[theme music] Rawr!

Rawr!

Rawr!

[roaring] [screaming] Tracy Timson, whatever possessed you?

Stupid cow.

Oh, no.

What's that, Rumpole?

Oh, a mere invitation, Hilda.

The Scales of Justice Ball at the Savoy Hotel.

Disgusting sight, Her Majesty's judges creaking around in a foxtrot.

You wouldn't enjoy that sort of thing, would you?

I suppose not, in the circumstances.

What circumstances?

It's too humiliating.

Oh, I quite agree.

Not a pretty sight.

The pirouetting Bollards and the waltzing Erskine-Browns.

Claude and Phylli dance rather well together.

Well, perhaps that's because they don't do much else together.

Why is it that you never lead me out onto the dance floor nowadays, Rumpole?

Ah, well, now, Hilda-- I sometimes dream about it.

We're at the Scales of Justice Ball at the Savoy Hotel on my birthday, and you lead me out onto the floor as the first lady in chambers.

Hilda, I have, as you know, many talents, but I am not Nijinsky, and we don't get much time to practice dancing down the Old Bailey.

[sobs] Oh, Hilda, you're not-- No, no.

No, of course not.

You must get to work.

Go on.

Work is the only thing that matters to you nowadays.

You'd rather defend a murderer than dance with your wife.

[music, shouting on tv] MAN (ON TV): My god, the goat of Mendes, the Devil himself.

[doorbell rings] Oh, Mum!

PEGGY MOLLOY: Shut up!

Mrs. Molloy?

Yeah, what is it?

You're Dominic's mum, aren't you?

What if I am?

Well, I'm Mirabelle Jones, from the local authority, social services.

Do call me Mirabelle.

I think Dominic is a little friend of my client Tracy Timson's, isn't he?

Wouldn't say we were friends to any of the Timsons, exactly.

Well, should we say a little classmate, then?

We're making a few inquiries about Tracy.

She in trouble, is she?

Let's say she's having a few problems.

Problems?

I should think she is, her being a Timson.

What kind of problems, exactly?

MIRABELLE JONES: You remember the children wearing those horrid masks at school, don't you, Dominic?

They scared me.

MIRABELLE JONES: I'm sure they did.

Did you see who was leading those children?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: In the end, I did.

Who was it, Dominic?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: Trace.

Tracy Timson?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: Yeah.

Your mum said you went round to Tracy Timson's a few times.

After school, was that?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: Yeah, after school.

Then you said you went somewhere else.

Where else, exactly?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: Where they put people.

A churchyard?

Was it a churchyard?

Saint Elphick's.

It was a churchyard.

Was it dark?

(TO SELF) After school.

It was late, a month ago, so it was dark.

Did a grown-up come with you?

A man, perhaps?

Did a man come with you?

He said we was to play a game.

What sort of game?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: He put something on his face.

A mask?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: Black, and horns on it.

A devil's mask.

Is that right, Dominic?

He wanted you to play at devils, this man did?

He said he was the devil.

(TO SELF) He was to be the devil.

And what were you supposed to be?

Perhaps you were the devil's children?

Was that the game you had to play?

DOMINIC MOLLOY: Dance around.

Dance around?

Now, I want you to tell me, Dominic, when did you meet this man?

At Tracy Timson's house?

Is that where you met him?

Do you know who he was, Dominic?

Who was he, Dominic?

You've been such a help to me so far.

Can you tell me who he was?

Tracy's dad.

[police radio chatter] [doorbell] [radio chatter] [phone ringing] [knocking] CARY TIMSON: [inaudible].

How do I know who it is?

All right, all right.

Don't have a bleeding dog then, will you?

What have you done, Cary?

CARY TIMSON: Oh, shut up, Roz, will you?

Oh, not again.

Look, this is well out of order.

Mr. Cary Timson?

Yeah, look, if it's about that shop down Gunter Avenue, I told you what I know, which is bugger all, right?

Mr. Timson, it's about your Tracy.

Tracy?

She's asleep upstairs in bed.

Isn't she asleep upstairs?

Are you Mum?

ROZ TIMSON: Of course I'm Mum.

What do you mean?

I'm Tracy's mum.

What do you want?

We want to look after your Tracy, Mum.

We feel she needs rather special care.

I'm sure you're both going to help us.

We do rely on mum and dad to be very sensible.

You've come to take her away, haven't you?

No, no, no, no.

We just-- ROZ TIMSON: You're not bloody taking her away.

We just want the very best for your little girl, that's all.

We do have a court order.

Now, shall we go and wake Tracy up ever so gently?

[roz crying] [house door opens] Now, I don't think we'll be needing toys where we're going, Tracy.

I'm sure Mum will look after her, won't she?

Mummy.

I want my mummy.

[crying] No!

TRACY TIMSON: Mummy!

[car starts] [crying] [birds chirping] [car door shuts] [car starts, drives away] You always done your best for the Timson family, Mr. Rumpole.

We know that.

Well, of course.

Timsons have been a source of gainful employment for many years.

You are the prop and stay of my old age.

You're not in trouble yourself, are you, Mr. Cary Timson?

Oh, no, nothing.

No, no.

They took me in for questioning about that shop that got done over down Gunter Avenue.

But that was well out of order because they've got no evidence.

It's young Tracy Timson my clients are concerned about, Mr. Rumpole.

Bloody marvelous, isn't it, eh?

Eight years old, and our Tracy needs a brief.

Eight?

She's starting young.

Yeah, Mr. Rumpole.

That's her when we was on holiday in Marbella.

I ask her, does she have a look of a villain?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Well, I'd say not a hardened criminal.

[chuckles] Childhood-- a difficult period, from what I can remember.

They wouldn't let her take her doll, not even her new Barbie.

A new what?

CARY TIMSON: Barbie doll.

She's got a collection of them, see?

She's really proud of her Barbies.

What's her crime, Mr. Rumpole?

That's what Roz and I wants to know.

What have you got on her charge sheet?

Nothing yet.

Oh, well, childhood is a crime in itself to some people.

Well, we can't seem to get any sense out of that Ms. Jones.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Jones?

Officer in charge of case.

Tracy's social worker.

Ah, one of the caring community.

Well, what does Jones say that Tracy's done?

All she'll say is that she's making further enquiries.

I never discovered what I'd done, either, when they banged me up at the age of eight.

Did they really, Mr. Rumpole?

Yeah, nobody ever explained the nature of my offense.

So there I was, condemned to cold baths and cross-country running, and a headmaster, no doubt, directly descended from Captain Bligh of The Bounty.

And all for the serious crime of being eight years old.

Our Tracy's eight years old, Mr. Rumpole.

Yeah, perhaps that's what they've got against her.

Only just eight.

All right, Tracy.

We're going to play with dolls.

You like dolls, don't you?

I haven't got no dolls here.

Well, these aren't Barbies, but they're very interesting.

You and I are going to play with them.

That'll be fun, won't it?

So look at this one.

This is Mum.

That's not my mum.

Oh, I know it's not your mum, Tracy.

I know that, love.

It's just mums in general, everyone's mum.

See?

Now look at her little apron.

Do you think she's going to do the washing up?

No.

Why not, Tracy?

Mum's got a dishwasher.

She doesn't need no apron.

[scoffs] Well, your mum's very lucky, isn't she?

And here's Dad.

He's got a mustache, hasn't he?

And here's Grandma.

Now, do you call her Grandma, Tracy?

Or do you call her Nan?

I call her Grandma.

MIRABELLE JONES: Well, she's got gray hair, hasn't she?

Look at her spectacles.

Not my grandma hasn't.

Oh.

Well, here's Grandpa.

There.

Can you see him?

Now, I want you to take any two of these dolls, any two of them.

Any two of these dolls.

Mum?

Yes, she's lying down.

I expect she's tired.

Grandpa.

What's Grandpa doing?

He's kissing my mum.

Is he?

Well, yes, I suppose he is.

[phone ringing] MAN (ON PHONE): Mirabelle.

Yes.

Mirabelle-- I think you should show her the picture now, Mirabelle.

Now, I want you to think about something else, Tracy.

Is there anything worrying you, Tracy?

You know who that is, don't you?

No.

It's the Devil, isn't it?

You know about devils.

You put on a devil's mask at school, didn't you, Tracy?

I might have done.

So what do you think of the Devil, then?

He's funny.

MIRABELLE JONES: Funny?

He's got a tail.

The tail's funny.

When did you first hear about the Devil, Tracy?

I don't know.

MIRABELLE JONES: Oh, you must know.

Did you hear about the Devil at home?

Was that it?

Did your dad tell you about the Devil?

Does that picture of the Devil remind you of anyone, Tracy?

Does it look like your dad at all?

Morning, all.

Oh, this is Ms. Clapton, Mr. Rumpole.

Hi.

Hello.

Yeah, taken over since Diane took leave of her senses.

Why, what's happened to Diane?

HENRY: Married, Mr. Rumpole-- Oh.

--to a junior clerk in a bankruptcy set.

I told her she'd live to regret it.

Well, welcome to Equity Court.

Ms. Clapton, is it?

Yep.

If you're very good, you may get parole in about 10 years.

Soft, you know, the fair Miss Probert.

What's that you're fondling there, old love?

What does it look like, Rumpole?

It looks suspiciously like a brief.

Got it in one.

Ah.

Time marches on.

My ex-pupil has begun to acquire briefs.

What's it about?

Bad case of nonrenewed dog license?

A bit more serious than that.

Oh, sorry.

I'm for the Crockthorpe local authority, Rumpole.

Are you indeed?

I am suitably overawed.

Little girl we had to take into care, in terrible danger in the home.

Father had a criminal record, you know what it is.

As a matter of fact, it may be a name you're familiar with.

Oh?

Timson.

Oh, so they've taken away our Timson girl, have they?

Why?

Because of the father's criminal record?

Oh, not just that.

Something rather awful going on.

Oh.

Devil worship.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Well, Devil worship!

Quite seriously.

The family were deeply into it.

It's a shocking case.

Really?

Tell me, Ms. Liz, do you believe in the Devil?

Of course I don't, Rumpole.

Don't be so ridiculous.

Anyway, that's hardly the point.

Oh, isn't it?

Well, it interests me.

You see, I am likely to be against you in the court of family proceedings.

As you know, I am by way of being the attorney general for the Timson family.

You, Rumpole, on the side of the Devil?

Well, why not?

They tell me he has all the best lines.

Ah, Horace, do you know Charlie Wisbeach?

Never heard of him.

Ah.

Wisbeach, Bottomley, Perkins, and Harris.

Oh, good God.

Are they all here?

[laughs] I think Claude's talking about my dad's firm.

You must be Rumpole.

My father was wondering if you were still practicing.

No, I've stopped practicing.

I think I can do it now.

It would be a great experience to join you.

To join me?

To what, exactly?

Charlie has done his pupillage in commercial chambers.

He wants to come to us to sharpen up his advocacy.

Oh, where would he like to sharpen it?

I think there may be an inch or two in the downstairs loo.

I thought we agreed there was no more room at the inn.

There is your room, Rumpole.

Yes, and there is me in it.

We thought you just might be prepared to share.

Charlie has a very impressive CV.

C-what?

Curriculum vitae, Rumpole.

Eton.

Eton.

Oh, he's good at that, too, is he?

I thought it was mainly drinkin'.

[laughter] Claude's probably referring to the old school, Slough Grammar.

Oh, of course.

CHARLIE WISBEACH: No, really.

We thought that you'd be out and about in court most of the time, and I'd be putting my brief in the golden handcuffs share and flotation case onto the floppy disk.

Charlie would drag your room, Rumpole, into the 20th century.

I thought it could do with a spot of decorating.

It's such a lovely old spot.

Claude showed me.

When?

When you were out at Snaresbrook, Rumpole.

Oh.

Rather like you, sir, your room is part of history.

Fine views over the churchyard.

Don't you look straight down at Dr. Johnson's tomb?

Oliver Goldsmith, as a matter of fact.

[laughs] No, it's Johnson's.

Goldsmith.

Want to bet?

Not particularly.

Let's face it, it isn't an arrangement that would have to last forever.

After such a magnificent career, you must be thinking about retirement.

Must I?

And in the meantime, Rumpole, think of the work Wisbeaches could send us.

And I would like it to be known that I still have work to do, and I do it best alone as a free spirit.

Wrongs are still to be righted.

Mr. Justice Graves is still putting the boot in, Inspector Brush is still referring to his unreliable notebook, and an eight-year-old Timson girl has been banged up against her will-- not in Eton College, like you, Master Charlie, but into the tender mercy of the Crockthorpe local authority.

A child is suspected of devil worship.

Can you believe it?

An offense I thought went out with the Inquisition and the burning of witches.

Is that your case, Rumpole?

Oh, yes, indeed, and I have a worthy opponent-- none other than Ms. Liz Probert, with the full might of the local authority behind her.

So, while there are still such challenges to be contested, let me tell you, Claude, and you too, Charlie Whatsit, Rumpole shall never sheath the sword.

Never!

[squeaks] Oh, I'm sorry, there, miss.

[clears throat] MAN: That's where I've been going wrong all these years.

Funny old buffer.

HENRY: And in this file, we keep the late-- Henry, where's Mr. Ballard?

Just a moment, if you please.

I'm just showing Ms. Clapton the ropes.

Ropes?

What ropes?

The ropes of chambers, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

You weren't here earlier, which is unfortunate.

Otherwise, you'd have known that Ms. Clapton is joining us for secretarial duties, Diane having got it into her head to go and get married.

Well, you can't tell some people.

Ms. Clapton.

Welcome, Ms. Clapton.

I hope you'll be very happy here, very happy indeed.

Any problems, you know who to come to?

Yeah, she'll come to me, Mr. Erskine-Brown, as head of department.

Yes, of course, but any special problems.

By the way, Ms. Clapton is a bit of a mouthful.

What shall I call you?

Call me early.

[laughter] As it so happens, my name's Dot.

Dot?

What a beautiful name, Dot.

Yeah, now, over here, we have the appointments down in, Ms. Clapton, what I call the chambers bible.

Henry, did Mr. Rumpole have a conference with the parents of the child Ms. Probert's taken into care?

HENRY: Yeah, with Mr. and Mrs. Timson.

Yes, sir.

Why?

A conference in his rooms, in this very chambers?

In Mr. Rumpole's room, yeah.

Where else would he have it, sir?

In his rooms?

Yes, of course he did.

Where else?

And where did you say Mr. Ballard was?

I didn't say, but he's at his Lawyers as Christians group.

It's their annual service.

Mr. Ballard is in the Temple Church.

In church?

How very appropriate.

PRIEST: And the Lord said unto Satan, whence comest thou?

And Satan answered, from going to and fro in the world, from walking up and down in it.

Sounds commonplace, doesn't it?

Just like an ordinary person.

But then we think of evil as a person, don't we?

As a he or a she, not an it.

From walking up and down.

Well, Satan can be just another face in the crowd.

And we must always be on our guard against him, for the Fallen Angel is the great enemy.

We will now sing Hymn 181.

I say, Ballard-- Erskine-Brown, have you joined us?

Yes, of course.

Subscription's in the post.

You need all our support, but I had to tell you about Rumpole as a matter of urgency.

Please, Erskine-Brown, this is no place to be discussing such matters as Rumpole.

[singing] (SINGING) --mysterious way, his wonders to perform.

Devil-worshipers.

(SINGING) He-- --footsteps on the sea.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Rumpole's in with devil-worshipers.

(SINGING) --on the storm.

What did you say?

(SINGING) Rumpole, in his disgraceful way, has taken on a case about some devil-worshipers.

He's had them in your place.

In your chambers, I mean.

[singing continues] [car engine shuts off] [phone rings] HORACE RUMPOLE (ON PHONE): Hello?

Hello, it's Horace, Horace Rumpole.

You told me to ring early.

HILDA RUMPOLE (ON PHONE): Oh, I was thinking about you.

Yes, look, could you manage lunchtime?

I think I can get away.

The usual place?

HILDA RUMPOLE (ON PHONE): Yes, of course.

Ah, splendid.

Bye.

The Devil?

Tracy don't know nothing about the Devil.

Course not.

It's not as if we went to church, Mr. Rumpole.

Are you sure that you've never meddled in this sort of thing, hey?

Satan, the spirit of evil?

You're telling me the Timson family knows nothing whatever about these matters?

Of course not.

Nothing at all.

Well, when the bill came that night, what did you think they were after?

I thought they'd come about that shop that got done over.

You know, Wedge's, down Gunter Avenue.

They've had me down in the nick time and time again about it.

And that wasn't you?

No, straight up.

Would I lie to you?

Uh-huh, it has been known.

No, but I'll believe you.

Do you know who did it?

- Yeah.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Who?

No, Mr. Rumpole, I won't grass.

I won't do it.

I've had enough trouble being accused on grassing on Gareth Molloy when he was sent down for the Tobler Road supermarket.

But the Molloys and the Timsons are deadly enemies.

How would you know what they were up to?

Yeah, well, they thought I knew something, you see, because my mate Barry Pilgrim was driving for them on that occasion.

They thought I'd grassed to Inspector Brush.

But, I mean, would I do a thing like that?

No, I don't suppose you would.

So you thought the bill had come about some ordinary, legitimate crime.

You had no worries about young Tracy?

She's a good girl, Mr. Rumpole.

Then where the devil did these ideas come from?

Oh, sorry, perhaps I shouldn't have said that.

[floorboards creaking] There they are, Ballard, the devil-worshipers.

That's them.

They've just come out of Rumpole's room.

[door opens] [clears throat] Rumpole, you have had them in here.

Had who in here, Ballard?

Those who owe allegiance to The Evil One.

Oh, you mean Mr. Justice Graves' fan club?

No, they haven't been near the place.

Rumpole, you know perfectly well who I mean.

Oh, yes, yes, yes.

They were all here, yes-- Mephistopheles, Beelzebub, Belial.

And high on a throne of royal state which far outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, Satan, exalted, sat, by merit raised to that bad eminence.

And from despair, thus high uplifted without hope-- [clicks tongue] Oh, grow up, Ballard.

I'm representing an eight-year-old child that has been snatched from the bosom of a family and banged up without a trial, and she doesn't even know the charges against her.

You see before you Rumpole, the protector of the innocent.

The protector of devil-worshipers.

Those, too, if necessary.

Rumpole.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes?

Every decent chambers has to draw the line somewhere.

Does it?

There are certain cases-- certain clients, even-- which are simply, well, not acceptable.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, I do agree.

Do you?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, yes, yes.

Defending a dubious bank, for example, as in the golden handcuffs share case.

Now, that sort of thing would be quite unacceptable at these chambers.

Don't you agree, Ballard?

[clears throat] Rumpole, young Charlie Wisbeach wants to come into these chambers.

Unfortunately, we have no room for him at the moment.

Oh, poor Charlie.

Has he thought of a cardboard box in middle Temple Lane, if they'll have him?

Rumpole, this is neither the time nor the place for one of your jokes.

You are here on a tenancy, and tenancies can be brought to an end.

Rumpole, there is something in this room that makes me feel uneasy.

Yes, I know, but perhaps you'll be going in a minute.

I've given you fair warning, Rumpole.

I expect you to think about it.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Ballard, why don't you look up "exorcism" in the Yellow Pages?

I believe there's an unfrocked bishop in the Balls Pond Road that'll give you a very good price.

[chatter] Return to Knightsbridge, please.

1.63.

There we are.

Ta.

MAN: Time to go.

[knocks] Oh, hello.

Come in, Horace.

Thank you, my dear.

[birds chirping] [piano playing] You just caught sight of him, did you, Hilda?

Knightsbridge station.

Well, Rumpole's got no business coming out of Knightsbridge station at lunchtime, unless he was up to no good, which of course he was.

Up to absolutely no good at all, the devil.

Well, what are you going to do?

I'm going to think about it.

Heavens, Marigold, if I hadn't been on my way to have lunch with you here at Harrods, I'd never have spotted Rumpole.

Are you going to face him with it?

Well, of course I am.

Not just yet, perhaps, not quite yet.

I shall choose my moment carefully.

When will it be, Hilda?

It will be exactly when it suits me.

Which will be when?

When he least expects it.

1, 2, quick, quick, slow, slow, quick.

Now back to the left foot.

Slow, quick, quick, slow, slow.

Quick, quick, slow, slow.

Chasse, chasse, chasse, and now back.

Left, right.

Quick, quick, slow.

MIRABELLE JONES (ON TV): Is that right, Dominic?

He wanted you to play at devils, this man did?

He said he was the devil.

He was the devil.

And what were you supposed to be, Dominic?

Perhaps you were the devil's children?

I object.

CHAIRWOMAN: Mr. Rumpole?

HORACE RUMPOLE: I object, Ma'am.

That, that was a leading question.

The concept of devil's children was being suggested to the witness.

That evidence is entirely inadmissible, as your clerk will no doubt tell you, if he knows his business.

CHAIRWOMAN: Mr. Rumpole, Ms. Jones is an extremely experienced social worker.

I think we can rely on her to put her questions in the proper manner.

I was merely venturing to point out, Madam, that on this occasion, Ms. Jones put the question in an entirely improper manner.

My bench will see the film out to the end, Mr. Rumpole.

You'll have a chance to make any points later.

Her master's voice.

My point, Madam, is that you should not be seeing this film at all.

We're going to continue with it now, Mr. Rumpole.

MIRABELLE JONES (ON TV): Was that the game you had to play?

DOMINIC MOLLOY (ON TV): Dance around.

MIRABELLE JONES (ON TV): Dance around?

I want you to tell me, Dominic, when did you meet this man?

Tracy Timson's house-- is that where you met him?

It's a leading question.

MIRABELLE JONES (ON TV): Do you know who he was, Dominic?

Who was he, Dominic?

You've been such a help to me so far.

Can you tell me who he was?

Tracy's dad.

Oh, Madam, you are not going to allow this as evidence, surely?

It is pure hearsay.

What a child said to a social worker, a child who has not been called as a witness and who we have not had the opportunity to cross-examine, is nothing but hearsay.

It is absolutely worthless.

Madam Chair.

Yes, Ms. Probert?

Mr. Rumpole is used to practicing at the Old Bailey.

And has a nodding acquaintance with the rules of evidence.

And of course, this court is not bound by such strict rules.

Where the welfare of a child is concerned, you are not tied down to a lot of legal quibbles about hearsay.

Legal quibbles?

You are free, with the able assistance of Ms. Mirabelle Jones, the social worker, to get to the truth of the matter.

My learned friend was my pupil.

I spent months, a year of my life, bringing her up with the rudimentary knowledge of the law.

Mr. Rumpole, my bench would like to get on with the evidence.

Speeches will come later.

Oh, they will, Madam.

They most certainly will.

Let me give you a tip, Rumpole.

What?

I should keep off the law if I were you.

They don't like it in the family proceedings court.

Ms. Jones, we are grateful for the thoroughness with which you have gone into this difficult case on behalf of the authorities.

MIRABELLE JONES: Thank you, Madam Chairman.

And we have seen the interview you carried out with Tracy on the video film.

Now, was there anything about that interview which you thought especially significant?

It was when I showed her the picture of the devil.

She wasn't frightened at all.

In fact, she smiled.

I thought perhaps it was-- HORACE RUMPOLE: Ah!

Is there any point in me telling you that what this witness thought is not evidence?

Please carry on, if you'd be so kind, Ms. Jones.

MIRABELLE JONES: I thought it was because it reminded her of someone she knew pretty well, someone like her dad.

Someone like her dad?

Yes.

Have you any questions, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, yes, Madam.

Ms. Mirabelle Jones, you are, I take it, against cruelty to children?

Of course.

That goes without saying.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, does it?

Can you think of a more cruel act for a child than to come at night with the Old Bill and snatch it away from its mother and father without even a barb or a doll as consolation?

A Barbie doll, Mr. Rumpole.

What?

I think your client said Barbie doll, Mr. Rumpole.

Well, yes, that or a single toy.

We don't want the children to be disturbed by thoughts of-- HORACE RUMPOLE: What, by thoughts of home?

Well, yes.

You wanted Tracy to concentrate on your dotty idea of devil worship?

It wasn't a dotty idea, Mr. Rumpole.

I had to act quickly.

Tracy had to be removed from the presence of evil.

Ah, evil.

Now, then, what-- what do you mean by that, exactly?

Well, you ought to know, Mr. Rumpole.

Haven't you had plenty of experience of that down at the Old Bailey?

Oh, well played, Ms. Probert.

No doubt about it, your pupiling days are over.

Ms. Jones, let us come down, for a moment, from the world of gossip and hearsay and legend and fantasy to what we call down at the Old Bailey hard facts.

You know that my client, Cary Timson, is a small-time thief and a minor villain.

I have submitted in evidence the list of his criminal convictions, yes.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes.

Is it the sort of record, Mr. Rumpole, you might expect a good father to have?

Cary Timson is a humble member of the Clan Timson, a vast family of South London villains.

Remind us, if you would, of the name of that imaginative little boy that you interviewed on prime-time television.

Dominic Molloy.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Molloy, yes.

And as we have heard so often, you are a widely experienced social worker-- MIRABELLE JONES: I think so.

--with a vast knowledge of social life in this part of South London.

I get to know a good deal.

Of course I do.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes, of course.

So it will come as no surprise to you when I suggest that the Molloys are a family of villains of a rather more dangerous nature than the Timsons.

I didn't know that, Mr. Rumpole.

But if you say so-- HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, I do say so.

Did you meet Dominic's mother, Mrs. Peggy Molloy?

Yes.

I had a good old chat with Mum over a cuppa.

HORACE RUMPOLE: And over a cuppa, did Mum Molloy tell you that Gareth, Dominic's father, is in Wandsworth Prison as a result of the Tobler Road supermarket robbery with violence?

Mr. Rumpole, my bench is wondering if this is entirely relevant.

If your bench listens very carefully, it may well find out, sir.

Did you know that?

I didn't know that Dominic's dad was in prison, no.

And did you know that Dominic's father suspects Tracy's dad here, as you would call him, of being the police informer who put him there?

No, I didn't, Mr. Rumpole.

Ms. Jones, are you telling this bench that, as an experienced social worker, you did not trouble to find out the deep hatred that exists between the Timsons and the Molloys, a hatred which goes back over generations of villainy to the dark days when Crockthorpe was a village, and the local villains swung outside Newgate Prison?

I have nothing about that in my file.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Nothing in your file.

And has your file considered that young Dominic might be encouraged to put an innocent young girl from a rival family in the frame, as we call it down the Bailey?

It seems rather far-fetched to me.

Far-fetched, Ms. Jones?

You, who believe in devil worship?

It's all very well to accuse the deeply caring Ms. Jones of guessing, Bonny Bernard.

We've got to tell those old darlings on the bench where the hell those masks came from.

Eh!

Our client, Mr. Cary Timson-- - Oh, you mean Dad?

- Oh, yes.

Well, he denies all knowledge.

Well, he would, wouldn't he?

[laughs] The honor of the Timsons.

Just a minute.

What's the name of this street?

It isn't, by any chance-- All right, who did rob Wedge's Carnival Novelty shop?

Mr. Rumpole, don't ask me.

You know I can't-- HORACE RUMPOLE: I know, you can't grass.

The code of the Timsons.

Well, let me tell you, Mr. Cary Timson, there's something far more important than your precious code.

Let's see that wallet of yours again.

That photograph you were so pleased to show me the other day?

Yes, that's the one.

Take a good look at it.

Is she less important than honor among thieves?

Bloody joke shop.

I told you it was daft, robbing a joke shop.

Ah, there was always money left in the till overnight.

Our info told us that.

Security was hopeless.

We went straight through the back door.

What do you want to leave the stuff around my place for, anyway?

Well, Fred's place was under constant surveillance.

So was mine.

Seeing as how you and Roz were both in Marbella-- Yeah, thanks very much.

And don't I know where you kept your garage key.

Yeah, well, it's lucky the Old Bill never thought of looking at him, wasn't it?

I meant to go back for the stuff sometime.

Seeing as it's such a trivial matter, it slipped my mind, to be quite honest.

Well, it was no trivial matter for our Tracy.

No.

No, I know that Roz.

I'm sorry about that, love.

Look, Dan, we're not asking you to put your hands up to Inspector Brush.

Yes, we are, Cary.

That's just what were asking.

You've got to, for our Tracy.

Hang about a bit.

Who says we've got to?

Mr. Rumpole!

Hi, Julie.

JULIE: Hello, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, Rumpole, old man.

Glass of Bolly?

Oh, why?

Oh, why not?

Yes.

What are we celebrating?

Ballard asked me in for a chat.

It seems there may be a vacancy in your chambers.

Ah.

Where Ballard is, there is always a vacancy.

[laughter] What do you mean, exactly?

Oh, I'm sorry.

Haven't you had a bit of a falling-out?

I was not aware that we'd ever had a falling-in.

[laughs] Well, you don't see eye to eye.

He gave me that impression.

- Oh, really?

What about, exactly?

CHARLIE WISBEACH: Oh, some case you were doing about devils?

I wasn't exactly clear.

But he said you'd be taking yourself off to pastures new.

I'm afraid it'll be a bit of a wrench, won't it, leaving that beautiful old room looking down on the Temple Church and Oliver Goldsmith's tomb.

- Oh, really, Charlie?

- Yeah, really.

[laughs] Oh, you-- you mean Sam Johnson's?

[laughs] You told me it was Oliver Goldsmith.

No, no, no, I told you it was Dr. Johnson.

Goldsmith!

Look, I've got 10 pounds that says it's Johnson.

I'll give you odds.

3 to 1 against Johnson.

Oliver Goldsmith-- evens.

20 to 1, the field.

Done!

Look, why don't we check on it now, hmm?

30 quid in my pocket.

I'll take a taxi home.

10 quid down, and you'll walk.

[laughter] All right.

Come on, Arabella.

Bring the bottle, old girl.

Oh, gosh, what a hoot.

[laughter] I'll catch you up.

I just want to make a phone call.

[phone ringing] Hello?

Oh, Ballard, I'm glad I caught you.

SAMUEL BALLARD (ON PHONE): What is it, Rumpole?

Well, I saw the chamber's lights on.

You said you'd be working late.

Listen, Ballard, why don't you go into my room, take a look out my window, across to the Temple Church yard?

SAMUEL BALLARD (ON PHONE): What's it all about?

Well, I think something absolutely appalling might be going on.

SAMUEL BALLARD (ON PHONE): Rumpole, is there-- No, absolutely nothing to do with me, but I thought you ought to know.

[overlapping speech] I beg your pardon.

- [exclaims] - Hang on, hang on.

Where is it?

Look, there's something.

Oof, by God!

What's this?

Leave it there.

Leave it there.

BOTH: Here lies Oliver Goldsmith.

ARABELLA: Charlie!

[laughter] Come on, Charlie.

[laughter] Oh, cheers!

[arabella laughing] Well, I was after the money, really.

Well, I suppose I got a bit greedy, so I shoved a few of those boxes in the back of the vehicle.

I didn't want to take them back to my place, so I-- well, I shoved them into Cary's garage.

Now, why did you do that?

Ah, well, young Cary didn't have anything to do with the Wedges job, so I thought they'd be safe enough there.

Of course, I was under considerable pressure of work at that time.

And well, you know, it slipped my mind to tell Cary and Roz about it.

Did you happen to see what was inside any of those boxes?

DENNIS TIMSON: Oh, yes.

Oh, yes, yes.

I had a look inside.

Oh yeah.

It just seemed to be a lot of carnival masks, you know?

That sort of old rubbish.

So young Tracy getting hold of the devil masks-- that was just the usual cock-up, was it?

What did you say, Mr. Rumpole?

[stutters] Just the usual stock-up for Christmas, Madam Chairperson.

One more thing, Mr. Dennis Timson.

Do you know why young Dominic accused Tracy and her father of fiendish rituals in a churchyard?

DENNIS TIMSON: Oh, yeah, yeah.

Of course I do, yeah.

Well, Peggy Molloy told Barry Pilgrim's wife.

And then, well, Barry's wife told my Doreen down at the Needle Arms last Thursday.

Can't possibly have this evidence.

Oh, really?

Whyever not?

What Barry's wife told Mrs. Timson is pure hearsay.

Of course it is.

And pure hearsay is permitted in the court of family proceedings.

Where the interest of the child is at stake, we are not bound by legal quibbles.

What exactly did you hear, Mr. Dennis Timson?

Well, Gareth thought that Cary had grassed him up over the Tobler Road supermarket job.

So they got young Dominic to put the frame around Tracy and her dad.

So what you are telling us, Mr. Timson, is that this little boy's evidence was a pure invention?

You can't trust the Molloys, can you, milady?

Everybody knows that.

They're a right family of villains.

[laughter] Oh!

Look, she's our best clothes on just for you.

Quick, there's a big surprise waiting for you at home.

Jump in.

[car starts] [door closes] HORACE RUMPOLE: Hilda, Hilda!

Good news, Hilda.

Oh, excellent news!

You seem very full of yourself, Rumpole.

Surprised by joy, impatient as the wind, I turn to share the transport, oh, with whom but thee?

Been having a good time, have you, Rumpole?

A great time, Hilda.

I managed to extricate young Tracy Timson from the clutches of the caring society.

She is now back, safe in the bosom of her family.

Oh, yes, I'll be getting another brief, defending Dennis Timson on a charge of stealing from Wedges Carnival Novelty Shop.

Oh, well, I expect I'll think of something.

Rumpole, don't you think it's time we talked for once?

Is there something that you feel you ought to tell me?

Well, yes, Hilda.

As a matter of fact, there is.

And I suppose you've had time to think up some ridiculous defense?

No, no, I plead guilty.

There are no mitigating circumstances.

Oh, Rumpole, how could you?

Well, temporary madness, I suppose.

But I did it, and it cost a fortune.

You had to pay?

You don't get that sort of thing for nothing, Hilda.

No, I imagine not.

100 smackers, it cost to celebrate your birthday.

Two tickets for the Scales of Justice Ball, Hilda.

Happy birthday.

Now, what was it you wanted us to talk about?

Perhaps some other time, Rumpole.

[music playing] [chatter] It's too bad Guthrie's sitting in Newcastle.

Yes, he's so sorry to miss all the fun.

Phylli's away in Swansea, prosecuting in the leisure-center murder.

Never mind, Claude.

I'll dance with you.

Yes, Erskine-Brown, you have my full permission to shake a foot with my wife.

[laughter] Well, thank you very much.

I say, I thought Charlie Wisbeach and his girlfriend were joining us.

No, Erskine-Brown, Wisbeach will not be joining us-- not at this table, and certainly not in chambers.

Really?

I thought he was more or less fit.

No, Claude.

More or less unstuck, I'm afraid.

Have you faced him with it yet, Hilda?

Well, I'm waiting for the right moment.

MARIGOLD FEATHERSTONE: It seems a long time coming.

I was going to tell him, and then he told me we were coming here, and he behaved well, of course.

They do, occasionally.

Don't let it put you off.

May I ask you why Charlie Wisbeach isn't joining us after all?

Not on this otherwise happy occasion, Erskine-Brown.

I can only say, practices.

Well, of course he practices, in the commercial court.

Do you know anything about this, Rumpole?

Who, me?

Know anything?

No, no, absolutely nothing at all.

SAMUEL BALLARD: I have told Wisbeach we simply have no accommodation for him.

I did not regard him as a suitable candidate to share Rumpole's room.

Well, I must-- And I think it better that we never refer to the matter again.

Now, as head of chambers, I think I should lead my wife out onto the dance floor.

No, Ballard.

With all due respect, as the oldest serving chamber member's wife, she who is Mrs. Rumpole should be led out first.

Oh, would you like to go?

Would you care to dance, Hilda?

Rumpole, are you sure you can manage it?

Oh, perfectly confident, thank you.

Rumpole, your chasses?

Oh, yes, I do that quite a lot these days.

Whatever did you learn?

Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Hilda-- If you're capable of such a thing.

--the former Southern Counties ballroom champion.

Looked her up in the Yellow Pages, took a few lessons.

A Ms. Isadora Fern.

In Mowbray Crescent?

Hilda, you knew?

Don't think you could ever do anything that I don't know about, Rumpole.

[laughter] [music playing] Ah, Ballard.

Oh, really quite nippy on your feet, Rumpole.

Marguerite Ballard is looking absolutely green with envy.

[laughs] You are an old devil, Rumpole.

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