[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [dog barking] [metal creaking, brakes squeal] [doors slam shut] [jet thunders by] Sam Wilson-- did anyone have a particular reason for disliking Sam Wilson, exactly?

Well, I should have said, speaking quite candidly-- Yes?

I should have said pretty well everyone, sir.

[jet thunders by] It's not a tremendously easy thing to have to tell a widow-- about the frock, I mean.

Oh yes, I'm with you, sir.

Not tremendously easy.

[boots scraping steps] [doorbell] Good morning, Mrs. Wilson.

They found him.

Where did they find him?

Near a bar, a sort of bar or disco, Der Rosenkavalier.

How-- how did he get there?

Well, we don't know.

Nor do we know how he came to be dressed as he was.

But we'll find out, Mrs. Wilson.

You may be sure of that.

Oh, I don't know.

I didn't know he was so far away.

Did he tell you where he was going?

Not then.

Not then.

He didn't say anything.

Whoever was it dressed him up like that?

I'm Captain Betteridge of the special investigation branch.

I have the authority of your husband's CO to search this married quarter.

Are you expecting Trooper Boyne back soon, are you?

No.

Well, in about 10 minutes, Danny will be home.

Then, you won't mind if I have a look around now, will you?

[baby crying] [door slams] [baby crying] CPT BETTERIDGE: Trooper Boyne?

Yeah, that's me.

I'm Captain Betteridge of the SIB.

I'm here making inquiries concerning the death of Sergeant Wilson.

Is this the garment you wore last night when you visited Der Rosenkavalier bar and disco in the schillerstrasse?

Yeah.

Well, I suppose so.

Hadn't you better see to that child?

[scoffs] Yeah.

[baby crying] I must inform you that you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so.

But what you say may be given in evidence.

How many murders have you done, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, please, Major.

He's Horace.

I'm Hilda.

And you are?

Johnnie.

And it's only Major Retired.

Well, I have done more murders, perhaps, Major Retired, than you've had hot dinners.

Try not to show off, Rumpole.

And he wants us to call him Johnnie.

What?

The major suggests that we call him Johnnie.

My young nephew Sandy is in Germany.

He's having a bit of trouble with murder.

He's got a murder in his regiment.

Murder?

JOHNNIE: Young trooper in a spot of bother.

Murder in his regiment, you say?

Mention the word murder, and Rumpole pricks up his ears.

Murder is mother's milk to him.

Who's this young fellow supposed to have murdered?

His troop sergeant, apparently.

Murdered his sergeant?

Oh, justifiable homicide, surely.

You should know.

You've done a court martial or two, I suppose.

Perhaps not more than I've had hot dinners?

Courts martial, but of course.

But perhaps not more than you've had gins and tonic.

Point taken, Horace.

Hilda, the other half.

Well, just a tiny, weeny one, Johnnie.

What on Earth are you talking about, Rumpole?

You've never done a court martial in your life.

Mum's the word, Hilda.

I thought for a moment, I could sniff the odor of a distant brief.

[airplane taking off] [tolling] [german speech over pa] CPT RANSOM: Mr. Horace Rumpole?

Yes.

Military escort's waiting.

Consider yourself under arrest-- smuggling wigs through customs.

Very funny.

Do you think so, sir?

I can do much better than that.

Come on, military escort.

Oh, yes, we better get you a porter for that.

[speaking german] Thank you.

Come on.

I'm Sandy Ransom, by the way.

Captain Ransom, yes?

Defending officer.

Oh, really?

I thought I was doing the defending.

Oh, of course, you are.

I'm just your runner.

You give me orders, you see.

What you'll find is that when we have a trooper in trouble, the whole regiment rallies around him.

Really?

- Point of honor, you see.

- Yes.

Sorry I couldn't have arranged some better weather for you.

The 37th and 39th, Duke of Clarence's own Lancers-- we've been cavalry since the dawn of time.

Only yesterday, they gave us beastly old sardine tins to ride about in.

We were in the charge at Balaclava.

[chuckles quietly] The joke was on us then.

The Russians aimed at our sky blue plumes.

Sky blue's us.

And that's why they call us the Seraphs, because of our heavenly color.

You met my uncle Johnnie!

RUMPOLE: Ah, yes, the retired major.

CPT RANSOM: I told him we were looking for an ordinary sort of barrister.

RUMPOLE: Ordinary?

CPT RANSOM: Parade a flashy QC, and they'd convict young Danny boy before he got his hat off.

RUMPOLE: Really?

CPT RANSOM: (LAUGHING) Yes, just to teach the cavalry a lesson.

Anyway, old Uncle Johnnie said you'd done loads of courts martial.

RUMPOLE: (UNCONVINCINGLY) Oh, yes-- --loads.

(VOICEOVER): The Seraph man, each waved his hand.

It was a heavenly sight.

They stood as signals to the land, each one a lovely light.

The Seraph man, each waved his hand.

No voice did they impart.

No voice but, oh, the silence sank like music on my heart.

Oh, steady on, sir.

What?

(LAUGHING) There's no need for you to return their salute.

[quiet chatter] Horace Rumpole, sir-- the colonel.

Hugo Undershaft.

Colonel.

Now, this is Major Graham Sykes.

Major.

Sandy, you know, of course.

Lieutenants Tony Ross.

- Mr. Ross.

- Alan Heinrich.

Mr. Heinrich.

Alan's duty officer, that's why he's all togged up.

Now, is that all of us?

All we could rustle up, sir.

I'm afraid we can't lure many people into the mess these days.

They prefer to stay at home with their wives and girlfriends.

But we thought we'd better turn out.

Well, it's very decent of you, sir.

Sir.

Oh, thank you.

Now, I asked Borough to bring up some of the regimental Bollinger in honor of your visit.

Does that suit you?

Suits me admirably, thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Well, then, here's to crime.

Yes, I think we'd prefer to drink to the regiment.

To the regiment.

Regiment.

The boy had to go to a court martial, of course.

But we rely on you to get him off.

It's a question of the honor of the regiment.

Of course, the regiment.

Yes.

Yes, we've got a few decent pieces, actually.

You won't see any Georgian silver in the Pay Corps.

[non-english speech] The Battle Honours of the Seraphs-- reads quite well, don't you think?

For the sake of honor, the Duke of Clarence's own Lancers.

Sir, it can't be said we had a murderer in our ranks, can it?

Oh, certainly not-- not after you've killed all those other people.

[chuckles] [laughs] I say, do you know that was really terribly funny?

Oh, was it really?

(LAUGHING) Oh yes, distinctly humorous.

You're a bit of a wag, aren't you, sir?

I can see I have some competition.

Shall we go in to dinner?

We heard you were a claret man, Rumpole.

Oh yes, indeed.

[laughter] I-- I am not altogether innocent of matters military.

I have done the state some service, and they know it.

I say, it's an excellent glass of port.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with it.

Yes!

I saw service in the Second World War.

On the Western Front?

RAF Dungeness ground staff-- that is not to say we didn't see some pretty hairy nights.

Oh, don't tell me a bomb fell on the NAAFI.

[laughter] Oh, it did, as a matter of fact.

Not an altogether laughable experience.

Of course not.

Sandy, the port seems to have stuck to the table.

I don't know how many of you gentlemen saw service in the Second World War.

Much too young for it, I'm afraid.

I wasn't even a glint in my father's eye.

My father was in Burma.

He's inclined to be a terrible bore about it.

I suppose I was about four when the war ended, so I was hardly in a position to join the regiment.

Somehow, we never even got invited to the Falklands.

Oh, dear, soldiers of the Queen, born too late for a war.

Do you honestly think it's too late?

Well, it's too late for your sort of war, anyway.

Too late for Rameles and Udine and the thin red line.

And hats off to you, fuzzy wuzzies.

You've broken a British square.

Too late even for Passchendaele and Tobruk.

No, next time, a boffin will press a button, and good night, all.

Well, yes-- Farewell, the plumed troop and the big wars that make ambition virtue.

Oh, farewell!

The colonel's occupation is gone.

[short laugh] Oh, let's face it.

Nowadays, you're only playing at soldiers, aren't you?

[quiet grunt] Well, perhaps you're right.

But while we're here-- RUMPOLE: Yes, what?

We may as well play the game as well as we possibly can.

It would be exceedingly boring if we did not.

RUMPOLE: Yes.

And we have to do our best for the regiment.

Ah!

Of course, the regiment.

It isn't customary to drink to the regiment after dinner, except on formal evenings in the mess.

Oh, so sorry.

Not to the regiment.

Well, what's happening now?

I rather imagine the colonel is going to play the piano.

That's rather more what I expected-- a jolly good old singsong around the piano after dinner in the mess!

♪ Roll out the barrel ♪ ♪ Let's have a barrel of fun ♪ You used to sing that in Dungeness?

♪ Roll out the barrel ♪ ♪ We've got the blues on the run ♪ ♪ Pom, pom, pom ♪ ♪ Sing-- ♪ [BEETHOVEN, "MOONLIGHT SONATA, 1ST MOVEMENT"] Perhaps we are all practicing idiotically for a war which will begin by obliterating us all.

But we're still responsible, aren't we?

Responsible for our soldiers-- men like Trooper Boyne.

We pick them out of a back street in Glasgow.

We give them a haircut, new boots.

We feed them, water them, and teach them how to kill people in all sorts of ingenious ways.

And then, we can't even offer them a proper soldier's war to do it in.

So what can we expect?

Can we expect them to turn into nice, quiet members of the Salvation Army?

We are responsible for Trooper Boyne-- Which is why we have got to take all possible steps to see that he is acquitted.

Did I go too far?

Oh, yes.

It was enormously entertaining.

(GROANING) Oh.

Your Colonel is a very tolerant man.

Yes, well, he won't be if we let down the regiment.

We've got to win, you know.

Oh, I shall do my best, as an ordinary barrister.

Oh, wrong way, sir.

What?

That's married quarters.

Oh.

The late, lamented Sergeant lived up that staircase.

Did he?

Did he, indeed?

Yes, well, you'll be wanting to get some sleep, won't you?

We're seeing Trooper Danny Boy in the morning.

Oh, yes.

Often wondered what QCs had for breakfast.

What?

Oh!

(LAUGHING) I'm not a QC.

- Oh, really?

- No.

Oh, Sandy told us you were.

I'm sure he said that.

Anyway, he did say that you were brilliant at murder cases.

Oh now, there, he speaks nothing less than the truth.

Of course, Sandy's a great one for jokes, you know-- usually of the practical variety.

Oh, really-- a joker, is he?

We had this sort of man from the Ministry out here.

RUMPOLE: Yeah?

Undersecretary of Defense, that sort of thing.

Anyway, Sandy turned up in the mess, pretending to be a visiting German officer.

He'd got the uniform from somewhere, God knows where.

And, of course, Sandy speaks German.

Does your Colonel allow that sort of thing?

Oh, well, Hugo was away that night, of course.

Brigade headquarters, somehow.

But no one can be really angry with Sandy, you know?

He's a sort of licensed jester.

Puts on the panto, you know?

Aladdin-- I was the dame.

RUMPOLE: Really?

You have hidden talents, Major!

It was Sandy who brought it out of me, such a wonderful producer.

Sandy was born into the regiment, you know?

His father was Colonel, grandfather Lieutenant General.

Yes, Sandy was born into the cavalry.

With a silver bit in his mouth.

You say that Sergeant Jumbo Wilson picked on you.

Why do you think he did that?

I don't know.

No idea?

I don't know!

I've told you.

I've told him, sir.

Mr. Rumpole's here to help you.

Trust him.

- Yeah, trust me.

That's an order.

[chuckles] Doesn't quite work like that, does it, Trooper Boyne?

Now, you really can't think of a reason?

He just picked on me, like I've said.

Did you ever say you'd carve him up?

That was a long time ago.

Three weeks before he died, apparently.

Wilson came to the disco, throwing his weight about like he always did, shouting so people noticed him.

I mean, I said it to some blokes at the bar.

Some blokes who are coming to give evidence?

CPT RANSOM: Witnesses from another regiment.

Oh, of course!

The Seraphs wouldn't give evidence against each other.

But you do admit that you said it.

Well, what you'd say about anyone that's picking on you-- I'll carve him up.

It's like a common saying.

Danny comes from Glasgow.

Oh, is that going to be our defense?

Now, then, coming to that evening, Saturday, November the 22nd.

Were practicing for the panto.

Captain Ransom puts it on at Christmas.

I can confirm that.

Until when?

Till 9 o'clock.

2100 exactly.

I went back to the married quarters block.

I got changed to go out.

I was meeting a couple of mates at the disco.

Yes, I can confirm that, too.

I'd stayed on for a short while after the rehearsal.

And when I eventually left, I saw Trooper Boyne leaving his quarters.

We ought to have you as a witness, not a defending officer.

I'm quite sure I would make a terrible witness.

Now, you got to Der Rosenkavalier about 2130, didn't you?

Aye, about then.

RUMPOLE: You saw the sergeant.

He was there, and a colonel.

RUMPOLE: Now, your statement says that the place was dark and very crowded.

Are you sure you'd recognize the sergeant?

I could tell that bastard anywhere.

Oh, please, Trooper Boyne-- when you're giving evidence, please don't call the dear departed a bastard.

It will hardly endear you to the tribunal.

How was he dressed?

A sports jacket, a shirt with no tie.

Not in a frock?

Not when I saw him.

Uh-huh.

And then, you saw this other man?

Yeah, a German.

German, how do you know that?

He was speaking German to the girl at the door.

Then, he saw Wilson, and he joined him at the table.

Yes, a man with a black leather jacket and spiky hair.

Aye, a punk.

Did the Sergeant speak to him at all?

Helmut-- I hailed him, call him Helmut.

What else?

I didn't hear what they said.

They were sitting in a corner.

But they were still there when I left.

What time?

0100 hours, wasn't it, Danny?

0100.

And you never saw Sergeant Wilson alive in this world again?

Never.

And you went back to the barracks over the back wall?

We don't bother booking in at the guard room.

Yes, especially as you were confined to barracks.

Well, that was a wee fight I had a couple of weeks ago, down at the disco.

Yes, this is the fight where he got the blood on his cuff.

It's in the evidence.

Tell me.

It was a German boy.

He was taking the mickey out of my wife.

I had it.

I took him outside, and I gave him a couple of taps.

He must have bled a bit.

But a German boy with a class AB blood group, same as the sergeant's-- a rare blood group enjoyed by 3% to 4% of the population.

So it comes to this.

You last saw the sergeant alive at 1:00 AM.

He was found dead at 4:00 AM, after an anonymous phone call to the military police.

CPT RANSOM: From a German.

Well, in German, anyway-- which gave him time to leave the bar, slip into his frock, wherever it was he did that, quarrel with whoever he quarreled with-- His friend Helmut, isn't that the most likely explanation?

Which means that he couldn't have been dead more than, what, about 2 and 1/2 hours before he was found?

Yes, the fellows prosecuting accept that.

But do I accept it?

Do you not believe me, Mr. Rumpole?

I'm not here to believe anything, old darling.

I'm here to defend you.

But at some time or another, it might be a bit of a help if you started to tell me the truth.

Tell me.

Anything you want to know.

What exactly does Danny Boy do in the pantomime?

Oh, he sings a couple of Irish songs-- beautifully, as a matter of fact.

That leads out into the square.

A car could have parked down there.

And Sergeant Wilson could have been lying here in the dark for a long time without anyone seeing him.

We seem to be a bit short of evidence as to when Wilson actually left the barracks.

Wouldn't he have booked out at the guard room?

(LAUGHING) Oh, good heavens, no.

Sergeants are superior beings.

They don't have to book out.

Oh.

And nobody in the neighborhood saw anything, heard anything?

Well, they wouldn't, would they?

Why do you say that?

Well, they're all Germans!

The phone call was in German.

By his boyfriend, perhaps.

Boyfriend?

Helmut.

You might not have been sure whether he'd killed Jumbo Wilson.

Perhaps he had a fit of remorse.

Why do you say Wilson had a boyfriend?

He was married.

And what's that got to do with it?

Oh, but you are right, of course.

Danny wasn't telling you the whole truth.

You know why Jumbo picked on him?

Tell me.

Well, because the sergeant made a heavy pass, and Danny Boy told him to satisfy his lust on the regimental goat-- or words to that effect.

So Helmut stabbed Jumbo in a lover's quarrel.

Mm, after a bit of convivial dressing up.

A German did it.

Well, isn't that the obvious solution?

Well, I suppose it'd get you out of trouble.

Me?

Eh?

Oh, I mean the regiment, of course.

Bubbly.

I hardly ever get bubbly with Rumpole, especially not at lunch time in the old Gloucester.

I'm going to go for the crab salad and new potatoes.

Could you go for the crab salad, Hilda?

Oh, shall we be devils?

[laughs] Just think what Rumpole is missing.

What are we celebrating, by the way?

Absolutely nothing!

It's just that we so rarely have a chance to talk with Rumpole here.

Rumpole does rather hold the floor, doesn't he?

Going on about his old murders.

What about this murder?

HILDA: The one in Germany?

Mm, has he talked to you about it at all?

He rang up the other night.

He asked me to send him a book-- a slim volume, more of a pamphlet, really.

A book?

Yes, it's called Variable Factors to be Taken Into Account in Determining the Time of Death.

[piano playing] Good book, Mr. Rumpole?

Hmm?

Yes, indeed!

Yes.

In fact, it's so exciting, I think I'll finish it in bed.

[groans] Oh, Borough.

You wanted a torch, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, yes, indeed.

It's a bit dark, walking back across the square.

Yes, sir.

Sleep well, sir.

Yes, and you, Captain.

Good night.

[piano playing] ♪ Kiss me good night ♪ ♪ Sergeant Wilson ♪ ♪ Tuck me in my little wooden bed ♪ ♪ Kiss me good night ♪ ♪ Sergeant Wilson ♪ ♪ Sergeant Wilson ♪ ♪ Be a mother to me ♪ [snow crunching] Mr. Rumpole?

Hail to thee, bright Seraph.

I-- I've dropped a few marks around there.

I think I must have a hole in my pocket.

Oh, can I help at all?

No, no, no.

It's only money, isn't it?

Well, sleep well, Lieutenant.

Good night, sir.

Are you 34916323, Trooper Boyne of the 37th and 39th, the Duke of Clarence's own Lancers?

Yes, sir.

You're charged with a civil offense contrary to Section 70 of the Army Act of 1955.

That is to say, murder, in that it bade these harm on or about the 23rd day of November last.

You murdered 75334188, Sergeant James Wilson of the 37th and 39, the Duke of Clarence's own Lancers.

Trooper Boyne, are you guilty or not guilty of the charge against you, which you have heard read?

I didn't do it, sir.

In those circumstances, Mr. President, I advise you to enter a plea of not guilty.

Very well.

Now, Trooper Boyne, please sit down.

And relax.

We don't want you sitting to attention.

This officer will outline the case against you.

Now, you're not to worry.

Your barrister, Mr. Rumpole-- RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Are you sitting comfortably?

Then, we'll begin.

No judge would ever ask a prisoner that down the Bailey.

If the court pleases, this case concerns the murder of Sergeant James Wilson, who was found at approximately 0400 hours on or about the 23rd of November last by military police, stabbed in the stomach.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): It's all so civilized in the Army.

An old George Frobisher, a rotten advocate if ever there was one, left the circuit bench to conduct military trials.

He's already speaking in the sweet, reasonable tones of the professional military man.

--which enjoys some popularity with other ranks.

There are two cogent pieces of evidence against Trooper Boyne.

One is the blood stain on the sleeve of his shirt-- blood of the comparatively rare AB group, which was Sergeant Wilson's.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Young Mike Watford used to run round for me at London Sessions when he was an articled clerk.

Now, he's Colonel Watford and prosecuting Rumpole.

So the whirligig of time brings in its revenges.

--that is Sergeant Wilson-- up.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Never had a jury in uniform before.

Hmm, unusual collection-- all white, no teenage tearaways.

Oh, there is a lady, though.

I rather like a lady on a jury.

I can try the Rumpole charm on her.

LT COL WATFORD: --senior pathologist, the distinguished pathologist who will assist you as to the time of death and other matters.

Fraulein Greta Schmerz.

You work at Der Rosenkavalier disco and bar.

What are your duties there?

I take the coats.

When I'm not so busy, I work at the bar.

Lord Ordley.

Now, will you please look at the photograph of the deceased, Sergeant Wilson?

Have you seen that man before?

I've seen him sometimes at Der Rosenkavalier.

Now, we know that on the night of the 22nd of November, Sergeant Wilson was stabbed outside the disco bar.

We know nothing of the sort!

Mr. Rumpole-- We know he was found dead outside the disco bar.

At the moment, we haven't the foggiest idea where the stabbing took place.

Very well.

He was found dead.

Had you seen him in the disco that night?

I can't remember.

And that young man, Trooper Boyne sitting there, was he in the disco that night?

He was there.

I remember him.

LT COL WATFORD: He was there.

Thank you.

Fraulein Schmerz, as far as Sergeant Wilson-- the man in the photograph-- is concerned, he may have been in the disco that night or he may not.

You simply don't remember.

(WHISPERING) No, he was there.

Danny and the other two saw him.

Please, Captain, I do know our case.

Do you remember seeing a man in a black leather jacket and spiky hair?

I do remember.

(INSISTENTLY) Helmut.

I know it's much more exciting than maneuvers, but do try to stay relatively calm.

What time did you see him?

How should I know that?

No, how, indeed.

Well, was it late?

I think, perhaps midnight.

Midnight?

Well, that's very helpful.

Did he speak to you?

The punk man?

He spoke to me.

- In German?

Yes.

He asked if I had seen the English sergeant.

Did he say the name Wilson?

He said that.

Fraulein Schmerz, the soldiers come to the disco in civilian clothes, do they not?

Anoraks, jeans, plimsolls, that sort of thing?

They weren't in soldier's dress.

So there is no way that you could tell if the man in that photograph was, in fact, a sergeant.

No.

Did you know his name was Wilson?

I didn't know his name.

So you didn't know his name, and you couldn't know if he was a sergeant.

There seems very little point in the punk asking you that question at all.

Thank you, Fraulein Schmerz.

LT COL WATFORD: No re-examination, sir.

JUDGE: Thank you, Fraulein Schmerz.

I don't really see how some of that helps us.

What are you trying to do?

Strangely enough, dear old defending officer, I'm trying to find out the truth.

Mrs. Wilson?

And that is your husband, Sergeant James Wilson?

Yes, it is.

Thank you, Mrs. Wilson.

Yes, Mr Rumpole?

Mrs. Wilson, I'm sure we all sympathize greatly with you on the recent tragedy that you have suffered.

Yes, that goes without saying.

RUMPOLE: My client, Trooper Boyne, and his wife Hanni lived in a part of the married quarters quite near your little flat.

Yes, just downstairs.

Did you see anything of them?

Well, she was always at the dustbins, putting things in them-- things the baby dirties, most like.

Most likely, yes.

Were you at home all the evening and night that your husband died?

Yes, I was.

I never went out.

And Trooper Boyne was never in your flat at any time?

No.

Did you ever ask either of the Boynes up to your flat?

Of course not.

Was the reason you didn't ask them because your husband was a sergeant and my client a humble trooper?

Not just because of that.

RUMPOLE: Oh?

She was one of them, weren't she?

One of what?

One of them Germans.

You don't like Germans, Mrs. Wilson?

Well, they did it.

They did what?

That's why I was out there in the street-- out there, dressed like that.

They took him!

He was gone.

Gone!

[whimpers] Don't distress yourself, madam.

Which Germans do you mean killed your husband?

I don't know.

How could I know?

Well, you say some German killed him.

With respect, she did not say that.

She said, "took him."

Perhaps the shorthand writer-- She said, "They took him.

He was gone."

Yes, well, I assume by "took" she meant killed.

Oh, in my submission, such an assumption would be extremely dangerous.

She said "took."

The person who killed him may be somebody completely different.

What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Rumpole?

I hope that will become clear on my subsequent cross-examination of other witnesses.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Just as soon as I'm sure what I am suggesting.

I really don't wish to prolong this witness's ordeal by keeping her.

No re-examination, sir.

JUDGE: Thank you very much, Mrs. Wilson.

Call Colonel Borders.

(QUIETLY) But you didn't ask her the vital question.

Which is?

(QUIETLY) Well, wasn't Jumbo Wilson a poofter?

For a military man, old darling, you know very little about murder.

You don't endear yourself to the court by asking the weeping widow if her husband was a poofter.

Sort of adds insult to injury, doesn't it?

No, I didn't ask the vital question, but I got the vital answer.

What was that?

She said "took."

Now, wasn't that a curious way of putting it?

Are you Lieutenant Colonel Basil Borders, MBE of the Royal Army Medical Corps?

I am, indeed.

In the unavoidable absence of Colonel Prescott, the senior Army pathologist, did you conduct a post-mortem examination on the body of Sergeant James Wilson in this case?

I did, indeed.

LT COL WATFORD: Will you please tell the court your findings?

LT COL BORDERS: The deceased was a well-nourished man, 35 years old, with no signs of disease.

[jet thunders by] [sighs] One arm across the windpipe to stop the victim crying out and an upward stab from the back, penetrating the heart.

Isn't that the accepted military way of using a knife, Doctor?

That is the method taught, as I understand it, in certain commando training.

Yes.

But Sergeant Wilson had a knife jabbed into his stomach.

LT COL BORDERS: Yes, indeed.

So inexpertly that it might not even have proved fatal.

It might not have.

RUMPOLE: Except that it happened to penetrate the aorta.

Indeed.

Well, it sounds more like a civilian than a military job, doesn't it, Doctor?

LT COL BORDERS: That could very well be so.

(QUIETLY) Oh, I like it.

Hope you like the rest of the cross-examination, old darling.

And the weapon-- there is no indication that it was a bayonet?

As I have said, I believe the blade was flat.

Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: Yes, sir.

Will that be the end of your attack on the defending officer?

For the moment, my Lord-- uh, sir, yes.

Yes.

Well then, do you think perhaps he might resume his seat?

(CHUCKLING) Oh, of course.

Lieutenant Colonel Borders, as the Army's second most distinguished and experienced pathologist, no doubt you carried out a most thorough post-mortem examination.

Thank you.

Indeed, I did.

And we're all most grateful to you for the enormous trouble that you've clearly taken in this matter.

Thank you very much.

Rarely have I seen such absolutely expert evidence.

You're very kind.

There is just one little detail about the dress.

What are your conclusions about the dress?

The dress?

Yes, there was a cut in the dress and some blood staining.

Of course, you fitted the cut in the dress to the wound in the body.

I-- I don't think I did.

Oh, you don't?

The dress was a matter for the scientific officer.

I don't believe I examined it at all.

Lieutenant Colonel Borders, you are, of course, a most expert expert witness.

I like to think so.

Capable of carrying out a post-mortem examination in a reasonably efficient way.

I hope so.

And yet, you cannot tell this court whether the sergeant was wearing the dress when he was stabbed, or whether it was cut and put on him after his death!

No, I can't tell you that, I'm afraid.

You're afraid?

Then, I am afraid that you will not have sufficient expertise to be of any assistance to the court on another vital matter.

JUDGE: Mr. Rumpole-- I refer to the time of death.

Do you have any useful contribution to make on that subject?

Mr. Rumpole, I know that you are in the habit of conducting murder cases at the Old Bailey, with all the lack of inhibition of-- well, shall I say a commando raid?

Oh, sir, you're too kind.

Yes, but I think I should make it clear that the Army is used to far more peaceful proceedings.

The military court is accustomed to seeing all witnesses treated with quiet courtesy.

I hope you will find yourself able to fall in with our way of doing things.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Oh, George, old darling, how you've come on since you joined the forces.

What a lesson in lethal politeness.

I'm most grateful, sir.

And the court will forgive me if I allowed myself, for a moment, to show myself as clumsy and inexpert in my profession, as this officer clearly is in his.

Mr. Rumpole-- Lieutenant Colonel, is that a higher rank than colonel?

No, lower.

Oh, I'm sorry.

No doubt you will soon be promoted.

You have been given the basic facts of this case?

I was told that the suspect had been in a disco where the sergeant had been seen by witnesses at around 0100 hours.

At 0100 hours-- and the telephone call reporting the stabbing was received by the police at 0345 hours, so that when the Army doctor arrived at 0415 hours, Sergeant Wilson could not have been dead more than, say, three hours.

That is so.

And yet there was a definite progress of rigor mortis.

Yes, that was found.

More than one would expect in the first three hours after death.

Rigor has been known to occur within 30 minutes.

In very exceptional cases.

LT COL BORDERS: Well, yes.

And there was a drop in body temperature of some six degrees Celsius?

Yes.

I have here Professor Ackerman's work on determining the time of death in which he discusses body temperatures.

Let me put this to you.

Would not a drop of body temperature of six degrees Celsius normally indicate death as occurring some six hours earlier?

It was a cold night in November, if you remember.

That is your answer?

Yes.

[hushed murmuring] Hypostasis-- the staining of body tissues when the blood settles in the lower parts of the body after death.

Were there not large areas of staining on Sergeant Wilson's body?

Look at the photographs.

I'm looking.

Does not that degree of staining indicate death as having occurred some six hours earlier?

It might indicate that, yes.

Hypostasis is subject to many variations.

Doesn't everything in those photographs indicate death as having occurred round about 9 o'clock the previous evening?

JUDGE: Oh, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, sir?

Yes, aren't you forgetting your own client's statement?

He said he saw the sergeant in the disco at 1:00 AM.

He, therefore, could hardly have died at 9:00 PM the previous evening.

Oh, I don't know, sir.

Isn't there some sort of biblical precedent?

One other little matter on the photographs, are there not a number of pale patches in the body staining?

Yes, there are.

Indicating how the body lay after death.

Do they not suggest one important thing clearly to you?

What do you mean, exactly?

What do I mean, exactly?

I mean that the patches do not correspond with the position in which the body was found-- in other words, that the body had been moved after death.

I think that may very well be so.

Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Borders.

[chatter] He died by 9 o'clock?

Yes.

How could he have died by 9 o'clock?

By 9 o'clock, he hadn't even met Helmut.

Ha!

Yes, of course, Helmut.

Why do I always keep forgetting dear old Helmut?

And we thought we were getting an ordinary barrister.

Tell me, do ordinary barristers try so damned hard to get their clients convicted?

Well, someone's got to do something for that boy!

Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, Mrs. Boyne!

About the blood on Danny's shirt-- Yes?

It was the old shirt when he had the fight.

I hadn't washed it, you see.

Then, he wore it again that night.

He didn't remember.

I will say all that to them.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Oh, dear, what lies love makes some people tell.

I shouldn't really be discussing your evidence, Mrs. Boyne.

You will do your best for Danny?

We were so happy-- so awfully happy, the three of us.

I will.

I promise you.

Mike Watford, my learned friend.

Mr. Rumpole.

Soft, you-- a word before you go.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Always a good egg-- young Mike, a double yolker.

We got on pretty well together when you were an articled clerk at Butchers and Stringfellow, didn't we?

I always enjoyed our cases.

Yeah, went after the evidence.

We got to the truth on more than one occasion.

Well, you always had a nose for the evidence.

Oh, so did you, young Mike Watford.

So did you, as I recall.

Now, all this flattery means you're after something.

[quacking] [honking] Triumph.

What?

I found it!

I found the evidence.

One black leather jacket, stained with blood, buried by the river half a mile from the disco.

Sam was sniffing around in the snow.

Well, it's Helmut's jacket!

Yes.

Yes, of course, it is.

And by the way, I was talking to the colonel.

He's decided to have dinner in the mess tonight.

We were hoping you'd be able to join us.

Well, aren't you going to ring Watford?

Aren't you going to tell the prosecution?

This is new evidence!

Oh, I rather think that could wait till after dinner.

I know you never toast the regiment after dinner, only on formal occasions in the mess.

However, the bright Seraphim-- this Seraph band, it was a heavenly sight.

They stood as signals to the land, each one a lovely light.

It's such a power over you all, isn't it?

The regiment-- Malplaquet, Udine, Torres Vedras, Mafeking, Passchendaele, Mons, El Alamein.

And of course, the regiment always rallies around a Seraph in trouble.

You told me that, didn't you, Sandy?

Of course, we do.

That happens to be why we got you out here.

Not that you've done much for the boy so far.

So that when Sergeant Jumbo Wilson got himself stabbed to death, it could hardly be said that a Seraph had done it-- not one of the heavenly band.

Far better he should have been murdered by some mysterious German called Helmut, with a black leather jacket and a punk hairdo.

After all, who better to blame than one of the old enemy from a war which most of you are too young to remember?

Are you suggesting that the officers of this regiment-- Not the officers, Colonel, no-- one officer.

The joker in the pack, not that perverting the course of justice is a particularly amusing practical joke, unless you enjoy laughing all the way to the cells.

Pinning the murder on the mysterious Helmut required a great deal of organization, and it entailed not a few risks.

But perhaps that was the attraction that took the place of war, you see.

It was planning a campaign.

What exactly do you know?

Oh, I'm not sure that I know anything, Colonel-- not for certain.

But let me tell you what I think.

I think Danny Boy left his married quarters and found the sergeant dead by the dustbins.

I think he told an officer-- an officer who happened to be there, driving his Range Rover, his usual method of transport.

I think Danny helped him move the body.

That's how he got the blood on his cuff-- not the blood of some other mysterious German, the sergeant's blood.

And then, I think Danny Boy went on to Der Rosenkavalier so that he could lie about having seen the sergeant there after midnight.

And meanwhile, the captain of the Seraphs was dumping a dead body in a dark alley.

Dressed in a frock.

That was your joker's contribution.

Did he get a dress from the pantomime wardrobe, one large enough for a dame, perhaps?

I believe he dressed up a dead body.

Why?

Why on Earth should anyone want to do that?

Yes, indeed, why?

Perhaps to make some sort of homosexual crime of passion more-- more credible.

Or perhaps it was some sign of disapproval.

After all, the sergeant hadn't brought any credit to the regiment, had he, by getting himself murdered?

Aren't you forgetting Helmut?

Oh yes, dear old Helmut, who appeared so conveniently and asked for the sergeant by name.

The only thing the girl remembered about him was his punk hairdo.

What do you use for makeup in the pantomime, some sort of hair gel?

Lacquer, perhaps.

Was it your own black leather jacket you found so conveniently?

I suppose, after all, you were a first rate defending officer.

You wanted to get Danny Boy out of trouble because you believed he was guilty.

But I always thought he was innocent, you see-- the Glasgow boy with the common sense to marry a German girl because they loved each other.

May we ask who, in your opinion, killed Sam Wilson?

Oh, don't worry, it wasn't your joker.

He could never have done that.

No, no, he could move the body.

He could dress it up in a frock.

But not murder, no.

Then, who?

Well, I've always thought it must have been nasty enough to be fancied by Sergeant Wilson.

But it must have been sheer bloody hell on Earth to be married to him.

Hmm?

Take this, too.

Now, Mrs. Wilson, would you like to tell us exactly what happened the night your husband died?

I must inform you that you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be given in evidence.

[jet thunders by] Well, goodbye, Mr. Rumpole.

Goodbye, Colonel.

I-- I'm afraid I didn't do much for the honor of the regiment.

No, but you found out the truth.

Well, I don't suppose you're going to give me a medal for that.

No, I don't suppose we shall.

[engine revs] HILDA: I was thinking whilst you were away, Rumpole.

Oh?

What were you thinking, Hilda?

Well, I suppose I was thinking about all the things that I might have done if I hadn't decided to marry you.

What might you have done?

Well, I might have done something with my singing.

Might have joined the Army.

What?

I said in Germany, I was going barmy.

By the way, have you-- you seen anything of Johnnie, Major Retired, lately?

No, not lately.

He seems to have vanished.

Yes.

Well, I suppose he'd done his job.

What was his job, exactly?

Finding his nephew an ordinary barrister, one who wouldn't ask too many awkward questions.

He bought me champagne.

You never buy me champagne, Rumpole.

But he did make me think of all the things I might have done.

There's no future in that, Hilda.

There's no future at all in thinking about the past.

I give you a toast.

The regiment.

- Oh.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Coupled with the name of Sergeant Major She Who Must Be Obeyed.

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