[audio logo] [theme music] ♪ ♪ [shop bell rings] [shop bell rings] Ah, what can I do for you?

[bottles clinking] [screams] [shop bell rings] REPORTER (ON TV): Have you seen this man?

And were you in Queensbury Road, Walthamstow around a quarter to 9:00 on Tuesday, March the 4th?

The police want to interview a tall, well-built man with long sideburns who was wearing a tartan cap when the manager of an off-license was attacked.

The man was also wearing red driving gloves.

The tartan cap was similar to this one, red-- I'm off now, Freddie.

FREDDIE: Yeah, right, lad.

One for the road?

Uh, no, not really.

It's, uh, Betty.

She'll be waiting.

FREDDIE: Eagerly?

[chuckling] Well, you give old Freddie's love to the little lady, won't you?

- Yeah, will do, will do.

What time are you on tomorrow, then?

Day off tomorrow.

See you Friday, all right?

- Oh, yeah.

Ta-rah!

Cheers.

So long.

[door closes] [traffic whooshing] [no audible dialogue] All right, gentlemen.

We'd like you to form a line, please.

Well just form a line.

[no audible dialogue] Right, sir.

Thank you very much, gentlemen.

Thank you.

Just a minute, sir.

If you'd like to just wait there.

Stay here, sir.

Thank you, sir.

Thank you very much, everybody.

Just wait.

Just hold on a few seconds, sir.

Would I wear my cap, Mr. Rumpole?

Hey, would I?

Not if I was gonna go and cut up some geezer in an off-license.

[scoffs] Well, that'd be like leaving my visiting card.

Mr. Anstey, if ever I get you out of this hotel, you might consider reading for the Bar.

Because, oh, darling, you have put your finger on the bull point of the defense.

Why would anyone wear a comical cap when out on an errand of mayhem and malicious wounding?

Unless-- Unless they wanted to be recognized.

Unless they wanted someone to be recognized.

Yeah, well, I'm not worried, Mr. Rumpole.

I ain't worried at all.

See, I am in the clear.

Nobody in Brixton is in the clear, old love.

Not until they hear the magic words-- "not guilty."

[chuckles] Now, this little alibi of yours depends entirely on the evidence of your governor.

Yeah, well, he's-- he's very good to me, Mr. Rumpole, and the wife, since we got married.

Do you know, he loaned us the money for the deposit for our house?

Yeah, very generous-minded individual.

"Freddie Allbright will see you right."

That's his motto.

The biggest minicab owner in London.

You were with him all evening?

Yeah, I, uh, got back from a trip to Wembley, and then he took me out for a curry.

How can he fix the date?

Well, it was the evening before his wife's birthday.

Ah.

He'd even brought Mrs. Allbright a gift.

What was that?

It was, uh, an evening bag.

Very nice.

Very-- for his lady's night down at the Masons.

Look, Mr. Rumpole, what, uh-- what time is this job in the-- in the off-license supposed to be taking place?

RUMPOLE: Oh.

Uh-- - Uh, 8:45.

RUMPOLE: Yeah.

Oh, well, right you are, at 8:45 on the 4th of March, I was with Freddie Allbright.

He was having a go at the tandoori chicken and-- and showing me this evening bag.

Well, it's cast-iron, my alibi.

I'm not altogether sure I like cast-iron alibis.

They're the salt that sink quickest to the bottom of the sea.

Hmm.

[sighs] Was this the face that launched a thousand ships or did the stabbing in the Walthamstow off-license?

I wonder.

Ah, Rumpole.

Go on.

You're burning the midnight oil?

Claude, how would you describe me exactly?

Describe you?

Why on earth-- Describe the Rumpole you saw coming into Chambers this morning.

Short and fat.

You mean well-filled out, don't you, generously proportioned?

No, I'd say fat.

Look, Rumpole, there's something going on down the passageway, and I don't like-- How can you be sure it was me and not, say, Steve McQueen?

Well, of course, it was you, Rumpole.

It had your muffler and your dreadful old hat on.

Ah, exactly!

That's it.

You recognized the hat!

Rumpole, will you come and look at this?

It's a question of Chambers' security.

Yeah.

Yes, all right.

Short and fat?

Shh!

Well, what about it?

Guthrie's room.

Is he working late too?

(WHISPERS) No, he's not.

I knocked, but nobody answered.

Hah.

You see?

The door is locked.

Well, Guthrie always locks his door.

He's afraid someone will sneak in and read his All England Reports or pinch his paperclips.

The-- there's a light under the door.

My god, you're right.

What are we whispering for?

What?

- [breathes in] - Shh!

I heard a sound, from inside.

Mice.

Mice?

These old places are overrun with mice.

But-- it was a sound more like giggling.

Well, even mice enjoy a joke occasionally.

Look, Guthrie's left his light on, that's all.

Have you been working too hard?

Well, I have been snowed under recently.

There you are, you see, that's it.

Come on, abandon the affidavits.

Come and have a nightcap at Pomeroys.

Man's got to be careful, you know, when he starts hearing mice giggling in the night.

If you could spare me a moment of your valuable time.

- Good morning, all, - Ah, morning, Mr. Rumpole.

Hi.

How'd it go at the session, sir?

I got three years, possession of cannabis.

Oh, dear.

I bet the judge went off and drank his large whiskey.

Yes, I suppose he did.

Still, it wasn't your fault.

You did your best.

Oh, thank you.

You were defending, weren't you?

As ever, yeah.

CLAUDE: Angela, if you could possibly type this out for me?

What's this, then?

RUMPOLE: What's on tomorrow?

"Whereas the plaintiffs, the Gargantua Trust Company, Limited, are landlords of the said premises--" Brilliant.

You can read it.

"And the defendant is in default of the rent to the extent of 280 pounds 13 pence, notice to quit having been given."

Well, whose side are we on?

We're on the side, Angela, that sends us the work.

No, but I mean, she got notice to quit for a measly 208 pounds 13 pence from Gargantua Trust Companies, Limited.

Well, I don't imagine they're short of a bob or two.

Angela, you're not required to judge the case.

That can be left in the safe hands of the judge of the Bloomsbury and Marylebone Court.

RUMPOLE: That's James.

Yeah.

I'll bet she's an elderly widow.

Yes, of course, with a-- a 23 starving children.

Just type it out for me, will you, Angela?

RUMPOLE: There's no checks!

Uh, Henry, is Mr. Featherstone in yet?

HENRY: I'm expecting him at any moment, sir.

Look, love, will you just get on with-- CLAUDE: What's the matter with Guthrie?

He used to be in here bright as a button at 9:30.

Nowadays, he descends on us at lunchtime, if we're lucky.

RUMPOLE: Uh-huh.

Perhaps he's had an all-night sitting.

GUTHRIE: [sighs] All-night sitting.

I don't know how long the old frame will stand it.

CLAUDE: Really?

And what, um, great affairs of state were you discussing?

Oh, some earth-shaking measure for the protection of cod in Scottish waters.

CLAUDE: Uh, I-- I want to raise the question of security in Chambers.

GUTHRIE: [groans] The other night, there was a light left on in here after you'd locked up.

I must have forgotten.

And I-- I distinctly heard a sound coming from this room.

How extraordinarily odd.

Rumpole thought it might have been mice.

[laughs] Really?

There's another matter I wanted to raise.

GUTHRIE: [groans] Another?

Is that new girl, Angela, the one who allegedly does the typing-- - Oh, yes!

Henry says that she's a bit of an asset.

Uh, I don't know anything about her, of course, but apparently, Diane just couldn't cope single-handed.

CLAUDE: Oh, the girl objects to typing out a landlord's statement of claim.

She only wants to type on behalf of the tenant.

Now, Guthrie, it really adds a new horror to life at the Bar if one's going to have all one's cases decided in the typing pool.

Well, I really don't see how you can dignify these two girls, Diane and-- Angela, did you say her name was-- with the title of typing pool.

Anyway, Henry tells me that she's extremely good.

Apparently, she's indispensable.

Well, it's something I thought should be brought to your attention, as a head with his finger on the pulse of Chambers.

[knocking on door] Mm?

Come.

Oh, thank-- - Excuse me, Mr.-- - --you, Henry.

- --Erskine-Brown.

GUTHRIE: [groans] I wanted to have a word with you, sir.

Oh.

Well, uh, I'm grateful to you, Claude, really.

Yeah, I'm extremely grateful.

Uh, meanwhile, perhaps you'd like to form a small subcommittee to deal with the mice in Chambers.

[groans] Right.

Now, then, Henry.

It's that new girl, Angela, Mr. Featherstone.

Quite frankly, she's getting on my wick.

Really?

Henry, you surprise me.

Mr. Erskine-Brown was just saying what an enormous help she's been, typing his pleadings.

HENRY: [scoffs] She wants to turn our clerk's room into a cooperative.

She thinks the girls should be in on my percentage of Chambers' fees!

Workers participation, Henry.

It's bound to come.

Well, um, they want the papers in that new drugs case, sir.

You'll be prosecuting Mr. Rumpole.

GUTHRIE: Mm.

They said they wanted the advice by tomorrow morning.

GUTHRIE: Oh, not by tomorrow, Henry.

No.

I've-- I've got something on tonight.

Really, sir?

Another all-night sitting?

Yes, I'm afraid so.

It's a bloody awful parliament.

Workers' participation, it's bound to come.

Not in this chambers it bloody isn't.

[phone ringing] [chatter] What do you think this place is?

The House of Commons?

8021.

PHYLLIDA: The man was wearing a tartan cap, scarlet and yellow.

God knows what it was.

The colors of the East Walthamstow clan MacTavish, I should think.

It's my first big junior brief for the prosecution, and it's a winner!

Guthrie Featherstone has completely mislaid his marbles.

I can't wait to show this to Rumpole.

Mm?

I'm being led by soapy Joe Truscott.

And he is extremely soapy.

I just can't imagine how Rumpole is gonna get out of this one.

Out of which one, Portia, love?

PHYLLIDA: Oh.

Rumpole.

The Dave Anstey case.

Ah, yes.

Clear identification.

You were picked out at the ID parade, and three witnesses saw you on the way to the off-license.

Yes, I am bound, like the great Houdini.

Chained, padlocked into an iron chest, and sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Yes, I suppose with one leap, Houdini was free.

Oh, not at all.

In this case, he's probably never heard of again.

Peggy!

Pot the cooking claret, please, love.

Rumpole, just take a look at that.

What?

Last night's debate in Parliament.

Just take a look at the end.

I've marked it in red.

Ah.

"After the defeat of the motion to preserve the ancient grasslands, the house rose at 10:30."

Is that it?

What staggering news!

Shall we flee the country?

But Guthrie Featherstone clearly told me that last night-- Thank you, love.

--he was in an all-night sitting on the Cod Fisheries Scotland Bill.

Well, I don't see what's so peculiar about that.

It sounds to me like the collapse of an alibi.

CLAUDE: Exactly!

Not at all.

My god, Portia of the prosecution, suspicious of everyone.

It's not at all surprising that QC MPs are forever forgetting what day it is.

Poor darlings, they must be constantly under the impression they're discussing cod in Scotland.

If I were you, Ms. Trant, I would keep your mind on the Walthamstow off-license stabbing.

Do the prosecution know who owns that place, by the way?

Who owns the off-license?

I don't know.

I could find out.

Do do that, Ms. Trant.

You may find it a great deal more important than the busy life of our head of Chambers.

Yeah HILDA: [wordless singing] She who must be obeyed.

Has she taken leave of her senses as well?

Hilda, what on earth are you doing?

I'm practicing my carols.

RUMPOLE: Who in the hell put you up to that?

Marigold Featherstone.

RUMPOLE: Ugh.

She rang me up and asked me if I'd be interested.

The Bar Choral Society, they take on wives.

A gaggle of barristers' wives giving tongue?

How perfectly ghastly!

In praise of God, Rumpole.

It is going to be Christmas.

Eh, sometimes I wonder whether God enjoys Christmas all that much.

Marigold Featherstone is not a happy woman.

Well, who is these days?

It's Guthrie.

Guthrie Featherstone.

If you ask my opinion, that marriage is dying for lack of attention.

Hilda, you shock me!

You stand there at choir practice when you should be giving praise to the Lord, gossiping away about the Featherstone marriage.

HILDA: It is not gossip, Rumpole.

I've told you, she is not a happy woman.

Of course, it's enormously difficult being married to a politician.

Or a part-time mezzo contralto.

What did you say?

Just reading.

That marriage is cracking up, Rumpole.

Yes, cracking up.

And it's all your fault.

Yeah-- my fault?

Guthrie is out late.

Of course, I know that he has his all-night sittings.

But even when he hasn't, it seems that you keep him at Pomeroys wine bar for hours, gone boozing.

I do?

HILDA: Marigold asks him where he's been, and he says old Rumpole kept me talking about Chambers business in Pomeroys.

I simply couldn't get away from him.

Old Rumpole, is that what he calls me?

I suppose that's what you've been getting up to tonight.

Oh, well, there wouldn't have been much point coming back here, would there?

Not with you hitting the high notes with Marigold Featherstone.

HILDA: You want to be very careful, Rumpole.

You want to be careful that you don't break up two marriages.

♪ O come all ye faithful ♪ Joyful and triumphant ♪ O BOTH: ♪ Come ye, oh, come HILDA: ♪ --ye to Bethlehem Oh, thank god, they've got somewhere at last.

[sighs] PHYLLIDA: Can you describe the man who attacked you?

Well, he had this red cap on.

Yes, apart from the red cap?

Yes, apart from the cap.

Come on, Portia.

He was tall.

Big built.

Ah, like about 20 million others.

JUDGE: Did you say something, Mr. Rumpole?

Er, nothing at all, My Lord.

PHYLLIDA: Ah, what about his hair, what you could see of it?

Oh.

He had long sideburns, a sort of brown color, in what I could see of it.

[whispers] Yes.

Thank you, Mr. O'Neil.

Would you remain there a minute, please, sir?

[clears throat] If you look at my client, you will see he has no sideburns at all.

No.

No, he hasn't.

Mr. Anstey, you turn your face to the jury, please.

JUDGE: Mr. Rumpole, I'm sure you don't need reminding, but we live in the age of the electric razor.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Oh, dear, the worst sort of judge, the judge who makes jokes.

My Lord?

Sideburns can be shaved off if it's convenient to do so.

Now, you said that the man that you saw had hair of a sort of brown color.

Well, what sort of brown?

Blackish brown?

Grayish brown?

Ginger brown?

Or just brown brown?

I didn't have all that much time to notice.

It was that quick.

Ah!

A matter of seconds.

O'NEIL: Yes.

So my client is on trial for a couple of seconds.

It will no doubt be considerably longer by the time you've finished, Mr. Rumpole.

If Your Lordship pleases.

The judge is giving Rumpole a rough time.

He's trapped.

I told you, we're on a winner.

Yes, I'm not so sure about that.

A rough time is exactly what Rumpole thrives on.

JUDGE: Mr. Rumpole, as you know perfectly well, Motive is quite irrelevant in a criminal prosecution.

FREDDIE: How's it going, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, Mr. Allbright.

Ah, Mr. Horace Rumpole, I'd like to introduce you to Mr.-- - Freddie Allbright.

- Yeah.

I'm Dave's governor.

"Allbright will see you right."

That's my motto, Mr. Rumpole, in minicabs, as in life.

Our alibi witness.

Oh, certainly, Mr. Rumpole.

Alibi ready and waiting, any time you need it.

Well, we must look after young Dave, mustn't we?

Oh, and, uh, Mrs. Anstey, of course.

I'm Dave's wife, Betty.

Lovely girl, Betty.

Exceptionally lovely.

Yes, exceptionally.

Nice to have met you.

Well, what's the chances, then?

RUMPOLE: Oh, sorry, I can't talk to witnesses.

We'll probably call you on Monday.

Oh.

Well, I can't go in there, Mr. Rumpole.

Really, I can't.

Not to have everyone staring at me because of Dave.

Don't upset yourself.

Dave, all right, is he?

He's as well as can be expected.

I daresay, he'd appreciate a visit down in the cells.

Oh, I-- I don't know.

Oh, I promised the young lady a lunch, Mr. Rumpole.

We'd better get our skates on, Betty.

We don't want some lawyer nicking our table at the Savoy, do we, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: No, of course you don't.

[chuckles] PHYLLIDA: I got that information for you.

What?

The landlord of the off-license.

Ah!

It's a company called Allbright Motors Limited.

Your client could probably have told you that.

Thank you, Ms. Trant.

You've been the most tremendous help.

It's quite all right.

Mm.

Oh!

Sorry.

I didn't know you were in today.

Could I borrow Phipson on Evidence?

Well, that's pretty dull reading, isn't it, for a gorgeous girl like you?

Rumpole's objecting to our putting in a witness statement.

You're not still down the Bailey, are you?

Yes, thank God, with some quite decent refreshers.

Oh, pity.

We might have had lunch tomorrow-- up in Soho, The Trat.

No, I don't think so.

What would Marigold have to say?

Well, I'm hardly under her eagle eye at lunchtime.

You mean Erskine-Brown might cut up rough.

Well, we are going out together, yes.

Oh, really?

And where does he take you out?

He takes me to Covent Garden.

And it's terribly expensive.

That's why I have to collect as many refreshers as possible.

Oh, shame on him.

He never takes you dancing?

You know, there's a new little place opened up in Covent Garden.

Fridays.

Hamburgers and a disco.

You ought to get Claude to take you there with all the BPs.

What on earth are they?

Beautiful People.

Thank you, Ms. Trant.

[chuckles] Er, you know, I-- I love those old movies where-- where the girl librarian takes her glasses off, and James Stewart sees her in an entirely new light.

Well, thanks for the Phipson.

Oh, any time at all, Ms. Trant.

Any time at all.

By the way, what is that super perfume that you're wearing?

Old books.

GUTHRIE: [laughs] Old books!

RUMPOLE: If an alibi comes unstuck, everything comes unstuck.

If they don't believe your alibi, they may not believe a single word you say.

DAVE: Well, they'll believe Freddie, all right.

Freddie ain't got no ax to grind.

Hasn't he?

Allbright Motors owns the off-license where Paddy was stabbed.

Never.

You didn't know that?

No, I didn't, straight up.

Does it make any difference?

RUMPOLE: I don't know.

Paddy picked you out at the identity parade.

Are you sure you've never seen him before?

Never in my life, straight up.

Well, someone must have told him about you and your remarkable headgear.

Do you trust Freddie Allbright?

DAVE: Oh, you must be joking!

The things the governor's done for me-- a big bonus when we married, a canteen of cutlery cost him 200 nicker-- And a fur coat.

A what?

I was just wondering where your wife got her fur coat from.

If we don't call the alibi evidence, won't the prosecution comment?

I mean, they've got Mr. Allbright's statement.

Let soapy Joe comment till he's blue in the face.

He'll be left with a weak case of identification.

Oh.

No, I want you to call the governor, Mr. Rumpole.

He's been like a father to me.

I'd like you to think about it.

And then I'll need your written instructions.

Uh, what sort of, uh, coat, exactly?

Oh, God knows, but several rare animals gave up their lives for it.

Yeah, well, uh, my Betty works, doesn't she?

She saved up for it.

Now you've got to call the governor, Mr. Rumpole.

Look, please, think about it.

Thank you very much.

CLAUDE: [singing in italian] What a magnificent performance.

Splendid.

CLAUDE: [singing in italian] Tired?

No, not really.

Why don't we dance?

Whatever for?

Well, we never do.

There's a new place opened around here.

Fridays.

All the BPs go there.

All the, what?

Beautiful People.

[disco music] [laughter, chatter] ♪ I just don't think Guthrie is very well!

No?

No.

He seems to think he's James Stewart.

James who?

(SHOUTS) Stewart!

Look.

PHYLLIDA: What?

Angela.

Who's she dancing with?

Apparently with herself.

♪ No, she's not.

She's with that rather violent shirt.

CLAUDE: Who is he?

I can't see a thing.

It's pitch dark in here.

I think it's rather fun.

♪ Ah, they're going.

PHYLLIDA: Good heavens!

It can't be.

Phylli, this is quite appalling.

It's Guthrie Featherstone.

Our head of Chambers out dancing with the typing pool.

[humming] Oh, excuse me.

Just on my way down to the Bailey.

It's Marigold.

Marigold?

Marigold Featherstone.

You remember me?

Oh!

Of course, yes.

Well, Guthrie's room is, uh-- it's just down the passage.

No, he's not in.

Whenever I ring up Chambers, he's not in.

Well, perhaps, I could give him some sort of message for you.

Mr. Rumpole, do you handle divorce?

Ah, only rarely, and then with a strong pair of tongs.

Look, I really must-- I want you to act for me, if it should come to that.

Well, if it should come to what, Mrs.-- uh, uh-- Marigold?

Divorce.

Guthrie's behaving extremely oddly.

He's never there.

Oh, well, that can be an advantage in married life, can't it?

Speaking personally, I am married to someone who's always there.

Uh, well, look, I must rush because-- I saw him with a girl!

I saw them from the top of a bus.

They were arm in arm, looking into Peter Jones' window.

Soft furnishings.

When I tackled him, he denied it.

Yeah.

Now, how can you be sure it was Guthrie?

What could you see from the top of a bus, the top of his head?

And for how long, a couple of seconds?

Oh, I'm sure it was Guthrie.

He had on his black jacket and striped trousers.

Ah, there you see, Mrs., um, Marigold.

That's just how easily mistakes can be made!

Because he had a black jacket on, you assumed it was Guthrie!

Anybody can put on a black jacket, can't they?

Or a red and yellow tartan cap.

Do I make myself clear?

Not in the least.

In any case, I am a member of Guthrie's Chambers.

I couldn't possibly act for you if it came to a divorce.

It would be most embarrassing.

If it comes to divorce, Mr. Rumpole, I want it to be as embarrassing as possible.

Morning, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, good morning, Mrs. Anstey.

Good morning, Mrs. Anstey.

Usher.

Yes, Mr. Rumpole?

That young lady sitting behind me with a fur coat on, I'd like her brought into court when I give you the word.

But don't give her time to take it off.

All right?

Thank you.

Good morning.

- Good morning.

- Good morning.

Good morning.

Good morning.

What's Rumpole up to now?

Fighting desperately to undo the knots, I should imagine.

FREDDIE: 8:45?

Yeah, of course I was with Dave at 8:45.

I mean, I took him out for a curry at 8:00, and we were together until 9:30.

RUMPOLE: Now, can you fix the date?

Absolutely.

My wife's birthday.

RUMPOLE: And what date is that?

March the 5th.

Same every year.

Ah, I'd got her this evening bags, and, uh, well, I told Dave about it when I saw him the next day.

RUMPOLE: The next day?

Right, the next day when we went out for the curry.

JUDGE: That would be March the 6th.

Yeah, that's right, My Lord.

Mr. Allbright, I wanted to ask you about the day before your wife's birthday, the evening of March the 4th.

March the 4th?

No, I don't know what Dave was doing then.

No.

No, I tell a lie.

Oh, do you, Mr. Allbright?

Yeah, was that the, uh, Tuesday, March the 4th?

RUMPOLE: Yes.

Oh, well, Dave had the night off then.

Yeah, I remember.

He had the night off a couple of nights before we went to the Mogul's Palace, Walthamstow.

So you don't know what Mr. Anstey was doing on the night of the 4th?

I haven't a clue, My Lord.

Mr. Rumpole, you may like to remind the jury that the stabbing in the off-license took place on the night of March the 4th.

(MUMBLES) I leave that to you, old darling.

You're obviously loving it here.

Collapse of stout alibi.

Mr. Allbright-- usher.

Did you not sign a statement making it quite clear that you were with my client on the evening of March the 4th?

I might have done, yeah.

My Lord, is my learned friend entitled to cross-examine his own witness?

If the witness is hostile, yes.

My learned friend suggest the witness is hostile to him?

No, I'm suggesting the witness is hostile to the truth!

JUDGE: If the witness has signed a previous inconsistent statement, he may be cross-examined.

If you think that's a wise course, Mr. Rumpole.

I'm obliged, Your Lordship.

Mr. Allbright, is your company the landlord of the off-license premises where Paddy was stabbed?

Well, we, uh, we own a lease to the off-license, yeah.

RUMPOLE: So Paddy was working for you.

He might have been.

What had he been up to, putting his hand in the till?

Did you have to send someone round to teach him a lesson?

Someone?

Who are you suggesting someone might be, Mr. Rumpole?

Someone in a cap like that usually worn by my client, Dave Anstey.

Now, why would I do a thing like that, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: Usher.

(WHISPERS) Bring that woman in now, please.

Mr. Allbright, are you friendly with my client's wife, Betty?

FREDDIE: Well, I'm like a father to both of them.

Yeah.

RUMPOLE: And while Mr. Anstey has been in custody, have you been seeing Betty Anstey regularly?

Well, I've tried to take her out of herself, yeah.

And does taking her out of herself include putting her into an expensive fur coat, the one she's wearing now?

Well, [clears throat nervously] might have leant her couple of bob, you know.

Tide her over.

RUMPOLE: Yes.

Thank you, Mrs. Anstey.

Mr. Allbright, has it always been your intention in this case to have my client convicted?

Not necessarily, no.

I wanted to help Dave.

Is that why you went back on your alibi statement because you wanted to help him?

Or did you go back on it because you were trying to tell us the truth?

Look, I put March the 4th first because, well, Dave asked me to.

RUMPOLE: He asked you?

FREDDIE: Yeah, he said it was the night of the stabbing like.

Look, I'm sorry I can't help you, Mr. Rumpole!

Well, I'm sorry I can't help you, Allbright, in your efforts to have your mistress's husband put inside for a long period of years.

Mr. Rumpole, is there any basis for that suggestion?

If there is not, My Lord, perhaps my learned friend would care to call the lady to rebut it.

She is still outside the court.

You sent your hireling in that thoroughly recognizable cap to teach Paddy a lesson.

And Paddy then identified Dave Anstey as the man who was wearing that cap.

Mr. Rumpole, may I remind you that when your client was picked out at the identification parade, he wasn't wearing a cap.

Of course not, My Lord, it was no longer necessary.

And perhaps you can tell us why, Allbright.

Who put the frighteners on Paddy to persuade him to identify Dave Anstey as the man who had stabbed him?

Or didn't Paddy know who you wanted fitted up with your little caper in the off-license?

Mr. Rumpole, "fitted up" is hardly a legal term.

It makes it sound like a cupboard.

Then shall I say "framed," Allbright?

That sounds like a picture.

In this case, the wrong picture entirely.

PHYLLIDA: So with one leap, Houdini was free.

That's right.

Not guilty, majority verdict, out four hours.

It was a damn close run thing.

[chuckles] Freddy Allbright didn't look too happy.

It's a smashing cross-examination.

There we are.

A lesson to us all.

You should have heard Rumpole deal with a hostile witness.

Well, it's high time, Rumpole, that a little justice was done to you.

Justice?

It's a rotten shame.

You should have been head of Chambers years ago.

As senior man, it was yours.

Everybody said so at the time.

I don't remember any overt support from you then, Erskine-Brown.

Well, Guthrie Featherstone, MP arrived in all his glory, and he took silk, and-- Popped betwixt the election and my hopes.

It was a rotten shame, actually.

Of course, in those days, we didn't know the truth about Guthrie Featherstone.

Do you know, he's quite simply having it off with that female communist in the typing pool?

[chatter] Young Angela?

You astonish me.

Rumpole, we simply must have a reliable head of Chambers, not somebody who's about to be involved in an unsavory scandal.

I wonder what a savory scandal would be.

Fried on toast, perhaps, with an anchovy and a dash of Worcestershire sauce.

- Oh, Rumpole, really!

Uh-huh.

Seats.

Everyone's noticed things about Guthrie.

What do you mean, "things"?

There's definite signs of unreliability.

Now, the point is, we ask Guthrie to resign and make way for you, Horace, as head of Chambers.

I do think you'd make an absolutely superb head.

[chatter] [sighs] Guthrie Featherstone, QC MP, is not an experienced labor-conservative member for nothing.

He hogs the middle of the road in case someone tried to pass him.

Maybe he's not the resigning kind.

Well, in that case, we simply move to one of the new sets of Chambers in Lincoln's Inn.

I've sounded out Henry and Hoskins, and-- Have you had any time for work with all this sounding out?

- Well, Horace, nobody's gon-- PHYLLIDA: Shh!

Nobody is going to work with the head of Chambers who's having it off with a revolutionary from the typing pool.

[clears throat] See you tomorrow.

OK, bye.

Did you see?

Look, I would like to know what evidence you have for making these extraordinary allegations.

Claude and I saw Guthrie dancing in Fridays with Angela.

And Guthrie was wearing some sort of multicolored shirt with tigers on it.

[laughs] Then it couldn't have been Guthrie, then.

Horace, it was.

Mistaken identity.

No, I saw him with my own eyes.

Ah!

Well, as Ms. Trant learnt in court today, the evidence of one's own eyes can be extremely misleading.

Guthrie Featherstone simply does not wear multicolored shirts, with or without tigers.

Tigers!

[laughs] [knocking on door] [sighing] "What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

Oh.

Oh.

Henry said you wanted to see me?

[clears throat] RUMPOLE: Don't you want to see me?

No.

Not particularly.

[chuckles] I should say you're in need of a little help.

I'm perfectly all right.

Thank you, Rumpole.

Are you?

They're closing in, old darling.

Your wife, Marigold, wants to start a divorce.

She consulted me.

You?

Hmm.

What on earth did she consult you for?

Well, no doubt, to cause the maximum havoc.

Erskine-Brown alleges that he saw you-- jitterbugging.

With Angela?

Lord Erskine-Brown suspects you of having a red in the bed, if I'm not mistaken.

All right, it's true.

It's all perfectly true, Rumpole!

You plead guilty?

Well, as a matter of fact, it's all terribly innocent.

Just jumping around in Fridays until 2:00 in the morning, and then-- and then back to her ridiculously narrow bed in Oakley Street.

And then off to breakfast in the House of Commons.

That must be the worst part of it.

What?

Breakfast in the House of Commons.

You, obviously, aren't cut out for that kind of existence.

No, the, uh-- the physical strain is exhausting.

RUMPOLE: I'm not surprised.

Must come as a bit of a shock to somebody used to somnolent parliamentary debates and a bit of golf.

Golf?

It happened when I was playing golf, with Mr. Justice Vosper.

Do-- do you know him?

Only in court, never on the green.

He was talking about the death penalty.

Nostalgia, I assume.

I sliced my ball into the rough, and I went behind this low patch of scrub.

And there was this boy and girl making love.

Not undressed, you understand?

Just kissing.

Laughing.

And I realized that there was an entire world that I totally missed.

I told the judge I'd been taken ill and left the course!

RUMPOLE: Taken ill?

Well, of course you had.

I spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering around Richmond in search of adventure.

You drew a blank, I should imagine.

[sighs] Next morning, I walked into Chambers, and there was Angela.

She's only 21, Rumpole.

Can you imagine it?

With difficulty.

What is that military uniform she affects?

Oh, [chuckles] an American combat shirt.

Er, it's a sort of a joke to show her pacifist conviction.

Oh, highly amusing.

So you set out, quite deliberately, to destroy your position in Chambers?

Deliberately?

Well, locking yourself in this room the other night.

What was-- what was the idea of that?

Oh.

Well, um, we couldn't go back to Oakley Street.

Her flatmate was entertaining a chap from the BBC World Service.

Barristers' Chambers have been put to many uses, but only rarely as a setting for a French farce.

Oh, you were very determined, weren't you?

Telling Marigold a pack of transparent lies, carefully informing Ms. Trant, and therefore, of course, Erskine-Brown, of that Palais de Hop, where apparently you'd be found nightly tripping the light fantastic.

Keeping your dancing apparel in Chambers?

Oh, yes.

That's-- that's, uh-- that's a birthday present from Angela.

Well, I could hardly take it back to Marigold, could I?

What are you gonna do with it?

Send Henry round to the launderette?

Hmm, I don't know, Rumpole.

What do you suggest?

I suggest you give it to a steel band.

Look, old darling, you can't do it.

Do what exactly?

Escape.

You came to us as the ready-made figure of respectability, QC MP.

Pipped me at the post for head of Chambers, if I remember rightly, and remarkably gratified to get it.

Well, what are you gonna do now?

Abandon us all like a lot of aging wives?

Leave us to rot on bingo and national assistance while you go prancing off down Oakley Street in a multicolored wildlife blouse?

You can't do it.

It's out of the question.

Quite impossible!

Why can't I?

RUMPOLE: Because things were arranged differently for you.

It's all mapped out for you, Guthrie, from the cradle to the grave.

The tramlines are leading to a solicitor general in the next middle-of-the-road Conservative-Labor government, to the High Court Bench, to the death of Sir Guthrie Featherstone, the judge of courteous severity.

Flags fluttering at half mast-- I don't have to do all that!

RUMPOLE: Oh, really?

What's the alternative?

Hanging around street corners, waiting for the BBC man to go back on night duty?

Scratching a living, scribbling advice from a barrister in the Sunday papers?

Oh, come off it.

That's somebody else entirely.

That's not our Guthrie Featherstone.

You're jealous.

RUMPOLE: What?

Just because you're tied hand and foot by the income tax and the VAT man, and will Henry find you another brief, and-- and She Who Must Be Obeyed?

Oh, really, Guthrie.

Oh, sorry.

Well, it's what you call her.

That, sir, is a husband's privilege.

Why did you say I'm jealous?

Is it because you want to be the only anarchist in Chambers?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Was there a certain truth in what he said?

Had Guthrie put his finger on the Achilles heel of Rumpole?

Did I need a flawless Featherstone to feel a free roving spirit?

No.

No, I don't need to indulge in your sort of adventures, Guthrie, to feel a free soul.

I can be bounded in the temple, yet count myself a king of infinite space.

Don't forget, we've got a case next week.

The importation of cannabis, and you are prosecuting.

Yes.

Oh, unless, of course, you've gone dancing.

In this case, I appear with my learned friend, Mr. William James, to prosecute.

The defense is represented by my learned friend, Mr. Horace Rumpole.

Members of the jury, this case concerns the importation of a dangerous drug, cannabis-- Oh!

Angela.

Henry said you wanted me down at court-- GUTHRIE: As you will, no doubt, have read in your newspaper-- Yes, that's right.

GUTHRIE: --as Lordship and my learned friends know-- --listen to this nonsense.

GUTHRIE: --only too well-- Sit down.

GUTHRIE: --these cases are far, far from rare in the so-called progressive age.

You may have heard it said by those who make it their business to attack the law and the police, and those of us who are concerned with-- with safeguarding our society and way of life, that these cases are merely brought because of the generation gap, the yawning gulf that is supposed to exist between the young and the not-so-young.

But I must point out that cannabis, whatever you may have heard, is a dangerous drug, prohibited by parliament.

Oh, it may be very fashionable for the young to say that it does do-- does you no more harm than a whisky and soda, or that-- that smoking it, in some way, makes you a better, purer soul than-- than squares like us.

Members of the jury, we-- we simple, boring souls who are worried about our mortgages and the education of our children, and who may prefer an honest pint.

Or, in the case of the ladies on the jury, a small gin and tonic?

[shoes clacking loudly] The defense-- the def-- the defense will-- er, I beg your pardon.

The defendant will say that it was his mission to turn us all on, as if we were electric lights!

We are not electric lights, members of the jury, to be turned on and off.

Oh, forgive me.

[chatter] Angela's not here.

Angela?

Uh, no.

Henry tells me-- Henry tells me Angela has left.

You know, a matter of conscience, I believe.

[mumbling] Ah!

Mrs. Featherstone.

Er-- Mar-- excuse me.

Marigold, I have an apology to make to you.

Mr. Rumpole?

Yes.

Keeping your husband out all hours of the night, boozing at Pomeroys, disgusting habit.

And I have put a complete stop to it.

Yes, so I've noticed.

And the all-night sittings seem to have dropped off lately.

Really?

I get Guthrie for dinner nowadays.

How delicious!

Here I am, Rumpole.

Ah, there you are, my dear.

Yeah, you-- you know Mari-- oh, of course.

Oh, yes.

We sing together.

Yes.

He's coming to the carol service, aren't you, Rumpole?

Oh, do come, Mr. Rumpole.

We make a jolly, brave stab at "Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful."

Do you?

How jolly sporting of you.

I hate to miss it, but unfortunately, the pressure of working at Chambers-- Oh, you are coming to the carol service, Rumpole.

- I, er-- - Mrs. Rumpole.

Oh, thank you so much.

(MUTTERS) She Who Must Be Obeyed.

I'm sorry?

What-- oh, it's a must, I'm afraid.

Ah, there you are, Diane!

Thank you, my love.

Quiet, please, ladies and gentlemen.

Yes, silence in court!

I'm not going to make a speech.

Jolly good.

I, uh, I just wanted to welcome you all, members and wives, and those who are girlfriends and members, also, to our annual Christmas do.

We've had a very good year, Henry tells me, this year in Chambers.

That's why he's got a new suit on.

[laughs] And, uh, we've managed somehow to stick together throughout the year.

Except for somebody peeling off in the typing pool.

I just wanted to say-- "That he that hath no stomach to this fight--" Did you want to say something, Horace? "

--let him depart.

His passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy--" What's your husband talking about?

It's Shakespeare.

He does it all the time at home.

I just wish he wouldn't drink when we're out.

It's so dreadfully embarrassing.

RUMPOLE: "--fellowship to plead with us."

When people talk of a split in Chambers, or the possibility of any other than our distinguished Guthrie Featherstone, QC MP, as head of Chambers, they are making a grave error, a mistake.

Like those mistakes in identity that may cause such grave injustices in our court.

Guthrie Featherstone, QC MP, is a man fashioned by nature to be head of Chambers.

He couldn't possibly be anything else.

And we, Old Bailey hacks, the common soldiers at the Bar, shall attack a new year under his leadership, crying, God for Guthrie, Henry, and Diane!

[laughs] Happy Christmas!

MAN: Cheers!

[chatter] [glasses clinking] Sorry, old darling, you're lumbered with it.

[chatter, laughter] ♪ O come, all ye faithful ♪ Joyful and triumphant ♪ O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem ♪ ♪ Come and behold him ♪ Born the king of angels ♪ O come let us adore Him ♪ O come let us adore Him ♪ O come let us adore Him ♪ Christ the Lord.

♪ God of God ♪ Light of light ♪ Lo He abhors not ♪ The virgin's womb ♪ Very God ♪ Begotten not created.

♪ O come let us adore Him ♪ O come let us adore Him ♪ O come let us adore Him ♪ Christ the Lord [theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [audio logo]