[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [indistinct chatter] [phone ringing] ♪ To you ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to you ♪ ♪ Happy birthday, dear Nigel ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to you ♪ [cheering] Don't be so stingy with the poo, Mark.

To Nigel Timson, a bull birthday in a bear market.

And let's hope he rallies in late trading, Rosie.

Don't drift down with the Nikkei Dow.

Keep up with the plucky little pound, Nigel.

Nothing wrong with the dear old car.

Happy birthday, darling.

Oh!

What is it?

A little token of appreciation from the Chairman's daughter for six months of dedicated service.

[laughter] That's where the dollar got to.

One more thing.

No, no, no, no, no.

[cheering] Greetings to you, Nigel, whose happy birthday this is.

We wish you all you wish yourself.

That's money, dear, and kisses.

MAN: Yeah!

[cheering] [indistinct chatter] [phone ringing] Where are you from?

[indistinct chatter] Is your name Nigel Timson?

Yes.

I'm Detective Inspector Arbuthnot.

[laughs] And this is Detective Sergeant Rayner of the Fraud Squad.

And I'm arresting you for certain offenses contrary to the Companies Act.

[laughter] Brilliant, brilliant.

Here we go.

I think he's seriously serious.

RUMPOLE: Head of the Timson clan, alleged to have entered a warehouse by night.

Aren't you getting on a bit for this sort of thing, Fred?

It's not me I'm worried about, Mr. Rumpole.

It's young Nigel.

Nigel?

I don't think we've met professionally.

Oh, that's cousin Andy's lad, what went into the city.

Works cheek by jowl with them lads from Eton and Harrow college.

Oh, and this prodigy's in some sort of trouble, isn't it?

Wouldn't mind his trouble.

Runs around in an F Reg Porsche, girlfriend of boss's daughter.

What can I do to help him?

Well, he's got himself arrested.

Fraud Squad.

Ah.

So he hasn't let down the honor of the Timsons after all.

You've always looked after us, Mr. Rumpole.

You've been good to all the family.

Yeah, well, fraud isn't my favorite subject, Fred.

Now, if he'd got himself into some other little difficulty, preferably involving blood stains-- Well, we've got to do our best for our Nigel, see, 'cause he's the only one of the Timsons what has ever been upwardly mobile.

[door slams] Rosie?

ROSIE: Where are you?

NIGEL: In the bath.

What happened?

NIGEL: Nothing much.

Bail renewed.

I had a long talk with my father.

And I had a long talk with daddy.

Oh, yes?

He's going to do absolutely all he can.

Of course, he has to tell the truth as he knows it.

Of course.

I've never even met your father.

Well, if you're absolutely dead keen on tea with dad and gran and all the cousins in Shepherd's Bush-- Perhaps be rather fun when all this is over.

That's what I thought.

Anyway, he's consulted his cousin, Fred.

And there's this old character who apparently performs miracles down at the Old Bailey.

HILDA: Rumpole!

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Me thought I heard a voice cry.

Sleep no more.

Rumpole?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Macbeth doth murder sleep-- the innocent sleep; sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, the death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, balm of hurt minds.

What on Earth are you doing?

RUMPOLE: Rumpole shall sleep no more.

You don't need the gas full on in March.

Oh, Hilda, there's a chill wind blowing.

Half is quite enough.

I'm not going to have the gas be wasted now that I own it.

Oh, Hilda.

That 25 pound shareholding doesn't give you outright possession of the North Sea.

All the same.

It's the principle of the thing.

I went to the bank today, Rumpole.

Oh, pleased to see you, were they, at the caring bank?

Mr. Truscott, the manager, asked me in for a little talk.

It was not a pleasant experience.

No, no, he's not much of a conversationalist, is he, Old Truscott?

We'll cash this one now, he said, but tell Mr. Rumpole that he's scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Why are you scraping the bottom of the barrel, Rumpole?

Because, Hilda, the government doesn't believe in spending out on legal aid.

And because the time it takes for the checks to come through is about equal to the gestation period of the giant Galapagos turtle.

And because my hard-earned cash is frittered away on things like rent and income tax and sliced bread and washing powder and Brillo pads.

And because you don't get 100,000 pounds a case.

And Antiquax.

Who does get 100,000 pounds?

Robin Peppiatt.

His estimated fee for the Allied Chemicals negligence case is said to be over 100,000 pounds.

Yes, that's a civil matter, Hilda, and Peppiatt is a QC.

Why aren't you a QC, Rumpole?

Hilda!

Well, why aren't you?

Phyllida Erskine-Brown's a QC.

Oh.

You know, you may not have noticed this, but I bear practically no resemblance to Phyllida Erskine-Brown.

In the first place, I'm not a woman.

I want you to pull up your socks.

That's what I want.

And if you don't, well, it's quite likely you may spend your old age alone.

Promises, promises.

What do you say?

I'd miss you, miss you, Hilda, I said.

Yes, I bet you would.

And we are missing The City Programme.

We're still hearing a lot about crime in the city.

Sir Christopher.

What's the reason?

Is it the after effects of Big Bang?

Well, I'm afraid the city isn't what it was.

I'm very much afraid not.

What do you mean by that, exactly?

In the old days, when I first joined the firm, which now bears my name-- - Japhet Jarroway?

SIR CHRISTOPHER (ON TV): Exactly.

A stockbroker's word was his bond.

No doubt about that.

We had our rules.

You'd no hope of breaking them any more than you would have failed to offer your seat to a lady or eaten peas with a knife.

Insider dealing, we never heard of insider dealing.

And why?

Not because of any laws against it?

Because it just wasn't on.

Now we have a flood of young men in the city.

Barrow boys, spivs, I call them.

Wide boys.

No wonder you get into trouble.

Thank you, Sir Christopher.

Not a bit.

That was the Christopher Japhet of Japhet Jarroway Stockbrokers.

Sir Christopher.

HOST (ON TV): --how you can raise money on half paid up granny bonds.

He looked a great deal younger than you.

Oh.

See, Craigie, I go to my office at the same time as my daughter.

That means I am a yuppie at heart.

Ha, ha.

Yes, Sir Christopher.

I was just saying to Craigie, I'm still a yuppie at heart.

What's the matter, Rosie?

It's not this wretched case, is it?

What do you mean about "barrow boys?"

Well, some people in the city.

Not at Japhet's, of course.

Good morning, Sir Christopher.

Good morning.

Good morning, Pertwee.

You didn't mean Nigel?

Good god, no.

As far as I'm concerned, Nigel Timson is a bloody hard worker.

I don't believe for a moment.

As long as you didn't mean Nigel.

If a chap's a hard worker, I don't need to know about his family.

Do you know anything about his family, darling?

Not much, except there's lots and lots of them.

He's asked me to go to tea when all this is over.

Invited to tea.

I'm sure it's perfectly all right.

I couldn't wish for a harder worker.

I want you to be happy.

You know that, don't you?

Your mother and I only want you to be happy.

[sobbing] It was a famous victory, Henry.

Got Fred Timson off on the warehouse break-in.

Insufficient identification.

Oh, yeah.

Justice was done, was it?

What's eating you, Henry?

Nothing, Mr. Rumpole.

I'm reading.

Oh, really?

What's the book?

It's not a book, sir.

It's a brochure.

"Come to the land of the koala bear and the kookaburra.

Sport topless on Bondi Beach.

Bet your bottom dollar at Surfer's Paradise.

Watch the cricket at Melbourne.

Take the family to the footie."

Do I deduce from this you are planning a holiday in the antipodes?

Not a holiday, Mr. Rumpole.

Besides, your con's waiting for you.

It's another Timson.

Things aren't what they were with the Big Bang, Mr. Rumpole.

Not since the market's been falling.

There's people losing their jobs.

So they say that in order to supplement your income, you did a bit of insider dealing.

And, of course, you know what that is.

Of course, Mr. Rumpole, don't you?

Don't I?

Know what insider dealing is?

Of course, I do.

Yes.

But I thought it might be better all round if you explained it in your own words.

Explain it to you.

RUMPOLE: Yes, please.

But you know.

I know, I know, but the jury doesn't know I know, do they?

How would you explain it to them?

Well, don't the prosecution have to do that?

Oh, come on, Nigel, we can't leave everything to the prosecution.

Well, there's this little fish swimming along.

Little fish?

A little company.

Cornucopia Preserves and Jams Ltd. Ah.

First-class marmalade.

Adorns our breakfast table at Gloucester Road.

It's undervalued stock.

There's a big factory with lots of old shops and street corners.

And it seemed WGI was about to make a dawn raid.

WGI.

Worldwide Groceries Incorporated.

Ah, yes, of course, dawn raid.

Puts me in mind of my old days in the RAF ground staff.

It was a takeover bid, a sudden jump to buy the stock before anyone else is quite woken up to it.

Anyway, a week before that happened, I bought 68,000 pounds worth of Cornucopia shares for a client.

And then Cornucopia shares went soaring up.

They say you'd got to know about the dawn raid.

Yes, which was being planned where?

In the corporate finance department of our firm, Japhet Jarroway.

Ah, well, then you-- NIGEL: No, I couldn't.

It's in a different department.

Behind a Chinese wall.

Behind a what?

You know, a wall of silence.

Between departments in the same building.

We call them Chinese walls.

Yes, of course, I knew that.

I knew that I just wanted to see how you'd explain it for the benefit of the jury.

But not everyone stays in their right place behind these imaginary constructions.

Well, everyone in our firm does.

Are you sure?

NIGEL: You'd be out on your ear if you broke the rules.

Oh, really?

Sir Christopher Japhet, our chairman, very keen on the sanctity of Chinese walls is Sir Christopher.

Bit of a Mandarin, is he?

NIGEL: You could say that.

This woman you bought the shares for?

Miss Gloag.

Yes, Ms. Mabel Gloag.

You never met her?

No.

Apparently, someone had recommended us.

She had a bit of money, and I moved it about a bit for her.

Then she rang up and said she had this legacy, 68,000 pounds.

And she wanted to put it all into Cornucopia's shares.

- Which you did for her?

- Yes.

And when I sold them again, she'd doubled her money.

After the takeover.

What was she like?

Well, I never met her.

RUMPOLE: No, well, you spoke to her on the telephone.

She sounded rather a nice old lady.

Surprised me.

What surprised you?

I suppose that she was dealing on the Stock Exchange.

Uh-huh.

Her check was sent to a post office box number in Harrogate in Yorkshire.

I suppose that's where she lived.

She never gave us an address.

No, well, somebody picked up her letters, presumably somebody calling themselves Miss Mabel Gloag.

And after the transaction was completed, some anonymous well-wisher paid $20,000 smackers into your bank account in the National West Country Bank in London Walk.

I can only think-- RUMPOLE: What?

That was Miss Gloag, showing her gratitude.

I never got a chance to thank her.

But you must have told her where you banked.

No, that's the strange thing.

No.

I never did.

Really?

That's your first job.

Mr. Bernard, trace this Ms. Mabel Gloag and get a statement out of her.

It seems you know Sir Christopher Japhet's daughter.

We've been going out together for about six months.

I suppose that means staying in together, does it, on the Isle of Dogs?

Well, yes.

We make up a dink.

A dink?

Do translate.

Double Income, No Kids.

It's what we call it.

How quaint.

Now it seems I'm a yid.

Really?

Young indictable dealer.

It's not really very funny, is it?

We've got to start learning a new language.

Do you realize that, Mr. Bernard?

You can forget about tea leaves and shooters.

We're in a strange new world of dinks, dawn raids, and Chinese walls.

Does it make you a bit nostalgic for the simple old days where you just smashed a window, grabbed some loot and ran?

The world's changed.

God knows how we're going to get used to it.

You think I did it, don't you?

That's for the jury to decide.

NIGEL: I've found it.

It was in my FiloFax all the time.

What have you found?

I remembered.

I was busy once when she rang.

She gave me a number to ring back.

Hello?

Is that Harrogate 2751?

Whose number?

Can I speak to Miss Mabel Gloag, please?

Who is that, please?

The landlord?

No, Gloag.

G-L-O-A-G. Mabel Gloag.

Well, thank you.

Who on earth have you been trying to ring?

The Old Yorkshire Grey.

It's a pub in Harrogate.

It seems they've never heard of Mabel Gloag.

What the hell's the matter with the woman?

Doesn't she exist or something?

Hilda!

Good news, Hilda!

No, I haven't taken silk.

But it's a money brief.

Not on legal aid, a huge city scandal, one that requires my considerable financial expertise.

They privatized the electricity.

"To bring you to your senses, Rumpole, perhaps if I leave you alone, you'll have time to think seriously about your career."

Gone.

Gone.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Ahh.

Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, chief nourisher in life's feast.

[phone ringing] Hello?

Yes, Rumpole speaking.

Fred Timson?

Oh, I'd forgotten for a minute you're free to make phone calls now, aren't you?

Help?

What-- what-- Oh, young Nigel.

Well, that's very decent of you.

Well, we're trying to trace a woman called Miss Mabel Gloag.

She had a post office box number in Harrogate, since vanished.

Oh, Mr. Bernard's doing his best.

Well, that'll be splendid.

Thank you.

All right.

Bye.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Oh, Timson hath murdered sleep.

You know, Rumpole, I've been waiting four years to join the Sheridan Club.

Oh, isn't that rather a paltry ambition for someone who can sit through "Tannhauser" without laughing?

Phylli thinks it would help me to get on and to take silk.

Oh.

Wives.

They're always more ambitious for a fellow than a fellow's ambitious for himself.

Yes.

The trouble is, Ballard is threatening to blackball me.

Why on earth?

He's on the committee.

He's going-- he's going to remind them of that unfortunate incident when I was photographed in the Kitten A Go Go.

But, Claude, you were completely exonerated.

You'd only gone in to inspect the scene of the crime.

Yes, but Ballard says that members of the Sheridan club should be like Caesar's wife-- above suspicion.

And if he decides to blackball, the others on the committee might follow his lead.

Whatever have we done to have Soapy Sam Ballard wished on us as head of chambers?

Mm.

I have-- well, come in, you fellas.

We're in, we're in.

Yes, well, sit yourselves down.

I have-- I have reason to believe that a crime has been committed of major proportions.

Somebody's nicked the nail brush from the downstairs loo.

I received a fee of 50 pounds for an opinion in a breathalyzer.

I signed the receipt, of course, in the usual manner.

You come a bit cheap, don't you, Ballard, as one of Her Majesty, the Queen's counsel.

Do any of you remember how old Pelham Widdershins became a QC?

Oh, please, Uncle Tom.

Then I'll tell you.

You see, the Lord Chancellor had two lists.

One for the chaps he was going to make QCs, and the other for those he was going to invite down to his place for a spot of shooting.

Well, it seems he got a bit fuddled and mixed up the two lists.

Old Pelham was absolute sudden death to a woodcock, but never dared open his mouth in court.

In spite of that, he was given a silk gown and put QC after his name, much to everyone's amazement.

I still don't understand.

You don't shoot, do you, Ballard?

Well, perhaps, Rumpole, I got silk because I don't regard the criminal law of England solely as a subject for jokes about nail brushes and suchlike matters are.

Now, if we might be allowed to return to the subject in hand.

- By all means.

- Thank you.

Can you tell us about your little breathalyzer?

Yes, I know, I know.

Now, I signed the receipt and gave the check back to Henry to bank.

That check, it is my painful duty to tell you, never reached the National West Country, nor have I yet received a satisfactory explanation.

Eaten by mice.

BALLARD: Try to take things seriously, Rumpole.

No, maybe Rumpole is right.

There are mice in that old cupboard in the clerk's room.

I sometimes have a sneaking feeling they've been at the digestive biscuit.

Yes, yes, yes.

Now, I've told Henry he has to give me a satisfactory explanation.

How much was it?

50 quid?

Oh, yes.

He'll retire and live on that for the rest of his life.

Come to think of it, I have seen Henry reading a brochure about Australia.

Thank you, Hoskins.

That is extremely valuable evidence.

And how do we imagine that he affords a vintage Triumph sports car?

By having the intelligence to be a barrister's clerk and not a barrister.

He sits in comfort, takes 10% of our hard-earned cash while we slog out to do breathalyzers on the cheap.

And slog home on the underground, speaking for myself.

Of course, Phylli usually has the Rover.

Oh, I agree, Yes, and I've seen our typist-- HOSKINS: Diane.

Diane.

I've seen our typ-- - Diane.

Yes!

I have seen our typist, Diane, riding beside Henry in that, er, what do you call it?

The triumphant car.

With the roof open.

I understand he gives her a lift home occasionally.

No, no, no, no, his marriage is on the rocks, Rumpole.

And when a fellow's marriage is on the rocks, he can't always be trusted with a check.

HOSKINS: Indeed.

Oh, really?

How's your marriage, Ballard?

Well, you know perfectly well, Rumpole.

I'm a bachelor.

Then aren't you rather in the position of a lifelong vegetarian, giving us your recipe for a steak and kidney pie?

Let us try to keep to the matter in hand, shall we?

Is it the opinion of the meeting that I tell Henry he has to account for the missing check or else?

Or else what?

Or else he must look elsewhere for employment.

I assume we want to avoid the embarrassment of a prosecution.

I support the head of chambers.

Thank you, Erskine-Brown.

I think that we in chambers should support each other.

I shall be behind you in this, Ballard, as I expect you to be behind me in another matter.

Another matter?

He means his membership of the Sheridan Club.

Well, I can't promise you that, Erskine-Brown.

No.

Each case, I feel, must be decided strictly on its merits.

Now, all those in favor of an ultimatum to Henry.

And those against?

Well, then, the resolution is clearly carried.

I suggest we all go home by underground train, as you've observed, Erskine-Brown.

Alas, my underground train would be carrying me to a bachelor establishment in Waltham Cross.

Not all of us have been blessed with the warmth and loving companionship of married life as-- as you have, Rumpole.

Hello, sunshine.

Oh, blimey.

Times have changed.

Champagne on the Isle of Dogs.

Do you know young Nigel's dad, Andy, he was born round here.

Spent his whole life working his way up to Shepherd's Bush.

Now young Nigel's come back to live down the East End.

Ha!

Makes you laugh, isn't it?

Cheers, miss.

I just wanted to say that if the lad's in need of a bit of help, like someone to say he's down the Needle Arms Bromley at the time in question.

Sorry?

Nigel's with his solicitor.

They're trying to find a witness somewhere up north, Harrogate, in fact.

A Miss Mabel Gloag.

Gloag, you tell me?

Lives in Harrogate?

Here, that's Yorkshire, isn't it?

My cousin Danny lives up in Yorkshire.

I think he's at liberty at the moment, yeah.

Let me see what we can do.

[horn toots] Oh, lovely views you got up here, miss?

Oh, yeah.

My cousin Cyril's lad, he's going into the window cleaning.

You can trust him not to nick anything, seeing as you're family.

Last orders, please.

Come along now, gentleman.

Last orders.

It's Henry.

Henry, Henry, a last order?

I'll take a gin and Dubonnet with you, Mr. Rumpole.

A gin Dubonnet, please, Jack, and a glass of Chateau Thames Embanquement, please.

Soapy Sam Ballard, our learned Head of Chambers.

He thinks I've robbed him of 50 quid, don't he?

Wants me out on my ear, doesn't he?

Well, he's welcome, that's all I can say.

He's very, exceedingly welcome.

I'm just closing.

Yes, on the slate, Jack, please.

The Legal Aid check's in the post.

Oh, here, have it on me.

Oh.

Now, don't worry, Mr. Rumpole.

It isn't Mr. Ballard's money.

Oh.

He can say what he likes, Mr. Ballard.

Because if I'm sacked for thieving, Mr. Rumpole, how can I face my wife and the neighbors in Bexley-- Bexleyheath, eh?

How could my marriage possibly survive?

Quite frankly, a new life beckons.

Well, wouldn't your wife stand by you?

My wife, Mr. Rumpole, has gone into public life.

She has taken her seat on the Council.

She is chair of the Disabled Toilets Enquiry.

She is also Chair of the Senior Citizens Ways and Means and Equal Opportunities in Catering.

These responsibilities keep her out every evening.

Do you know what I return home to now, Mr. Rumpole?

Quite frankly, I return home to a cheese on toast.

Oh, dear me.

Have you any conception, sir, of what it's like to find yourself married to a chair?

You thought you were married to a woman, instead of which you find yourself tied to an article of furniture.

Oh, too true that, Mr. Rumpole.

Too very true.

And I'll tell you something else.

Please, feel free.

Now she's that active in local government, there's nothing to stop her getting mayor eventually.

No.

In due course of time, Mr. Rumpole, I shall serve out my year as a lady mayoress.

Oh, my heart bleeds for you, Henry.

Only one way out, quite frankly.

Only one means of escape as I read the situation.

What, what, what?

Well, could my wife appear with a mayoress sacked from his job in the temple for petty theft, Mr. Rumpole?

Ah, that would cause some embarrassment to the ceremony.

Too true, Mr. Rumpole.

Too very true.

And to spare that, I would start a new life in the Dandenong Mountains, the state of Victoria.

Well, I suppose there are barristers chambers in the Dondenang Mountains.

I'm not clerking any more.

I'm going to take up a new career.

You don't want to be a barrister.

It is my intention, sir, to go into show business.

Oh, much the same thing, really.

You may remember, I starred in "Private Lives" opposite Miss Osgood from the Old Bailey list office.

Something of a hit, as I remember.

A rave notice, that's all in the Bexleyheath advertiser.

Well, Diane, you know Diane?

Ah.

Plucky but somewhat hit and miss typist.

Yeah, well, her cousin runs the Commonwealth Inn in the Dandenongs.

She's going as receptionist, and I shall be placed in charge of entertainment.

RUMPOLE: Henry, you're you going to perform.

In cabaret, from time to time.

I might make a personal appearance.

I'm working up a nostalgia number.

Songs from the wartime years, as my old father used to sing them.

♪ Roll out the barrel ♪ Exactly so.

♪ Let's have a barrel of fun ♪ Sorry, time's up, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh.

I tell you what, dear-- dear old lady mayoress, let's have a nightcap at home.

- Round yours, Mr. Rumpole?

- Yes.

- Why ever not, sir?

- Yes.

I'm leading a somewhat bachelor existence in the Gloucester Road.

Oh, a bachelor existence, sir.

You gentlemen get all the luck.

Do you remember this one, sir?

♪ You are my sunshine ♪ ♪ My only sunshine ♪ ♪ You make me happy ♪ ♪ When skies are blue ♪ Mind how you go now.

There you are, Henry.

We're in the dark.

Nobody knows.

♪ And Billie Winnie shall go to sleep ♪ ♪ In his own little room again ♪ Make yourself at home, Henry.

I'll just get a bottle.

[humming] Take cover, Henry!

Ah.

[jaunty music] ♪ ♪ Daddy would never have done it, Rumpole.

Please, Hilda.

I have a long day in court coming up, and I'm not feeling quite up to snuff.

Is this coffee?

Well, of course, it's coffee.

What have you been having for breakfast while I was away?

Red biddy, I suppose.

- Oh, please.

I know that Pommeroy's very ordinary.

It's hardly Chateau Latour, but to call it Red Biddy-- I go away to spend a few days with an old school friend.

Hilda came to spend a few days with me.

Just a few days with Dodo.

I think she wanted to give you time, Rumpole, to think things over.

I come back, and I find you carousing with your clerk.

Have either of you ladies got an aspirin?

I don't think you'll find the drugs are the answer, Rumpole.

The answer is not to do it in the first place.

If you've already done that thing, I mean.

It's so terribly important at the moment, isn't it, Hilda, that Rumpole should only do the dumb thing at this moment in his career?

HILDA: Exactly, Dodo.

What do you mean, exactly, Dodo?

At what moment?

Now that you've applied to the Lord Chancellor to make you a Queen's Counsel.

Well, I don't suppose it would look quite the thing to have Rumpole QC singing with his club.

But I have not applied to the Lord-- Oh, yes, you have, Rumpole.

I can remember last night perfectly clearly.

I think I did not.

I made the application for you.

What?

NIGEL: I wrote to the Lord Chancellor.

I didn't mince my words.

I hope I put in my letter that Rumpole will be called to take his place in the front row without further delay.

Hilda, you didn't.

Well, someone has to take your career in hand, Rumpole, before it's too late.

Oh, for God's sake, hasn't anybody got an aspirin?

Well, Mr. Rumpole, you know my cousin Dennis.

Of course.

Pennywise Bank robbery.

Yeah, well, Dan's living up north now.

He's been coming out a few investigations on behalf of young Nigel.

Yeah, I called around the Old Yorkshire Grey in Harrogate, Mr. Rumpole.

A certain mate of mine was on friendly terms with the landlord.

We're trying to get a line on that Ms. Mabel Gloag.

That's right, Mabel Gloag.

Did you find her?

Quite frankly, Mr. Rumpole, no.

Thanks for trying.

Yeah, but this guv'nor of the Yorkshire Grey, he did say there was an old girl there.

Always talking about the stocks and shares she was buying.

Oh?

Apparently she used to go in there in the morning and have a Guinness or two, then use the phone to ring a stockbroker.

A Mrs. Prescott.

Prescott?

That's not much help.

Anything else known about her?

Not really.

Respectable old trout, apparently.

Always talking about some smart city family.

Used to be nursemaid to the children.

Seems it's there she got her taste for high finance.

Mrs. Prescott.

Nanny Prescott.

She's still about?

Nah, I ain't seen her for the last three months, guv'nor said.

I wonder.

MAN: The judge is coming, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes.

Better get to work.

Yeah.

Sorry I couldn't be more help, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, Mr. Hector Vellacott?

What the Crown says is this.

Having got hold of the secret information, that Cornucopia Jams were about to be taken over by Worldwide Groceries, this young man, Nigel Timson, bought no less than 68,000 pounds worth of Cornucopia shares.

When the takeover bid was completed, those shares doubled their value.

I say he bought them, members of the jury.

He may be going to tell you that he bought them for a client, a Miss Mabel Gloag.

Who is this Miss Mabel Gloag, you may well ask.

Nanny Prescott's.

It's just not possible.

VELLACOTT: --office box number in Harrogate.

Why did you say that?

Nanny Prescott?

Er-- VELLACOTT: No one has been able to discover any further.

That was the name of our old nanny?

Years ago, when we were kids, Mrs. Prescott.

Did she have a Christian name by any chance?

Maybee.

That's what we used to call her.

Maybee, Mabel.

Look, if you had a look, do you think you could dig out a photograph of this queen of the nursery?

JUDGE: Mr. Rumpole?

Yes, My Lord.

It's customary for counsel and solicitors to discuss their cases before coming into court, not during the opening speech for the prosecution.

Yes.

Thank you, My Lord.

Oh, is my learned friend still opening?

Oh, fascinating stuff, of course.

I shall be all attention.

Yes, Mr. Vellacott.

The sum of 20,000 pounds was paid into the defendant Timson's bank account when the transaction was completed.

Can you doubt, members of the jury, that this was the defendant's first dip into his ill-gotten gains, no doubt spent on his champagne and his Porsche motorcar?

My Lord.

My Lord, I object.

What this young man chooses to drink is entirely irrelevant.

Mr. Vellacott, will there be any evidence as to the defendant's earnings?

In a good year, with bonuses, about 70,000.

That would be Sir Christopher Japhet's evidence.

Good heavens.

It's more than-- More than an Old Bailey judge earns was Your Honor about to say?

[laughter] Silence!

It's a considerable sum of money, particularly if it's added to by the proceeds of illegal dealings.

Yes, Mr. Vellacott.

My Lord, I call Mr. Shillingford.

Now's a good time to duck out.

VELLACOTT: Mr. Hugo Shillingford.

Thank you.

Just wait there, will you, Mr. Shillingford.

Yes, Mr. Shillingford, you have said that you were not a close friend of Nigel Timson.

Well, I mean, we never went to school together.

Ah, yes, he got his education at Wapping Comprehensive.

and the Shepherd's Bush market, no doubt gained his financial expertise fixing the price of Cox's Orange Pippin.

Tell me, isn't he what you young gentlemen of the city would call a barrow boy as distinct from a harrow boy, of course.

Honestly, I didn't know all that about Nigel.

RUMPOLE: But you knew he hadn't gone to a public school?

Yes, I knew that.

Now, when he said he'd made a killing on Cornucopia shares, did he not also add the words for some little old lady in Harrogate?

I didn't hear that.

You didn't hear him say that?

What were you celebrating in the wine bar?

Was it your birthday on that occasion?

Yes.

Yes, it was, now, come to think of it.

And were you occupied doing some juggling?

Occupied doing some what, Mr. Rumpole?

Juggling, My Lord, with a couple of champagne glasses and a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

Juggling with Dom Pérignon.

As a matter of fact, I was.

I rather think I dropped it.

Ah, yes.

And at that tragic moment, might Mr. Nigel Timson not have mentioned a little old lady from Harrogate when you weren't listening?

Yes.

Yes, I suppose he might.

Thank you.

Now, one other matter.

Have there not been suspicions of previous insider dealings round your firm of Japhet Jarroway?

My Lord, this can't be relevant.

Whether it's relevant or not, it can't possibly help your client, Mr. Rumpole.

We have seen Detective Inspector Arbuthnot's statement about previous suspect deals.

I had no intention of putting in that evidence, in fairness to the accused.

In fairness to the accused, I would like an answer to the question.

What is it, Mr. Shillingford?

There was a lot of talk, yes, that someone had been using information from the corporate finance department to buy shares.

RUMPOLE: Thank you.

I'm much obliged.

Someone had been using information-- mm-hmm.

Sir Christopher Japhet.

Yes?

This way, sir.

Sir Christopher, you don't like barrow boys, do you?

Excuse me?

I don't suppose the witness understands that question any better than I do, Mr. Rumpole.

Your lordship is quite wrong about that.

Sir Christopher understands me very well.

You did an interview on television for "The City Programme," didn't you?

Yes, I did.

You said that the crime wave in the city was due to the large number of barrow boys that had got into the Stock Exchange.

I said the old traditions of a gentleman's word being his bond had died out, and I regret it.

I'm sure we all regret it, Sir Christopher.

The standard of gentlemanly behavior is declining, even in the legal profession.

Yes, Mr. Rumpole.

Nigel Timson came to you as an office boy, did he not?

SIR CHRISTOPHER: I believe that, sir.

And he attained his present position by honest, hard work.

SIR CHRISTOPHER: I believe he was honest, to start with.

Got to know your daughter rather well.

They became quite friendly.

Oh, don't let's mince matters, Sir Christopher.

They live together, don't they, in a fashionable address on the Isle of Dogs?

Really, Mr. Rumpole?

Well, what's the answer, sir?

Mr. Rumpole, has your client instructed you to attack the honor of this gentleman's daughter?

My client's honor has been attacked.

He is accused of being dishonest.

What on earth can his relations with Miss Japhet possibly have to do with it?

My Lord, may I make a suggestion?

What is it?

May I suggest that your lordship sits quietly and allows me to develop the defense?

Whether I succeed or not will be entirely a matter for the jury, if your lordship pleases.

Perhaps I can help.

My daughter and Nigel Timson are living together.

Yes.

Thank you, Sir Christopher.

That's the frankness I would expect from you, sir.

Now, perhaps we can pass to something relevant.

Oh, certainly.

Have you found out much about Nigel Timson's family?

I made certain inquiries.

And have you discovered that several members of the clan have had more criminal convictions than we've had hot dinners?

[laughter] Mr. Rumpole?

And has this led you to view young Nigel Timson with disfavor?

I only want my daughter to be happy, Mr. Rumpole.

RUMPOLE: But you don't want her to marry a barrow boy, do you?

I would prefer it if my daughter did not marry into the Timson family, if I have to be honest.

RUMPOLE: Oh, yes, Sir Christopher, you have to be honest.

And is that why you are giving evidence against him on this vague charge of insider dealing?

I have given evidence because it is the truth!

JUDGE: It is the truth.

Have you any more questions, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, just a few, My Lord.

Get a clerk down to the National Registry, see if they can dig out the marriage certificate of Mrs. Mabel Prescott née Gloag.

Sir Christopher, there have been suspicions of previous insider dealing in your firm prior to the Cornucopia takeover.

Unfortunately, yes.

And might not the person responsible for that have wanted to put the blame on this young barrow boy, Nigel Timson?

Well, I suppose anything's possible.

Yes.

And isn't it possible that this person could have instructed a Miss Gloag to order her Cornucopia shares through a Nigel Timson, now, provided, of course, that that person knew that the shares would rise.

I said it's possible.

And to make matters even worse for Nigel Timson, might that person not have paid 20,000 pounds into his bank account anonymously?

SIR CHRISTOPHER: It must have been a very generous someone indeed.

Oh, do you really think so?

Out of a profit of 68,000?

You are suggesting that this person was responsible for the previous insider deals?

RUMPOLE: That is precisely what I'm suggesting, Sir Christopher.

You have a bank account in the Cayman Islands.

What's the matter, sir?

Have you forgotten how many bank accounts you've accumulated?

I have a small bank account in the Cayman Islands.

Yes.

Yes, at the-- at the Transworld Archipelago Bank.

I believe that's what the bank is called.

You believe that that's what it's called.

My Lord, we shall present evidence that the source of the 20,000 pounds was a bank in the Cayman Islands, the Transworld Archipelago.

And your daughter, Rose, a well brought up girl, I have no doubt.

SIR CHRISTOPHER: Yes, I hope so.

And her formative years were presided over by a devoted nursemaid.

We had a nanny, yes.

Nanny Prescott.

Do you believe that was her name?

SIR CHRISTOPHER: It was her name, yes.

RUMPOLE: Is that a photograph of nanny Mabel Prescott?

Yes, it is.

That's Mrs. Prescott with my daughter, yes.

Now, can you tell us where she is now?

I'm afraid I can't recall.

I know she had a son in Australia.

Perhaps she's gone out there.

Oh, how very convenient.

We have heard that she had a post office box number in Harrogate.

Did you know she lived there?

Well, I did hear something about a family in Harrogate.

Yes.

Mr. Rumpole, may I ask where these questions are leading?

I hope, My Lord, to the truth.

Which is?

Which is, My Lord, that you, Sir Christopher, got your old servant, using her maiden name of Gloag, to order the Cornucopia shares through Nigel Timson.

That you paid the 20,000 pounds into his bank account, and you did all that to cover up your own insider dealing.

A brilliant idea, was it not, to blame it all on one of these unspeakable barrow boys that have let down the honorable tradition of you old city gents?

What's your answer, sir?

That is an absolutely outrageous suggestion!

"Absolutely outrageous."

[indistinct whispering] My Lord, may I reserve the rest of my cross-examination until tomorrow morning?

What is your reason for that, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): In the faint hope of collecting a bit of evidence to back up the outrageous suggestion.

Well?

In consideration, My Lord, of the witnesses, Sir Christopher may be feeling a little tired.

Yes.

Yes.

Excellent idea.

Shall we say 10:30 tomorrow morning, Sir Christopher?

Mr. Rumpole, we had the Lord Chancellor's Office on the phone to chambers.

- Old Keith?

- Yeah.

He wants you to meet him for a drink at the Sheridan Club?

Old Keith from the Chancellor's Office.

Oh, my ears and whiskers.

I thought a drink at my club, Rumpole, might be the best way to get over this rather tricky situation.

Yes, well, here's mud in your eye, er, sir.

Thank you.

As you may know, the Lord Chancellor has received an extremely awkward letter from Mrs. Rumpole.

Ah, yes.

And Mrs. Rumpole can be awkward.

Yes she actually suggested that we give you silk.

The Lord Chancellor was deeply, deeply embarrassed by it.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Made him squirm around a bit on the woolsack, did it?

Some men are natural juniors, Rumpole.

Experienced men.

Highly experienced.

The good old non-commissioned officers of the Bailey.

Absolutely no criticism of you, of course.

But well, at your age, you know, and given your type of practice, silk really is out of the question.

Rumpole QC just can't be done.

Oh, well.

So you'll break it to your wife?

I know she'll be disappointed her father didn't get silk, either.

Old Wystan never quite made it.

Battling down the Bailey, now, are you?

Oh, yes.

A big city fraud.

Bit of insider dealing.

Jolly good show.

You'll want to be getting along home then.

Carry on, Sergeant Rumpole.

Ah, Rumpole.

Ah, Ballard.

What a pleasant surprise.

Please, allow me to buy you a drink.

What's it to be?

A claret?

Large claret.

A large claret, of course.

George, a large claret, please, and a small Perrier water.

Well, you're moving in elevated circles, aren't you?

Oh.

Old Keith from the Lord Chancellor's Office.

Oh, old Keith, yes.

Keith mentioned me at all?

Ah, you want to know what Keith said about you?

Thank you.

How much is that?

- 3 pound 50, Mr. Ballard.

3 pound 50?

3 pound 50, yes.

Here, it's 5 pounds.

Thank you.

So what did Keith have to say about me?

Keith said absolutely nothing about you, Ballard.

A check for 50 pounds on Snaresbrook and Higgs.

Was that for the opinion on the breathalyzer you accused Henry of nicking?

I must have put it in here and and forgotten about it.

Yes, of course.

I'll tell Henry.

Accusing your faithful clerk of stealing, I wonder what the Sheridan Club committee would have to say about that.

If I were you, well, darling, I wouldn't ask anyone to blackball Claude Erskine-Brown.

No.

No, of course not.

No.

I've always thought Claude would make a pretty good member here.

Yes, he might liven the place up a bit.

Bring on the dancing girls.

Eh, Rumpole.

Rumpole.

Yes?

Might I have a word in your shell like, old boy?

The truth of the matter is, we can't find Sir Christopher Japhet.

Oh, you do astonish me.

Have you tried looking in the Grand Cayman?

Maybe he's turned himself into an offshore island.

Well, Inspector Arbuthnot does seem to think he's done a bunk out of the country.

Yes.

Too quick for us, I'm afraid.

We can't go on against Timson.

The judge is not going to like it.

Oh, don't worry about him, old darling.

The shock will probably bring him back to life.

It seems that Sir Christopher has absconded, oh, dear.

And the prosecution's collapsed.

Oh, yes, Nigel, my son.

That's it.

He's done a runner, ain't he?

Thank you.

Rosie, your father.

I know.

He's gone.

You did it to him, didn't you?

You and that barrister.

And all your family out of various jails.

Rosie, come back.

Leave me alone!

Barrow boy!

Diane, we've been through this a thousand times.

[sobbing] Well-- You've done it now, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, Henry.

Another famous victory.

Chief witness against me made a dash for the nearest airport.

Prosecution up an embarrassing creek without a paddle.

No, no, no.

I mean, you've done me in.

You've only ruined my life, that's all.

But, Henry, don't you know?

Ballard's found the check.

It's nothing but good news.

Hasn't he apologized?

You found the check, as I understand it, Mr. Rumpole, in his wallet.

You made him apologize.

Well, where do you think that leaves me?

Where-- leaves you?

Where?

What do you mean?

Lady mayoress.

I've got no way out now.

Oh, Henry.

I won't have to leave the country.

I can't take up a new career in show business in the Dandenong mountains.

Diane and I won't be traveling to the Southern hemisphere now, Mr. Rumpole.

I'm stuck for the rest of my life in Bexleyheath, married to a chair.

Henry, I'm sorry.

Perhaps you'd be so kind as to leave me now, Mr. Rumpole.

I wish to be alone with my dreams.

What little is left of them.

Oh, by the way, Hilda, I-- I had a little chat today with old Keith from the Lord Chancellor's Office.

As a matter of fact, he asked me for a drink in his club.

He didn't?

Oh, yes.

We had a little chat in the Sheridan.

And what is it now, Rumpole QC?

No, Hilda, I'm afraid not.

HILDA: Not?

No.

But he was talking about your learned father, Old CH Wystan.

The man from the Lord Chancellor's Office was talking about daddy?

Yes, at some length, saying what a brilliant lawyer he was.

They were going to make him a QC, you know.

Daddy, QC?

Exactly.

But then he went off to a higher court, as old Keith put it, to The Great Appeals Court in the sky.

Daddy died.

Sadly, yes.

And, of course, as old CH Wystan had missed it, I mean, they could hardly give it to a mere son-in-law, could they?

I mean, there's some rule about there being too many QCs in one family or something.

Yes.

Yes, I do understand, Rumpole.

After daddy, it would be a bit of a comedown to give it to you.

Ah, yes.

But the Lord Chancellor sent his love from the woolsack and said you needn't trouble to write again.

How very kind of him.

Such a charming man.

Very good legs, I always think, in britches.

Rumpole, are you feeling a little bit chilly?

Would you like another bar or two of the fire on?

Oh, good heavens, we're missing "The City Programme."

HOST (ON TV): After effects of Big Bang-- I'm thinking of buying British Airways.

The sudden disappearance of Sir Christopher Japhet in the middle of the Old Bailey insider dealing trial is likely to cause nervousness on the London market, and a shudder in the Dow-Jones.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Hilda hath murdered sleep, and therefore Rumpole shall sleep no more.

HOST (ON TV): Maecenas Holdings are planning a bid for British prisons when they're privatized.

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