's family.

They're the sort to breed from, the Timsons.

Their activities have kept me in work for years.

But this isn't a fight surely?

Ah, now, Erskine-Brown.

My dear, Claude, let's say more of a little skirmish.

But the picture was in your garage.

Yes.

You signed a confession?

Yes.

That means I start with a considerable handicap.

Well, I suppose that's fair enough considering your usual criminal ability.

Rumpole, I was hoping for a quick plea.

You see, I'd rather like to get home in time for the 4 o'clock feed.

Oh, you indulge in high tea, Claude, do you?

Not my 4 o'clock feed, Rumpole.

Tristan's.

Tristan's.

My son.

Oh, yes.

I would say that it was absolutely priceless.

Quite so.

But if you had to name a figure?

How can you put a price on beauty?

It has been done in the past, Mr. Rowland, by some quite well-known ladies.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Oh, highly risible.

Fancy drawing Vosper twice.

It's like a bad run on the black.

Should we say half a million?

Pounds, not dollars.

Thank you, Mr. Rowland.

Mr. Rowland, you say this is an undoubted painting by Taddeo di Bartolo.

Nicknamed Il Zoppo, the Lame One.

A Sienese master of the 14th century.

Il Quattrocento.

Oh, Quattrocento.

Yes, I'm obliged.

Would you say it was a typical example of the master's work?

Oh, no, I would say it was a remarkably fine example.

Yes.

Il Zoppo, the Lame One.

Is-- is he a painter well known to the general public, would you say?

He is extremely well known to connoisseurs.

Oh, yes, I'm sure he is.

I just wondered if his work was instantly recognizable by the crowd that gets up at The King's Elm on a Saturday night.

CLAUDE: My Lord, I don't know what-- RUMPOLE: What's the answer?

I would say probably not.

No.

And a drinker in the saloon bar who chanced to recognize the Lame One's work and wish to purchase it would have to be provided with half a million pounds in his hip pocket in order to complete the transaction.

My Lord, I really can't imagine what the relevance of these-- Relevance, my Lord, is that in his so-called voluntary statement, my client said he intended to flog the painting up The King's Elm next Saturday night.

Even judicial knowledge, my Lord, must encompass the fact that The King's Elm is not Sotheby's.

And even your extensive knowledge of crime, Mr. Rumpole, must encompass the possibility that your client himself had no idea what the value of the painting was.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): All right, old darling.

1-0 in the first set.

Your father wanted me to bring you straight down to court, Mr. Rumpole.

I remember Albert used to bring you down here when you was home from school.

Whenever Mr. Rumpole Sr. had a nice murder to attract your attention.

[laughs] I know.

He always thought his murders were more suitable than the cinema.

[chuckles] How is he, Henry?

Well, much the same as always to be frank with you, Mr. Rumpole.

My mother says he's been looking dreadfully tired lately.

Oh yeah, he does look tired sometimes, I've got to admit it.

But he perks up wonderfully when he's got a policeman in the box.

RUMPOLE: Would you have allowed my client, Percy Timson, to have seen a solicitor at the time this precious document was signed?

No, I would not.

So this elderly man, without any legal experience, was left absolutely without advice.

Are you putting your client forward as a man with no legal experience, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Touché, old darling.

Time for Rumpole to skate off onto some thicker ice.

Are you aware that my client has been married to his wife, Noreen, for nearly 30 years?

Are you putting your client forward as a perfect husband, Mr. Rumpole?

No, my Lord, merely as a loving husband.

Did you tell my client that you had brought his wife to the station?

I may have done.

I have here the station book.

Yes?

There is absolutely no record of Mrs. Noreen Timson having been brought to the station on that or any other day.

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR BRUSH: I accept that.

Then why did you lie to my client?

I did not lie to him.

Why did you tell him that his wife had been brought to the station and charged?

I expect I said it because I intended to do exactly that.

Oh, you intended to charge her?

Yes.

Why did you change your mind?

There was no need to.

No need to charge her-- after my client had signed his so-called confession statement.

Is that what you mean?

No need to after that, no.

No.

After he'd fallen into your trap, the bait could be thrown away.

You had got what you wanted, hadn't you?

Had I?

Oh, yes.

An untrue confession signed in the hope of saving his wife from the welcoming gates of Holloway Prison.

JUDGE VOSPER: Mr. Rumpole?

Yes, my Lord.

Aren't you rather forgetting something?

This admirable example of Italian Renaissance art was actually found in your client's garage.

Isn't that the point?

Yes.

Members of the jury, shall we say five minutes past 2:00.

COURT CLERK: Be upstanding.

If he's guilty anyway.

If he's guilty anyway, why bother to squeeze a confession out of him?

I know the Timsons, Nick.

Their activities paid for your school fees for years.

They never sign confessions.

You'll be able to lecture on that.

Lecture?

You met him, Julius Kramer.

Was that your doing, Nick?

You must come to Baltimore.

Really, there's lots of room now in the new house.

Well, maybe if we can get away.

NICK: But of course, you can get away.

You've really got to get away.

Got to?

Ma says you've been looking very tired lately.

Oh, your mother's always-- Enjoying the pantomime are we, Mr. Rumpole?

Is that what you call it?

Oh, don't you?

No, I call it a trial.

It's-- it's based on the quaint, old fashioned notion that a man is innocent until he's proven guilty.

This is my son.

Really?

Following your father's footsteps, are we?

No, actually I'm not.

Come on, sir.

You know, Percy Timson's been a fence for years.

Of course, it makes money for you, gentlemen.

Saving up for your retirement, are you, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, yes.

Got it all ready.

The villa at Positano.

Fly down there every weekend to keep an eye on the yacht and check up on the pickled walnut plantation.

Really?

What's the name of this villa of yours, Mr. Rumpole?

Rumpole's Retreat?

No, it's called La Mort.

Morte.

I hope to take possession when I'm dead.

[laughs] - Oh, yes.

Yeah, very amusing.

I suppose you'll be going through the motions again this afternoon?

Oh, yes.

A man of your age?

I really don't know why you bother.

Detective Inspector Brush, the new broom.

He considers trials as an unnecessary interruption in his fearless fight against crime.

All the same.

All the same what?

Well, it's not as if it was one of the murders you used to take me to.

I mean, they were serious cases.

Ha!

Used to enjoy those murders, Nick, didn't you?

I mean, if Percy Timson really is a professional fence-- Oh, yes, he is.

Quite professional.

Well, then why bother, really?

Pink ribbons, you see.

It is a girl, isn't it?

Actually, it's a boy.

Oh, dear.

Rumpole seemed quite vague about it.

Anyway, I don't suppose it matters.

Not at all.

It's lovely.

Thank you.

HILDA: I really wonder that you have time to come out for tea, what with the baby.

Claude, my husband.

Claude?

Oh, yes, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

They had a day off court, so he's holding the fort with the baby.

Actually, he enjoys it.

Oh, Rumpole's not having a day off.

He had to go for a conference to Wormwood Scrubs.

Anyway, he's doing far too much for a man of his age.

He looks tired.

Don't you think so?

Oh, well, I think he looks just as usual.

Oh, no.

He's desperately tired.

We simply can't wait to get him away.

To get Rumpole away?

Where to exactly?

America.

I want them both to come and live with us in Baltimore.

You want Rumpole to give up the bar?

Well, to retire.

Everyone retires, don't they?

Everyone possibly, but Rumpole?

Well, he's not immortal, Ms. Trant.

Rumpole's hardly immortal.

But not a word to him at the moment.

Because, you see, we are luring him across the herring pond by an offer of lectures at Nick's university.

Lectures?

Yes.

But as I say, mum is the word because Nick has arranged it all quite brilliantly.

I've got him an offer from one of our professors who's going to lecture on law.

Rumpole on law?

Oh, really, Ms. Trant.

Surely he knows about the law.

[laughs] No, hardly anything.

HILDA: But, Ms. Trant.

Well, he could-- he could lecture on how to tear up paper during the prosecution speech or how to trick his opponent into boring the court with a lot of unnecessary cases.

That's the one he played on me, you know, when I first started.

He knows all about how to cross-examine and which members of the jury to get on his side.

But if you ask my honest opinion, Rumpole doesn't know anything about the law.

Oh, well-- well, it's only the bait to get him over.

And we've already put up this flat on the market so we shall have a little money.

And living with Nick-- Once he gets over there and sees the house, he'll stay.

Nick has a swimming pool, so he tells me, and a sort of campfire.

Barbecue, Mother.

Is Rumpole tremendously keen on swimming?

Well, if you ask me, he's bored to tears with the sort of case he's doing now.

Dad's in a hopeless position.

The judge and the police dead against him.

Oh, are they?

Oh well, then I know exactly how he's feeling.

Pretty depressed, I imagine.

No, I should think by now he's just starting to have fun.

Hello, Mr. Rumpole.

RUMPOLE: Ah, Mr. Glassworth.

Mr. Turner.

[groans] RUMPOLE: Well, the, uh, screw's treating you all right, are they?

Some of them are rather sweet, but you've got to get me out of here, Mr. Rumpole.

Well, I've found at least 10 places where the judge failed to remind the jury of our defense.

Then you'll tell the Court of Appeal.

Oh, you will, Mr. Rumpole, won't you?

Well, I may not be able to take your case on, Mr. Glassworth.

Pressure of work, you know.

MR. GLASSWORTH: But if you've find 10 good points, you're duty bound.

Well, we'll see what we can do.

Meanwhile, perhaps you can help me, as an expert in stolen artworks.

An expert?

Me?

Well, I suppose I am.

What do you want to know?

A painting might be too well known to dispose of.

Oh, you get that trouble, yes.

It's hopeless trying to flog a Goya.

Or a Taddeo di Bartolo, nicknamed Il Zoppo?

They're never charging me with that one, are they, Mr. Rumpole?

Me?

Well, not as yet.

But suppose you had a well-known painting of di Bartolo's, the-- The Benediction, for example.

Well, never sell it.

Too well known.

No.

Well, what would you do with it?

You mean, what would whoever had purloined such an artwork do, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: Exactly.

Dump it.

Oh, really?

Only thing to do with it.

Of course, it might pay you to let the insurance company know where it got left.

Dump it, eh?

What sort of place, exactly?

Somewhere anonymous, I suppose.

Somewhere that couldn't be connected with you.

The municipal rubbish tip.

Oh?

Has that been used?

It has been known.

Look, about this appeal.

It's bloody impossible in here.

I can't get a decent shampoo.

I wash my hair daily, me.

Yes.

Well, as I say, Mr. Glassworth, we'll see what we can do.

Thank you.

Poor old Glassworth is not taking it very well.

MR. TURNER: No, I'm afraid not.

RUMPOLE: Very fastidious fellow.

Well, perhaps it'll make him think twice next time.

There are grounds, you know, those 10 points-- VI: Oh, Mr. Rumpole!

Could I have a word with you?

In private?

Well, yes.

I'll-- I'll catch you up.

Yes, I'll be in the car.

I'm up on a visit to old Charlie Timson.

Oh, yeah?

Remember Charlie, Mr. Rumpole?

Well-- well, it's not-- it's not easy to remember all the Timsons.

Well, I'm Vi, married to Fred Timson.

You remember, Mr. Rumpole?

You got our son Jim out of a bit of bother.

Of course, young Jim, yes!

How is he?

Oh, he's doing very nicely, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, thank you.

He's got his own little window cleaning firm now.

Oh, sorry to hear it.

Yes.

Well, what I wanted to tell you, Mr. Rumpole, is you see, I don't agree with what the family done to Uncle Perce.

What the family done-- did?

VI: Poor old Auntie Noreen.

She's gone up the wall about it.

Well, it wasn't really the whole family.

It was Cyril, mostly.

Oh?

You see, he was ever so angry when Uncle Perce sold all that foam-backed carpet for 20 quid so he-- Look, Vi, would you like a cup of tea?

Oh, I'd love one.

I think you'd better tell me all about it.

Come on.

Yes, well, I-- I said you might recognize the odd actor.

Right, now.

Port, brandy, or something?

Lovely.

Over here, by the fire.

Ah, Guthrie Featherstone.

Good evening, Judge.

We don't often see you in the club, my boy.

Keeping you pretty busy?

Snowed under, Judge.

Snowed completely under.

You want to come and relax on the bench?

I'm always in the club by teatime, aren't I, Simon?

Yes, Daddy.

Always.

This is my son, Simon.

Guthrie Featherstone QC, MP.

Simon has just finished his pupilage.

Naturally, he's looking around for a seat in the first class chambers, aren't you, Simon?

Yes, Daddy.

Oh, Margaret?

MARGARET: Yes, sir?

Would you care for a drink, you fellows?

Four large gins and tonic.

- Yes, sir.

- Will that do you?

Oh, yes.

Thank you.

SIMON: Thank you, Daddy.

Oh, I don't think you know Claude Erskine-Brown.

Erskine-Brown?

I brought him in for a delayed celebration.

He has just had a baby.

Really?

You've made a remarkable recovery.

[laughs] Yes, as I was saying, Simon is looking around for a seat in our first class chambers.

Hmm.

Trouble with our chambers is, Judge, we're chockablock.

Well, of course you are.

But if you could manage something for Simon.

Well, uh, there might be a vacancy, as a matter of fact, Judge.

I haven't told Guthrie this yet, but apparently Rumpole is retiring.

He's going to live with his son in America.

Rumpole retiring?

Yes.

Mrs. Rumpole had Phylli round to tea.

I gather it's pretty immediate.

Well, it can't be too soon for me.

I've got him before me at the moment.

Yes, I know, Judge.

I'm prosecuting.

So you are.

Hardly noticed you.

Rumpole simply hogs the limelight.

It's a hopeless case, but you can't stop the fellow fighting.

RUMPOLE: I-- I wanted to discuss with you as a family your Uncle Percy's defense.

Yes, Mr. Rumpole.

Mine's a coffee, dear.

Well, we rely on you, Mr. Rumpole.

I mean, the Timson family have always been able to rely on Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, yes.

But can Mr Rumpole rely on the Timson family?

Mine's the lemon tea, Vi.

Oh, sorry.

What do you mean, exactly?

Well, as you well know, half a million nicker and artworks from the Italian Quattrocento are hardly in Uncle Percy's league, are they?

So I'm going to have to put him into the witness box to explain to the jury just exactly what his league is.

What do you mean, Mr. Rumpole?

I mean that he's going to tell the judge how he disposed of 4,000 Green Shield stamps for you, Fred, and a couple of lorry-loads of nylon tights, innumerable canteens of cutlery, and 25 yards of foam-backed carpet from the local Odeon for you, Cyril, and a consignment of electric blankets and three freezer loads of stolen scampi from you, Vi.

Well, I ain't got no convictions.

No, Cyril's clean.

Thanks to you, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, I believe you've got a legitimate job now, haven't you?

Where is it?

I'm a crane driver on the municipal muck heap.

A municipal muck heap?

Now, isn't that an extraordinary coincidence?

What do you mean, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: Because it was on a municipal muck heap that some far more cultivated villain than any of us dumped The Benediction by Taddeo di Bartolo.

Uncle Percy hasn't been doing too well lately as a fence, has he?

Not too brilliant, no.

I've got to admit that.

Uncle Percy's getting past it.

Getting past it?

Oh, yes, I know.

Letting your hard-won consignment of electric blankets go at half price.

Gossiping in pubs with some minor grass listening.

He got our lad Jim six months chattering away like that, Mr. Rumpole.

Silly old fool.

He's a menace to everyone, is Uncle Percy.

Is that why you all decided he ought to be retired?

What did you say, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: Retired, put out to grass, rusticated, put on the shelf, given his cards.

The whole family decided he was getting past it.

You wanted him to retire quickly.

And you-- you couldn't persuade Percy it was time to go, Mr. Rumpole.

Honestly, he wouldn't listen to reason.

The man was bloody dangerous going around at his age.

So, Cyril, with a clean record, plants a picture on him and rings up DI Brush with the information.

[tuts] Oh, dear me.

Hardly a golden handshake for the poor old fellow, was it?

Not even a gold watch from the company.

Trouble with you all is that none of you is Bernard Berenson.

Not what, Mr. Rumpole?

You're not even Lord Clark.

You don't watch Civilisation even on the telly.

You couldn't tell the difference between a genuine Fra Angelico on the top of a biscuit box.

And because of your total abysmal ignorance in matters artistic, Uncle Percy's up on a half a million pound handling and three quarters of the way to Parkhurst, Isle of Wight.

Well, what-- what are you going to do about it, Mr. Rumpole?

No, Cyril, what are you going to do about it?

You'd better think quick.

Uncle Percy's going to give his evidence tomorrow.

[door creaks] Oh, it's you, Nick.

How are you?

RUMPOLE: Where's your mother?

Oh, I think she's visiting the baby.

Oh, the Erskine-Browns' baby.

[chuckles] Seems to exert an extraordinary influence over she who must be obeyed.

Are you tired, Dad?

I do feel a little down this evening.

Yes, a little low.

Bad day in court?

Detective Inspector Brush wants to reverse the burden of proof, revoke Magna Carta, and abolish barristers.

Well, I suppose that would be all right.

If only he could resist gingering up the evidence a bit when he feels like it.

There's no honor among thieves anymore, Nick.

I'm-- I'm ashamed of the Timson family.

Yes, I've always thought your job must be pretty depressing.

They all decided that old Uncle Percy ought to be retired, and they cooked up the most diabolical plot.

Oh, I don't know.

I don't know what things are coming to.

A drop of G and T?

Yes, thanks.

Look, I think you've got yourself into a terrible rut.

Ah!

"Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole unequal laws unto a savage race."

"'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order, smite the sounding furrows."

You remember it, Nick.

[laughs] Poor old Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

"For my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the western stars, until I die."

You're going to, aren't you?

What, die?

No, of course not.

Sail beyond the sunset.

You are coming to Baltimore?

Oh, Nick, it's such a long way from the Old Bailey.

I saw Professor Kramer today.

RUMPOLE: Oh!

Yes, only trouble is he's no longer at the Savoy.

They've taken him into the Saint Thomas's Hospital.

Oh, dear.

He collapsed while jogging.

Jogging, eh?

Well, I've always said that exercise is a shortcut to the cemetery.

Cheers!

[chuckles] - Good.

So I play it like that?

Oh, Erskine-Brown.

Oh, I'll see you later.

I'm so glad I caught you.

I'm rounding up members of chambers.

It's-- it's this business of Rumpole's retirement.

I thought of laying on a dinner at the club.

Oh, at the Sheridan?

Yes, he'd enjoy that.

I think we ought to give dear old Rumpole a good send off.

Yes, of course, we should.

And I suppose some sort of presentation.

Can you think of anything Rumpole needs?

Well, he needs a new hat.

[laughter] Yes, I suppose he does.

[clears throat] The problem is you can't engrave our signatures on a hat.

[laughter] Well, what about some kind of a loving cup?

Have to hold a good deal of claret, of course.

No, I don't think we need go so far as a loving cup.

Perhaps we could settle for a clock.

I say, here he comes.

Well, Erskine-Brown, ready for battle?

I think we might have a little surprise for you today.

Really?

Oh, Horace, would you be free, by any chance, next Thursday evening?

Free?

I shouldn't think so.

I'll probably be at home with my wife.

No, we'd like Hilda to come, too, of course.

And Nick.

I believe he's over.

Uh, come where?

Well, I'm giving a little dinner at my club, the Sheridan.

Most of the chambers will be there, so pencil it in now.

There's a good chap.

What's come over our learned head of chambers?

Has he come into money or something?

CLAUDE: Let me understand you correctly.

You found the picture on the municipal rubbish dump?

Where I works, yeah.

And you put it in your Uncle Percy's garage?

Well, I had the key.

He lent me his 1100 when they went on holiday.

I see.

And you put it there at night without telling your uncle what you'd done?

Well, I did it quietly like, not wanting to waken the old couple.

But why store it in Uncle Percy's garage?

Well, I ain't got no accommodation.

I mean, not for a thing that size at home.

Mr. Timson, can you suggest one reason why the members of the jury should believe this extraordinary story?

Yeah.

You see, members of the jury, I phoned the local nick that night.

I told them there was this picture like.

And if they were interested, well, they could find it in Uncle Percy's garage.

Well, they were around first thing next morning with the dawn patrol.

RUMPOLE: Mr. Timson, who did you speak to when you rang the local nick?

(QUIETLY) Mr. Erskine-Brown.

CYRIL: Oh, Detective Inspector Brush-- Mr. Featherstone says, can you let me have a check for 10 pounds-- RUMPOLE: Well, I think that's all, Mr Timson.

Thank you.

--as your contribution, sir-- RUMPOLE: Unless Your Lordship has any further questions?

--to Mr. Rumpole's clock.

Mr. Featherstone suggested that we waited in the members' rather splendid hall and he'll be joining us in a few moments.

Thank you, Henry.

- Thank you.

- Yes.

HENRY: Well, I'm not sure-- Well, Judge George Frobisher.

JUDGE FROBISHER: Oh, hello, Rumpole.

Jailed any more Romeos since we last met, George?

What's the theme song of your courts again?

Hello, young lovers, you're under arrest.

I was only doing my duty, Rumpole.

Ah, yes, that's the old excuse, isn't it?

When one wants to do something particularly bloody.

You are meeting someone here, are you?

I'm having dinner with you, Rumpole.

Remind me, when did I invite you?

You didn't.

Featherstone did.

Dinner in your honor.

Oh, in my honor.

That's very decent of you, George.

Yes, yes, yes.

Well, George, even though you have assumed the mantle of Judge Jeffries, I must say I miss you round Pomeroy's of an evening.

No friendly jar when the day's work is done.

Well, it's the one disadvantage of being a circuit judge.

The job finishes at teatime, and you're not even allowed to go to the pub.

I say, Rumpole, you are not a member here, are you?

No, Judge, I don't believe I am.

Well, you are sitting on the members' sofa.

[gasps] - Oh, dear.

I suppose you plead ignorance?

No, Judge, I plead exhaustion.

Mr. Rumpole's party, Mr. Featherstone's waiting in the dining room.

- Thank you, Henry.

Splendid!

Come along, dear.

Yeah.

JUDGE FROBISHER: Hilda.

- Oh, hello, George.

Nick.

Mr. Justice Vosper, thank God we're not having dinner with him.

But Rumpole.

Oh, Rumpole!

Here he is, the guest of honor.

MS. TRANT: Rumpole of the Bailey!

Rumpole, my dear fellow.

And Mrs. Rumpole and Nick.

So delighted you could come.

Are we feeding the entire Rumpole family?

What is this, a wedding or a wake?

[laughter] Oh, Erskine-Brown, Ms. Trant.

CLAUDE: Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Oh, of course.

I say, where's the baby?

Left home, has it?

It's actually in its carrycot with our next door neighbor.

Horace, I'm afraid that one of us will have to leave early to give it its 10 o'clock feed.

One of us.

Oh, I'm sure Rumpole will find plenty to do.

That's the wonderful thing about retirement.

He'll be able to do all the things that he's never had time for.

Is there anything that Rumpole hasn't had time for before?

He's got time to do the crossword and time to drink claret.

Well, he'll have time for reading.

You know how fond he is of poetry.

Oh, Rumpole read poetry?

I thought he only said it.

We shall miss Horace, you know, Mrs. Rumpole, I always think of your husband as one of those wonderful links with the past.

Like, those lovely old gaslights at the temple.

Oh, really?

I can't say I've ever thought of Rumpole as a gaslight in the temple.

Rumpole is a pillar of the criminal bar.

Of course, he is, Mrs. Rumpole.

Of course, he is.

Marigold realizes that, don't you, Marigold?

All right.

Lovely old pillar, then.

[laughter] I dare say so.

I suppose it's nice for you to go out on a win.

Go out?

Out where?

Oh, out to dinner, rather.

Yes.

No, I didn't enjoy our case very much.

Quite honestly, I find that these days I really prefer paperwork at home.

It gives one more time with the family.

And I love court.

Of course, there'll be an awful lot of spare crime going now.

Oh, really?

Do you foresee an outbreak of villainy?

[laughter] Yes, I'm sure once Dad gets over there and sees the house, you know, he'll settle down.

Are you, Nick?

I can't tell you the ridiculous cases he's doing now.

I mean, there must be something more important, mustn't there, than whether Percy Timson receives the stolen picture or the cutlery?

I doubt if there's anything more important for Rumpole.

You know, the one reason I enjoy tonight even more than our case is the complete absence of Mr. Justice Vosper.

Oh, Rumpole.

Oh, my God!

CLAUDE: Only your judge.

Rumpole, I don't think you know my son Simon, do you?

No, I don't think I do.

Should I?

Simon is endlessly grateful for the favor you are doing him, Rumpole.

Aren't you grateful to Rumpole, Simon?

Yes, Daddy.

Of course, I am.

I say, that was an outrageous win you had today.

Your client should have been potted.

Yes, sorry you miscued.

Miscued?

That's funny.

I dare say, Simon, that you will have some outrageous wins too as soon as you get your bottom onto Rumpole's chair.

MR. FEATHERSTONE: Oh, Judge!

What on Earth is he babbling about?

Getting his son's bottom on my chair?

Is Justice Vosper getting past it?

Come along, Rumpole.

I've ordered pheasant, game chips with all the trimmings, the very best the Sheridan can offer.

Oh, I say, the last time I remember having pheasant was in old Willoughby Grimes' days.

We had a chambers' dinner at Simpson's in the Strand, and they dished us up pheasant.

Come on, Uncle Tom.

Sit down.

The occasion was Tiny Benstead being made recorder of Swindon, which was quite an honor at the time.

Dinner's ready, Uncle Tom!

Poor old Tiny got one of these little pheasant bones stuck in his gullet, and they had to rush him off to hospital.

Death by suffocation.

He never did sit as recorder.

Quite a disappointment to his wife.

Oh, is this my-- oh, Horace, hello.

How nice.

Yeah.

[chatter, fork clinks] Just a few words from me.

Horace has become part of our lives in chambers, rather like a valued antique, which we see every day and only notice and miss, perhaps, when it's gone.

Could have been said better.

Where's your husband, dear?

He had to go.

The baby.

I sincerely hope that you and Mrs. Rumpole will accept, uh, this clock as a token of our affection and esteem.

[applause] May it give you many happy hours in the future.

HENRY: Speech, sir.

Speech.

UNCLE TOM: Yes, come on, Horace.

ALL: Speech.

Speech.

Well, unaccustomed as I am-- MR. FEATHERSTONE: Oh, nonsense.

If Your Lordship pleases.

She-- Hilda, Nick, and my friends, my dear friends, this occasion has cheered me enormously.

Because there have been times lately, in the long hours in Your Lordship's court-- Pretty long for me, too, Rumpole.

--listening to the continuing attacks on our profession by the police, there have been times when I've wondered if I wasn't getting into some sort of rut.

That's exactly what I've been thinking.

"Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole unequal laws unto a savage race that hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me."

Really, Rumpole.

In these moods, I must confess I have been tempted to jack it all in, to retire and go out to grass.

Very understandable.

But your support, your affection, and above all, this very handsome gift have completely changed my mind.

- What's that?

- Rumpole?

What did he say?

He's talking about the clock, Uncle Tom.

"'Tis not too late to seek a newer world."

A newer world?

I believe he is going after all.

Of course, he is.

"Tho' much is taken, much abides.

And tho' we are not now that strength, which in old days moved heaven and earth, that which we are, we are."

What are we?

We're what we are, Uncle Tom.

Oh, that's nice to know.

"One equal temper of heroic hearts."

Still makes a good final speech, Old Rumpole.

He's gone a bit-- "Made weak by time and fate, yet strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

[applause] Well, is that it?

This handsome timepiece, my dear friends, will encourage me to forget all thought of surrender and retirement, and not to yield in all my future cases at the Old Bailey, London Sessions, Luton Crown and even before the Uxbridge Magistrates.

And I will never be late.

This will always get me to the court on time.

♪ For every bear that ever there was will gather ♪ ♪ there for certain because ♪ Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic ♪ What I can't understand is Horace Rumpole hanging on to our clock.

[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪