[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [casterini playing] ♪ ♪ For god's sake, turn that damn thing off.

It's keeping me awake.

You need to concentrate.

You need to be listening to the music.

I was listening with my eyes shut.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [snoring] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [applause] Bravo!

HORACE RUMPOLE: Nymph, in thy orisons, be all my sins remembered.

In my view, Claude, there's more music in those words than in all the quartets ever written.

It was actually a trio, Rumpole.

Perhaps he wasn't awake long enough to notice.

Oh, don't be ridiculous, Hilda.

Of course, I noticed.

Rumpole needs civilizing, Claude.

It was a wonderful experience.

It quite took me out of myself.

Me, too, Hilda.

Schubert always does that.

Yes, wonderful, Claude.

Could you climb back into yourself for another large gin and tonic, Hilda?

Same again, please.

Hello.

Oh, hello.

It is Mr. Rumpole, isn't it?

I suppose, it must be.

You won't remember me.

Someone I once knew at college, Billy Halliday, he was in trouble and you got him off.

Well, he was innocent, actually.

Oh, well, naturally.

He must have been.

I thought you were absolutely brilliant in court.

You were so brave and, well, commanding.

I mean, I only watched it from the galley.

A large G and T, a B and S, and an LP.

LP?

Large plum.

Oh, yes.

Of course.

There we are.

Keep the change.

Well, I-- I'll have to go.

I'm with some people.

I'd love to meet you again, if ever you felt you had any time for me.

The criminals of England are keeping me rather busy, unfortunately.

You must stop for lunch sometimes.

I'd love to talk to you again, hear what you felt about the concert, and other things, perhaps.

936-27-09, we're there most mornings.

Elizabeth!

You coming, Elizabeth?

I've got to go.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, there we are.

Thank you, Rumpole.

Well, thank you, Claude.

It was a wonderful evening.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes, indeed, wonderful.

HILDA RUMPOLE: What are you doing, Rumpole?

Oh, just writing down the name of that tune they were playing.

What was it, Claude?

Schubert, Rumpole, "Piano Trio in b-flat major, Opus 99.

It's already there in the program.

Oh is it?

Oh, well, fancy that.

Yes, well, I've got it now.

Well, cheers.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Cheers.

Good morning, Dot.

Hello, sir.

Enjoying the work, are you?

No worries?

We senior men are, of course, anxious to see the Chambers is a happy ship.

Working with Henry can be a bit of a headache, I imagine.

Our Clark's always had a dominating personality.

I think I can cope with Henry.

Thank you, sir.

We come from the same neck of the woods, you know.

Oh, really?

Which neck's that?

Bexleyheath.

We have a tough breed of woman there, sir.

We can look after ourselves.

Oh, good afternoon, Dot.

Yes, it's a two-handed problem.

He's given me three weeks.

Three weeks?

I'm going to miss you, Dave.

Morning, Liz!

Morning, Inchcape!

Hello there, Rumpole.

Wasn't that a-- I'm sorry, Erskine-Brown-- heavily engaged on the-- terrible pressure of work!

[casterini trio playing] ♪ ♪ [phone ringing] The quality of romance, that's the gift Schubert brings.

For god's sake, Tom, where's your soul?

You can't play the notes as though they were a railway timetable!

If you actually gave us the notes, it would make it easier!

You can't just play romance, you know.

It's got some bloody difficult chords attached to it.

Well, I've be thinking about you, actually.

Well, we usually break about 1:00.

1:30, perfect.

Just a little off the mustache, Mr. Rumpole?

It knocks years off you, sir.

Oh, do you really think so?

Oh, sure of it, absolutely sure of it.

And with the hair left in the fuller fashion-- will you be having any fragrancy on that, sir?

Fragrancy?

Oh, what are you offering?

Machismo, Mr. Rumpole, just a light, manly sort of perfume.

And very you, if I may say so, sir.

Really?

BARBER: May I waft some on, sir?

Oh, waft away, if you're really sure, yes.

Our younger customers say, this does wonders for their quality of life.

Really?

There we are, a truly distinguished head of hair, sir.

Seems a shame to put that old hat of yours on it, sir.

Bye, darling.

Don't be late.

Of course not.

See you, Tom.

[buzzer rings] [casterini trio playing] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ HORACE RUMPOLE: Now, I don't know what you'd like.

Steak and kidney, rare beef, grouse?

You don't eat meat, do you?

Oh, it has been known.

Oh, how long has this been going on?

Oh, I suppose I must have gone through a couple of herds of cows over the years, a flock or two of sheep.

Mr. Rumpole!

- Horace, please.

- Horace?

Yes, I'm afraid so.

You don't believe in killing animals, do you?

Well, don't they spend quite a bit of their time killing each other?

Well, perhaps you should have more respect for them than they do for themselves.

Oh, yes, of course, naturally, yes.

Every time I pass a sheep, I take my hat off.

Oh, are you making a joke?

Bad habit I've got into.

Look at all these meat eaters around us, pink faces, accountants, probably.

You don't want to look like them, do you?

Are you ready to order, sir?

How about a selection of fresh vegetables?

Oh, well, if you really think so.

And perhaps some cheese afterwards?

Oh, don't let's go mad.

Just vegetables for you, Mr. Rumpole?

Of course!

Do I look like an accountant?

You look very good.

And so do you.

In fact, you look beautiful, all sort of silvery.

You mean knocking on a bit?

Oh, I don't think age matters in the least.

Really?

No, not in the least when it comes to love.

In fact, I can love almost anybody, Horace.

Can't you?

You strike me as being someone full of love.

Oh, well, yes.

I suppose I could love people, yes, with a few exceptions, of course.

Mr. Justice Oliphant, for example, and Sam Ballard, our Head of Chambers.

What's the matter with him, Horace?

Isn't he lovable?

Oh, I wouldn't say that being lovable is one of Soapy Sam's obvious qualities, no.

Well, love him.

Why did you want to have lunch with me?

Does there have to be a reason?

There usually is.

You say that because you're a lawyer.

I just admired you so much when you were doing Billy's case.

And then, when I saw you looking at me during the Schubert, I-- I thought I'd like to get to know you better.

Would you care to order your wine, sir?

Wine?

Oh, I don't think we need any artificial stimulation, do we?

Oh, well, perhaps just a small glass of-- Meeting you is enough to intoxicate me.

Isn't it the same for you?

Yes, of course, more than enough, yes.

What's the water like here?

Quite honestly, I've never tried it.

Seems to me, there's a lot of things you haven't tried.

I suppose I wanted to get to know you better because I need someone to talk to, someone wise.

Would you care to taste your water, Mr. Rumpole?

No, thank you.

I've been so lonely lately.

Oh, I can't believe that.

You're part of the trio!

Well, we still play marvelously together.

But Tom can't seem to realize I am married to Desmond.

Desmond?

Desmond Casterini, the leader.

Tom's got this awful, ridiculous jealousy.

Tom?

The cello.

And Desmond's terribly suspicious of Tom, for absolutely no reason.

And the atmosphere, it's-- it's intolerable.

Sometimes, I can hardly breathe.

From immortal trio to eternal triangle.

Oh, yes.

It's just, the two men, that jealousy has become a sort of obsession for them, a kind of unholy bond between them.

Can you understand that?

Oh, I can understand them quarreling over you, yes.

A remote object they're busy fighting over.

And Desmond-- he's got this wild blood in him.

What do you mean, wild blood?

His father's half-Italian, half-Irish, and very passionate, apparently, when he was young.

It's his father's gun.

His what?

It's an old Army revolver.

Desmond keeps it as a sort of memento.

You mean it works, with ammunition and-- oh, lord, hand it in to the police.

It must be pretty unnerving for a vegetarian.

Yes.

Sometimes, I feel I can't bear it.

I just want to get miles away from them both.

I'm sure.

It wouldn't be so bad if you and I could meet occasionally, so I could have someone to talk to.

Oh, I don't see why that shouldn't be arranged.

Sometimes, I feel as if something horrible is going to happen.

Don't ask me what, exactly.

[vocalizing] HENRY TRENCH: Call it love.

Call it lust.

Call it a mixture of both.

I don't give a damn what you call it.

It's the shine on your hair, the deep pools of your eyes, the suggestion of soft breasts behind that modest white shirt, the whisper your stockings make when you cross your legs and sit beside me, your long, cool fingers.

DOT CLAPTON: You mustn't say those things.

You know you mustn't!

HENRY TRENCH: Why?

Because you want to hear them too much?

DOT CLAPTON: No, it's not that.

HENRY TRENCH: Is it fear, my darling?

No need to be afraid.

We should be together somewhere far away from the gray little people we work for, just you and I.

Two will become one when our bodies mingle.

What's been going on in here?

We've been at work, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

We have been sending out bills and invoices for your fees, so that you and our other gentlemen in Chambers don't go without your little comforts.

It may seem dull, unexciting work to you, Mr. Erskine-Brown, compared to your scintillating practice.

But we do it, sir.

And we do it to the best of our poor abilities.

And we do it best without interruption.

So is there something I can help you over, Mr. Erskine-Brown?

Not at the moment, Henry.

I shall have to consider any further course of action most carefully.

I'm sure you understand that.

I'll speak to you later.

Ballard.

Ballard!

Yes, Erskine-Brown.

What is it?

I am on my way into church for my quiet moment.

Yes, well, you better say a prayer for Chambers.

We're in deep trouble, Ballard.

I have every reason to suspect that we have a serious case of harassing in our midst.

What on Earth is harassing?

Well, "har-assing" then.

But people call it harassing nowadays, because Americans do.

I don't understand that, Erskine-Brown.

You are not American.

Anyway, I'm always being "har-assed" by solicitors who want their papers the day before yesterday, and by Henry, who wants me in two places at once, and even by Marguerite, god bless her, who wants me to do a spot of do it yourself.

Yes, but this is sexual harassing, Ballard.

Someone tried to force their amorous advances on a defenseless and innocent young woman.

Did you say sexual?

I'm afraid so.

That, of course, makes a difference.

- Indeed, it does.

- Who is the guilty party?

Someone of importance to us all, someone we've known for a long time.

It can't possibly be Rumpole?

No, of course, it can't.

Look, I just thought I'd warn you what's in the wind.

I'll report further when I've got a full statement from the complainant.

- The who?

The girl in question.

In my view, we must get her cooperation before we can move an inch further.

It's a most delicate situation.

Oh, yes.

Yes, of course, certainly.

Harassment, indeed.

We can't possibly have that at 3 Equity Court!

I can't go on like this, not forever.

Then I'll have to tell him.

Don't you think it's about time I told him?

Why?

Before everyone else knows.

Oh, no chops.

Thank you, Hilda.

What did you say, Rumpole?

I said, no chops, thanks.

As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of giving up meat altogether.

You're what?

Well, people who eat meat start to look like chartered accountants.

Well, you've eaten enough of it.

You should be much better at sums by now.

Are you sure you're feeling quite well, Rumpole?

Oh, wonderfully well.

Thank you, Hilda.

Could I just have a selection of vegetables?

Boiled potatoes and cabbage is the only selection we've got.

Rumpole, you're drinking water.

Why, yes.

Something wrong, Hilda?

Of course not, nothing wrong with water.

It's just, it's so unlike you.

Well, I think people ought to be sufficiently stimulated by each other's company.

Don't you?

Yes, of course.

It's very nice of you to say that, Rumpole.

Do you notice a rather peculiar smell around here?

No, not particularly.

It's probably that new washing up liquid.

What?

Oh, no, no, it's not the washing up liquid, Hilda.

It's Machismo for men.

I acquired a bottle.

I popped into Marco's on Chancery Lane for a haircut.

A haircut?

There seems rather less of your mustache.

Yes.

Rumpole, you did all this for me?

HORACE RUMPOLE: I bought a new hat, too.

The old one was getting a bit frayed around the edges.

I beg your pardon?

Well, just as you learned to dance, especially for me, I went to the concert to get a bit more civilized.

And you gave yourself a new and powerful fragrance, all for me.

Steady on, Hilda.

Dot, is there anything you'd like to tell me?

What would you like to know?

I could tell you the time.

It's 1:25, precisely.

You're young, Dot.

And I'm sure this must be very embarrassing for you.

But nowadays, well, nowadays, girls of your age are much more open about sex and all that.

Do you mind if I go on with my sandwiches?

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Not if it makes it easier for you.

I'm sure you realize that men do get these, well, these urges that come over them from time to time.

I'll take your word for it, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

And you are, of course, a quite desperately fanciable-- well, I mean to say, you're an extremely attractive young lady.

- I do my best.

I'm sure you do.

I'm absolutely sure you do.

[slurps] However, the thing is that no man is entitled to show his feelings in the workplace.

I agree with that, quite honestly.

We get a short enough lunch hour, anyway.

Dot, I'd like you to feel that we don't have any secrets between us.

You can trust me.

And I want you to succeed in Equity Court, perhaps rising from typist to junior clerk.

And then, who knows?

But for your own sake, tell me what you're really feeling.

Dot, a statement of claim, it's extremely urgent.

And we're almost out of time already.

Yep, just let me finish my sandwich.

Oh, I say, thanks awfully, Dot.

Look, we really can't talk in here.

You seem to be managing.

Well, I mean, we can't talk properly.

Why don't you just come into my room for a moment?

And look at your etchings?

No, no, no.

Anyway, I don't have etchings, English watercolors, actually.

Shall we go?

I don't think so, quite honestly, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

Anyway, I must get on with Mr. Inchcape's statement of claim.

He seemed quite desperate for it, didn't he?

Poor man.

[buzzer ringing] It's Tom, Tom Randall, upstairs.

Well, something's happened.

[camera clicks] MAN: Gun.

[casterini trio playing] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [applause] MAN: Mr. Desmond Casterini?

How do you know that?

MAN: I'm charging you with the murder of Thomas Paul Randall.

You're not obliged to say anything.

But anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence.

Have you been waiting?

Oh, hardly at all.

But I'm in court this morning.

I know.

I've got to work, too.

I just wanted to see you.

It's been such a nightmare.

It's all absolute nonsense, of course.

Whatever they're suggesting, you will help Desmond, won't you?

I've told him all about you.

All about me?

I've told him how well you did Billy's case.

Oh, that's all organized.

Bernard's been to interview him.

Oh, I'm glad.

I wanted to see you anyway.

I felt so alone.

I'm sure.

It's so wonderful to know you're there, with us.

Oh, where are you off to now?

Oh, a session, throbbing violins to go with a deodorant commercial.

Under your arms it's always springtime-- some rubbish like that.

Not Schubert?

Mendelssohn.

Thank god they haven't ruined Schubert for me.

The police keep calling.

They keep asking me for statements.

- You haven't given them any?

- No, not yet.

Don't worry.

I won't say anything that won't help Desmond, and you, of course.

Henry, I need to speak to Dave about Singleton v. Singleton.

If you could get me the robing room at Hull Crown Court, should be there about now.

I'll be in Mr. Rumpole's room.

Now she's into paying divorces, she's too high and mighty to put her finger to a telephone.

Shall I see you soon?

Better not, if you're going to be a witness.

But when it's over, shall we have lunch again?

I'd like that very much.

[phone dialing] Singleton v. Singleton, Dave, you know, our divorce case!

Look, we're an ex-Miss Broadstairs, and you're a filthy rich garage proprietor with a Volvo concession.

Well, $20,000 is absolutely useless to us, Dave.

You've got to do better than that.

Rumpole's had my Archbold.

Well, you know perfectly well, we're having a baby, Dave.

Well, of course, it's yours.

There's not a scrap of evidence to prove it's not yours.

Well, of course, you can afford it!

Yeah, yeah, I know you've got to go, Dave.

But think about it, OK?

We've got to get this settled once and for all.

Well, of course, I miss you.

Bye.

Men, totally irresponsible.

See you, Ballard.

See you, Probert.

Now, Mr. Casterini, you received a message on your answering machine from Tom Randall, asking for a meeting for a talk.

It was the last time I heard his voice.

It's like a terrible dream.

I still can't believe it.

You made a note on the message pad beside your machine that Tom had rehearsal room, 6 o'clock.

Did you think that he was going to tell you that he and your wife were lovers?

Apparently, he had no suspicion.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh?

Dear god, Mr. Rumpole, it never crossed my mind!

I've never had a single moment of doubt about Elizabeth, not a shadow.

Believe me.

Yes, well, it's the jury that's going to have to believe you.

And they may take quite a bit of convincing.

I mean, the obvious explanation is that you shot Tom Randall in a fit of jealous rage.

Upon my oath, Mr. Rumpole, by the great musicians I hold most dear, Mozart, Haydn, Schubert-- A simple no will do.

We might hit a judge that thinks those chaps are runners in the 3:30 at Kempton Park.

Now, this-- this rehearsal room, did you rent it permanently?

The trio like to use it whenever they please.

Well, that must have been rather expensive.

It seems, Mrs. Casterini has money.

She started to make it when she was at college.

That's what the client told me.

My Elizabeth sold wonderful, magical clothes.

Second hand model dresses.

We were born under a lucky star, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, really?

You surprise me.

Now, when she was at college, there was a trial.

I defended someone she knew.

Oh, yes.

Yes, she told me about that.

They got to know a dubious character called Hoffman.

He left the college to become a musician's agent.

It seems, he was also an agent for hard drugs.

There was a boy in the college accused of being in the ring, you see, a friend of Elizabeth's.

Hoffman went down for 10 years.

But Elizabeth's friend Billy was acquitted.

Yeah, he must have had a brilliant barrister.

Of course, I didn't know Elizabeth in those far off days.

I hadn't found the happiness.

Oh, then, you were-- you weren't at college together, then?

Mr. Casterini went to Guildhall.

He and his wife met later and formed the Casterini Trio.

That's when his wife's money helped.

Yes, I'll bet it did.

Now, then, this revolver, you kept it with ammunition?

My dear old father, bless him, used to sleep with it loaded under his pillow in our house in Lismith Glen.

He was a poet by profession.

But, well, some of the bad boys were after his blood.

Do you have any idea at all how this old family heirloom got behind the piano?

No idea in the world.

I swear to you, sir, by-- Yes, yes, all right.

Never mind all that.

Now, you see this message at about noon.

Did you go out after that?

It's terrible.

It's like a dream.

You had lunch with your sister, Siobhan.

She doesn't get over from Dublin very often.

You saw a film together.

You had tea.

It's like a dream.

SOLICITOR: You got to the building at about 6:00.

The news had just started on your car radio.

That's what you told me.

Mr. Casterini, what happened then?

In your own words.

You're going to have to tell the jury.

Well, the lift was stuck on another floor, most likely.

It's always stuck.

It's a kind of prehistoric conveyance, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes.

And then?

I went up the stairs.

Well, did you meet anyone on the way up?

Not a solitary soul.

HORACE RUMPOLE: When you got to your room, was the door open?

No, closed.

Not locked, of course.

And then, you were-- you found Mr. Randall?

He was lying on the floor.

I knelt down and felt his heart.

Ah, yes, of course.

That's how you got blood on your sleeve.

Well, that'll be the defense case, anyway.

Now, look here, Mr. Casterini.

In a matter as serious as this, some people may prefer to have a QC to defend them.

I don't understand.

What's he saying?

Well, a Queen's counsel, a queer customer.

Now, I'm not saying, they'd do it any better, probably worse.

But I want you to realize, this is a very difficult case.

I rely upon you, Mr. Rumpole.

Elizabeth told me, you're a wonderful man.

Oh, did she really?

Oh, did she say that?

[knock on door] Come.

You wanted to see me?

I thought it was about time we had a chat.

Indeed, it is.

I have an important matter to raise with you, Erskine-Brown.

I raised one with you, Ballard.

Remember?

About our new girl in the clerk's room.

- Miss Clapton.

- Dot.

What?

What did you say, Erskine-Brown?

I said Dot.

I call her Dot.

Yes, I expect you do.

Well, that's what I wanted to raise with you.

It's an embarrassing matter, but raise it, I must.

You know, I don't really understand Dot.

I suppose, she doesn't want to cause trouble.

But I simply couldn't get her to make a formal complaint.

Well, she's made a formal complaint, to me.

She has?

Oh, good.

- Good.

You think it's good?

Well, I don't think it's good at all.

She says, she's being "har-assed."

Harassed, Ballard.

I told you, that's how they say it nowadays.

Harassed or "har-assed," it comes to the same thing in the end.

The point is, Miss Clapton, who seems to me, a perfectly respectable girl, is extremely worried.

I'm not at all surprised.

Henry's behavior was unforgivable.

Henry?

She didn't say a word about Henry.

She didn't?

Who's she complaining about, then?

You.

What?

She says, you pressed her to come into your room on the pretext of showing her your watercolors.

Sounds a pretty flimsy excuse to me.

But, Ballard-- She says that you talked to her about terrible urges.

I said I could understand them.

That's all I said.

We all have them!

Speak for yourself, Erskine-Brown.

And she said, you found her extremely fanciable, an expression new to me.

But I can imagine what it means.

And you promised her a promotion to junior clerkship, no doubt in exchange for a certain consideration.

Ballard, this is a totally unjustified accusation.

Totally unjustified accusation.

So, you never said it?

Well, I may have said something like that.

But what I meant was-- - No!

No, no, no, no, no, no, Erskine-Brown.

No, no, no.

I want to be fair to you.

I want to give you ample time to consider your defense.

My defense?

I will only give you one word of advice at this time, Erskine-Brown.

Make a clean breast of it to your wife.

[knocking] I telephoned.

It's Bernard, Bernard Humphreys.

This is Mr. Rumpole, our learned counsel.

To view the scene of the crime.

You'll have to walk up the stairs.

The lift is stuck at the moment.

Yes, it seems it often is.

Room 9.

[casterini trio playing] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ SOLICITOR: They were here for hours on end, practicing, the client told me, just the three of them.

The eternal triangle, Mr. Rumpole.

You can see how it happened.

Can you?

Yes, I suppose you can.

Let's just run up to the top floor.

Run it?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, well done, Barney Bernard!

Yes, just one or two other things.

Would you ask your friends in the Crown Prosecution Service to let you have a copy of the dead man's bank statements?

Oh, and I'd like a copy of his birth certificate.

Oh, and the bill took a great pile of documents out of the Casterini flat.

Go over those with a fine-tooth comb, will you?

Well, looking for-- oh, well, money, dealings, itemized phone bills, that sort of thing.

See what you can find.

Bye.

Rumpole?

Yes.

I feel, Rumpole, a sense of imminent collapse.

Yes, you don't look any too well.

No, I refer to 3 Equity Court.

The foundations are rotten.

Oh, we're not getting the builders out again.

I'm afraid, the builders are useless in this situation.

It's not their hammering so much.

It's their bloody little radio sets.

Lust, Rumpole, flagrant immorality has reared its ugly head all over this building.

When I-- [sniffs] do I detect a curious odor in this room?

[sniffs] Anyway, when my case is complete, I shall lay before a full Chambers meeting and stop the decline and fall of number 3 Equity Court.

I love you, Ballard.

I take you for a pompous, blinkered, humorless prick, who seems to confuse the headship of a small and mainly criminal set of Chambers with the archbishopric of Canterbury.

And, yet, I love you with all my heart.

There.

Tell me honestly, Rumpole, are you perfumed?

As I was saying, I think it is our duty to love everything.

And because of that, well, therefore, all I can say is, I love you, Ballard.

Yes, yes.

Another time, perhaps.

I have a case starting across the road.

Now, you think very carefully about what I've said, moral decay, getting in everywhere.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Is that the revolver, which you found behind the piano in the room where the murder was committed?

That's right, Mr. Rumpole.

Not very well-concealed.

Not particularly.

HORACE RUMPOLE: And no fingerprints on the weapon?

That's right.

Did that surprise you?

Well, let's use our common sense about this, Mr. Rumpole.

No doubt, whoever did it removed the fingerprints in order to avoid detection.

Does that make sense to you, members of the jury?

I know it does to me.

So this is the theory, is it?

My client took great care to leave the gun where it could be easily traced to him, and then took a lot of trouble cleaning up the fingerprints!

Or else wore gloves.

Or else wore gloves.

That's another possibility, isn't it, members of the jury?

But Mr. Casterini has agreed it was his weapon.

He would have been mad to have left it at the scene of the crime, wouldn't he?

Mr. Rumpole, we have a saying up North, where we come from.

There's nowt so queer as folk.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, do you, My Lord?

How interesting.

Well, down here in the deep South, we are more inclined to look for some sort of logical explanation.

And that, I shall be inviting the jury to do.

And I shall be asking them to use their common sense.

What an excellent idea.

I do so thoroughly agree with Your Lordship.

JUSTICE OLIPHANT: Any further questions, Ms. Hilary Peek?

No further questions, My Lord.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Mr. Justice Oliphant, or Ollie Oliphant, comes from the North of England, as he never stops reminding us.

He regards all of us South of Leeds as idle dreamers who do nothing but lie in the sun, plucking grapes and playing guitars.

Why don't we all chip in and present him with a one-way ticket back to Ilkley Moor, or wherever it is he comes from?

Are you Michael Matheson, of 2 Acacia Avenue, Maida Vale?

Yes, I am.

Do you use the practice rooms on the floor under that used by the Casterini Trio?

Yes, I do.

HILARY PEEK: I think you know the members of the trio?

MICHAEL MATHESON: Not well.

I was at college with two of them.

And you are a player of the French horn?

I am.

That's brass, members of the jury.

It's a beautiful sound.

We remember that from the old colliery brass bands, don't we?

On one occasion did Mrs. Casterini and Mr. Randall, the murdered man, come down from the lift together?

Yes, they did.

Did Mrs. Casterini say something about her husband?

Don't lead, please.

What did she say?

She said, I can't go on forever, not like this.

And then Mr. Randall said, then I'll have to tell him.

Don't you think it's about time I told him?

Don't you think it's about time I told him?

No doubt, that means Mr. Casterini, the lady's husband-- There is no evidence of that, My Lord.

But we can use our common sense, can't we, Mr. Rumpole?

Isn't this just another case of the eternal triangle?

At the moment, My Lord, all we know is that they were members of a trio.

Well, get on with it then, Ms. Hilary Peek.

This jury have homes to go to, you know.

What time did you get to the practice rooms on the night that Mr. Randall met his death?

It was shortly after 6 o'clock.

The lift was stuck again, so I started up the stairs.

That's when I met Mr. Casterini coming down.

He said something had happened to Tom-- to Mr. Randall.

So we called the police.

When I first saw Mr. Casterini, he had blood on his cuff.

Thank you, Mr. Matheson.

Did you hear a shot?

No, I didn't.

No.

And did Mr. Casterini tell you straight away that he had found Mr. Randall dead and he had no idea who had done it?

He told me that, yes.

Now, then, Mr. Matheson, you said that you were at college with members of the trio.

Just Tom and Elizabeth.

Desmond Casterini met them later.

Well, you said, you knew Elizabeth Casterini well.

Well, I suppose I was a bit in love with her.

Most men were.

Well, you can understand that, can't you?

You mustn't ask me questions.

But I didn't get to know her well, no.

Well, just help us with one thing, will you?

Did Mrs. Casterini own a shop?

Well, a boutique, I suppose you would call it, for selling model dresses.

Yes, she did.

I think it did rather well - Yes.

Do you remember what it was called?

It was Dreams of Youth, as far as I can remember.

Dreams of Youth.

Mr. Rumpole, what on Earth have Dreams of Youth got to do with this case?

I'm not quite sure, My Lord.

Perhaps they're just things that some of us like to have, sometimes.

[laughter] Members of the jury, if we all want a good laugh, we can tune in to the television set tonight.

I believe they're giving us Coronation Street.

And we all thoroughly enjoy that, don't we?

I'm looking at the clock.

Back at 10:30 tomorrow morning, members of the jury.

And then use your common sense and take this case seriously, in spite of Mr. Rumpole's performance.

Or yours, My Lord.

[violin music] ♪ ♪ HILARY PEEK: You say you had always feared something like this would happen.

Desmond seemed terribly jealous, for no reason at all.

I kept on telling him, there was nothing in it.

But he wouldn't believe me.

I suppose I was frightened.

Of course, he had the gun.

He had the gun.

Thank you very much, Mrs. Casterini.

HORACE RUMPOLE: And while you were at college, did you own a boutique called Dreams of Youth?

Oh, we're not going back to these dreams of yours, are we, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, don't worry, My Lord.

They may lead us to wake up to the truth.

You did well at the shop, didn't you?

Yes.

We sold it in the end and invested what we'd made.

And you've lived quite well ever since?

With our fees for playing, yes.

Yes.

Let me just remind you of the last message the dead man left for your husband on his answering machine.

I want to talk about our lives since the Dreams of Youth days.

Was he referring to the shop?

Oh, I don't think so.

Well, let's just suppose that he was.

While you were at college, a musician's agent was tried for dealing in hard drugs.

Some of your fellow students were said to be involved.

You know that, don't you?

Yes, I may do.

But the jury do not.

You attended that trial, didn't you?

Yes.

A friend of mine was in the dock.

You got him off, brilliantly.

Oh, we'll take that for granted.

Mr. Rumpole.

During the course of the trial, there were a number of references to people meeting at the Dreams of Youth boutique.

I can't remember all the details.

But you were never charged?

You know that I wasn't.

There was nothing I could be charged with.

My Lord, if Mr. Rumpole is suggesting the witness has committed some offense, she should be warned.

Thank you, Ms. Hilary Peek.

I do know my business.

Mrs. Casterini, I should warn you that you needn't answer any questions that might incriminate you.

Well, I'm quite prepared to answer all Mr. Rumpole's questions, My Lord.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Why, thank you.

Now, so one of the students gave evidence for the prosecution;.

And he was not charged either, a young man with a beard.

His name was Tom Cogsmill then.

That is a photograph from the News of the World.

Do you recognize him?

Tom Cogsmill, so far as I can remember.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Later to be known as Tom Randall, beardless, a member of your trio, the murdered man-- Yes.

HORACE RUMPOLE: --who gave evidence for the prosecution-- Yes, he did.

--but who gave no evidence implicating you in the musical drug ring.

Mr. Rumpole, are those all the questions you have to ask about this ancient trial?

It seems miles away from the issues in this case.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes, My Lord, for the moment.

Mrs. Casterini, your husband will say that he was never jealous of you and Tom Cogsmill, later known as Tom Randall.

You know that he was, though, don't you, Mr. Rumpole?

No, I don't know.

And the jury don't know.

All we know is what you've told us.

And perhaps, we don't know whether to believe you.

And let us assume for a moment that this was not just a matter of two men quarreling over a beautiful woman.

What other possible explanation could there be for Tom Randall being shot?

I have no idea.

Suppose you tell me, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, indeed, I will, after a few more questions.

Did you ever pay money to Tom Randall?

Money?

No, I don't think so.

When the trio was formed, did not you tell your husband that you had given Tom Randall some of your ample capital so that he could refuse other work and concentrate on playing with you?

I said, I'd helped Tom out, yes.

And did you go on paying him from time to time?

What are you looking at?

Oh, the dead man's bank statements.

He received a regular payment from a certain source.

Was that source you?

Perhaps, sometimes.

Is that what it says?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Was he blackmailing you, Mrs. Casterini?

Blackmailing me?

Whatever for?

Why, threatening to tell your husband, and then the police, of your part in the Hoffman drug ring, unless you went on paying him!

No!

Do you remember what Mr. Matheson heard Tom Randall say to you one day by the lift?

I will have to tell him before anyone else knows.

Did he mean that he had to tell your husband that your nice lump of capital came from hard drugs?

No!

Well, what did he mean, then?

Perhaps that he loved me.

I really don't know.

What were you doing on the day Tom Randall died?

I went out in the morning.

I had a doctor's appointment.

Then I went to a lunchtime concert in Portland Place.

Oh, and I bought a dress.

I had to have a drink with our agent at 6:00.

And before that, you popped back home, saw what your husband had written on the pad beside the answering machine.

Tom Randall, at rehearsal room, 6 o'clock.

No.

Mrs. Casterini, it didn't take you from lunchtime till 6 o'clock to buy a dress.

Did you carry it around London all the afternoon?

No, I did just call back at the flat, just to put the dress away.

And you didn't look at the message pad?

I never saw that.

Did you ring Tom Randall from your car telephone, arranging to meet him at the rehearsal room at about 5:30 before he spoke to your husband?

No.

No, no, of course not.

Car telephone bills have a nasty habit of showing the number called.

You did ring Tom Randall that day, didn't you?

No.

No, I'm sure I didn't!

I can't remember.

Didn't you go to the rehearsal room before 6 o'clock, taking your husband's gun, in case Tom could not be dissuaded?

No!

I had to meet the agent at 6:00 at the Warren Hotel.

I told you that.

Well, there's plenty of time to do the deed, hide the gun where the police can find it, go up the stairs, across the roof, down the fire escape, and into the street.

And no doubt, you could immobilize the lift on the top floor by leaving the gates open.

How far is the Warren Hotel from the rehearsal room?

It's just around the corner.

You see, if your husband was the murderer, it's incredible he should have left his gun at the scene of the crime, like a visiting card.

My Lord, that's argument, not a question.

I do know my job, Ms. Hilary Peek.

Move on to another matter, Mr. Rumpole.

Very well, My Lord.

Let us go back to the vital question.

Who else had a motive for killing Tom Randall?

Might it be someone who wanted to stop paying him blackmail and shut his mouth?

Well, not me.

It wasn't.

Why did you come here today as a witness, Mrs. Casterini?

The police asked me.

You know, you could not be compelled to give evidence against your husband.

The police must have told you that.

You came here of your own free will.

Why?

To tell the truth as I know it.

Or to make sure that your husband was convicted of a crime that you committed.

Is there anything else wicked I'm supposed to have done, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, yes.

You persuaded your husband to brief a barrister you hoped would not attack you.

I am sorry to have disappointed you, Mrs. Casterini.

I never intended to harass Dot.

What?

Miss Clapton, I heard Henry approaching her in the most outrageous manner.

And I simply asked her to tell me about it, so that we could make a proper complaint.

And, well, she must have misunderstood.

SAM BALLARD: No, Erskine-Brown.

She did not misunderstand.

What sort of outrageous manner?

Well, he was going on about the swishing sound made by her stockings, and her modestly hidden breasts.

Oh, yes, and he said, "Just you and I.

Two will become one when our bodies mingle."

SAM BALLARD: No, Erskine-Brown-- Is that all?

Rumpole, Rumpole!

Just because you happen to have won in Casterini does not mean you can take over this important inquiry.

I have investigated this matter, Ballard, which no one else seems to have done.

May I ask a simple question, with Your Lordship's permission?

I am grateful to Your Lordship.

Erskine-Brown, have you forgotten that Henry is a thespian, a mummer, a member of the Bexleyheath Amateurs?

That ghastly dialogue you heard was not Henry's, but the product of the fevered brain of Miss Mildred Hannay, a local author who has written a play, especially for the group.

What you had the misfortune to hear, Erskine-Brown, was the rehearsal.

Any further questions?

Yes.

Why are we wasting our time with this meeting?

It's not all a waste of time, Probert.

There's the matter of your baby.

Your what?

How can you refuse to maintain Probert's child?

Are we to have a public scandal about that, a paternity suit in Chambers?

God, I know what it was.

Ballard came into the room during our telephone conversation about Singleton v. Singleton.

I wasn't talking about me and Dave.

We were discussing our clients!

[laughter] That's hilarious.

SAM BALLARD: No, it's not!

No, it's not.

I quite agree.

All of you seem to think that, like Sigmund Freud, sex is the explanation for everything.

But sometimes, it's something else entirely.

[violin music] ♪ ♪ Hmm, any-- any chance of another chop going under?

You've given up being vegetarian, then?

Oh, lord, yes.

The last vegetarian I met was a murderer, and a teetotaller.

Whatever came over you, Rumpole, doing those extraordinary things?

I met a lady in the Meads, full beautiful, a fairy's child.

Her hair was long.

Her foot was light.

And her eyes were wild.

I suppose you're talking about that Mrs. Casterini.

When I think we sat there and listened to her fiddling, I wouldn't have stayed if I'd known what she was like.

But then, we didn't know, did we?

"La Belle Dame sans Merci" had us enthralled.

There are actually two chops going begging, Rumpole.

Oh, really?

Oh, Hilda, thank you very much.

You were never a fairy's child, were you?

That's-- that's another thing in your favor, well, darling?

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