[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [dog barking] Monty, don't be silly!

[dog continues barking] [water sloshing] Here it is.

Here you go.

OK. OK, lads.

I'll zip it up.

[zipper zipping] How very extraordinary.

The French Huffingtons have got together again.

Walter Wilkinson, known as "The Wally," wants to confess to a triple-murder at the Tower Bridge magistrate.

Walk into Bedo Street, Nick uninvited.

His much publicized romance with Lady Fiona Armstead is apparently over.

Made a confession statement.

And here's Harry French Huffington with his lovely wife Myrtle enjoying a joke at the Save the Starving ball at the Dorchester Hotel.

[grunts] 60-year-old man, no fixed address-- no, thank you very much.

Wash him down, lock him up.

[chuckles] Lord Lacks has put on weight.

Don't you remember how slim and handsome he was on the polo field?

Oh, please, Hilda.

Do you know any of these people?

Well, of course.

You can read all about them in Debbie's diary.

Ah, you can read all about them, Hilda.

I can't read all about them.

Well, perhaps you should, Rumpole.

You might learn about gracious living.

[blowing] And you might learn not to blow on your tea to cool it down.

I'm in a hurry.

What do you expect me to do, fan it with my hat?

Ah.

Here it is.

RUMPOLE: Here what is?

HILDA: What I've been looking for-- Sackbut Castle.

Oh, really?

Well, what are you going to do with it now you've found it?

Home of the Sackbuts since the 14th century, romantic setting near Wheldrake in the north of England, extensive rebuilding in 1815.

The 17th baron, Richard Sackbut, occupies a private wing of the castle with his young second wife, Rosemary née Whiston.

Whiston?

Yes.

You see, it's not all about people you've never heard of, Rumpole.

What do you mean, this Rosemary Sackbut, whatnot?

But born Whiston.

Whiston.

Yes, yes, that's your lot.

Exactly.

Uncle Freddie's son was the Hungerford Whiston who went into assorted chemicals.

Rosemary's his youngest.

She's my first cousin once removed.

Once removed to a castle.

Oh, Rumpole, I bet no one at Sackbut Castle eats breakfast with their hat on.

Bye-bye, Hilda.

No wonder they didn't invite us to the wedding!

I came over as soon as I heard.

Oh, Matthew, you're here.

Excellent.

- All right, sir.

Anything you can tell us about the time of death?

Well, she's been in the water.

Rigor not fully established.

I'd say, well, less than nine hours.

Anyway, you'll get the postmortem results as soon as possible.

I'm sure I will.

Sergeant, we'll want all the personal effects sent over to the coroner's office.

Right, sir.

Anyone been able to make an identification?

It's early days as yet, Dr. Swabey.

(WHISPERING) He wants everything done yesterday.

Hmm.

All right, Simon.

- Carry on.

- OK, sir.

This must be distressing for you, My Lord.

I thought it right that as the well-liked coroner, I should make my inquiries as soon as possible.

Swabey.

I must ask you then, you've seen the body?

Of course I've seen it.

My boy found it.

Can you help us?

Anyone you can recognize?

No.

Of course not.

No one I've ever set eyes on before.

Ms. Liz Probert, what are you doing in these marble halls?

Prosecution junior, Rumpole.

Sam Ballard's leading me.

Oh, that would seem to provide a slender hope of acquittal.

Please don't try to be funny, Rumpole.

I'm just not in the mood today, OK?

Yes, OK. See you in court.

Yeah.

Do you have a Walter "The Wally" Wilkinson on the premises?

You've come to see our triple, have you, Mr. Rumpole?

Yes.

Well, we're feeling just that little bit chuffed having him here.

It's not every day you get a triple-murderer walk in with his hands up.

Your solicitor's down there already.

You know your way down, sir.

Oh, yes, I know the way down.

Thank you.

Oh, your briefs arrived, Walter.

You've got all you want, have you?

Well, this tea, I wouldn't call it tea.

Pour it back in the old.

Oh, well, we're just putting on a new brew up.

Here, you wouldn't like a couple of biscuits with this, would you, Walter?

I wouldn't say no.

Is he all right for smokes then?

Mr. Bernard obliged.

All part of the service.

Oh, by the way, Percy, anything in the papers about my case?

Oh, just the general background, you know, the house victims, all that.

Today's will be in The Standard.

Save us one, would you?

Yeah, no probs.

Thanks, Percy.

Well, you seem to be getting the four-star treatment.

Well, I'm on a triple now, Mr. Rumpole, something out of the ordinary, very serious crime, indeed.

Naturally, they respect you for it.

[bird cawing] [horses clopping] We're going for a hack, Jonathan.

Coming?

No, thanks.

Come on, old man.

Do you good to ride out.

No.

Thanks awfully.

[horses clopping] I don't know what's the matter with that boy.

Well, probably hasn't recovered from finding that thing.

It must have been terrible for him.

Terrible for all of us.

Sergeant sent them round to us, sir.

Accidental death-- that's what the police decided.

Fell in wild tiddly.

They're taking no further interest.

Are they not?

All her worldly goods, apparently.

Not too poor to afford gin and cigarettes, Thomas.

No doubt the old lady needed a bit of something to cheer her up, sir.

- Oh, yes.

And call them cups of tea when she begged for them in the street.

Who?

That's the first question we ask ourselves in the coroner's office.

Who?

[zipper unzipping] What you got there, Thomas?

Never the old lady's make up, is it, sir?

And I'll take charge of that, thank you.

There's a picture postcard and a coach ticket, London Victoria to Leeds.

I knew she came from the south.

Old folk up here have got more pride.

Oh.

It's not a picture postcard, Thomas.

It's a photograph, a very old photograph, indeed.

So it's up to the Old Bailey, Mr. Rumpole?

Yes.

Thank you.

We'll work on it.

Well, you've won the day, Ms. Liz.

Walter "The Wally" up for trial before his peers.

His peers-- I wonder if we can find 12 sleepers in cardboard boxes.

After a week of you fighting over every scrap of evidence.

Oh, client's instructions.

Do you think I tried too hard?

Perhaps I was overimpressed with the triple-murder.

Everyone else seems to be.

Oh, by the way, have you seen young Inchcape lately?

We're co-defending in an affray.

No, I haven't seen "young Inchcape," as you call him.

Perhaps you'd better find him for yourself.

[sniffles] Oh, dear, Ms. Privett.

Liz, Liz, what on Earth's the matter?

Nothing's the matter.

Absolutely nothing's the matter.

Well, you don't usually burst into tears when you've won a case.

I'm not bursting into tears at all.

Why should you assume that I'm bursting into tears just because I'm a woman?

[sniffles] It must be my contact lenses.

Somebody in chambers upset your contact lenses, have they?

Anything wrong between you and young Inchcape?

Oh, god.

It's just you all over, isn't it, Rumpole?

Just stereotypical male vanity.

I'm a woman, so if I'm upset, it must be about a man.

Men are the only things that women have got to be upset about, aren't they?

[crying] Can I offer you a stereotypical male handkerchief?

No, thank you.

Oh, all right.

It is about bloody Dave Inchcape.

Ah.

I'm sorry.

What's he done?

It's not what he's done.

It's what he is, what he's been in secret all these years, and he never even bothered to tell me about it.

Secretly married, is he?

No, I can cope with that.

This is-- this is really unmentionable.

It's-- it's awful.

I-- oh, he's not worth bothering about!

Mr Rumpole, your wife is on the telephone in the police room.

Oh, how very appropriate.

Thank you.

Excuse me, Liz.

HILDA: Rumpole!

Rumpole, it's come at last on paper with the Sackbut crest.

What?

It's a letter from Rosemary, of course.

They want to see us.

[church bells ringing] RUMPOLE: The splendor falls on castle walls, And snowy summits old in story.

The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Rumpole, luggage.

Anyone would think we were besieging this place for a year.

But we don't want to be caught wearing the wrong things, do we?

This imposing entrance ramp, though.

It's a pity we don't have an imposing entrance apart from mansions.

[chatter] Good afternoon.

We are the Rumpoles.

You'll have to leave that stuff here.

Very gladly.

Now, the rest of youse, over there.

Over here, my party.

Come along now.

Why does she call us her party, Rumpole?

Excuse me!

No one you know.

The portrait on the right, thought to be by van Dyck, is of Elizabeth, wife of the seventh baron, who was kept locked in her boudoir after she became overly familiar with the steward.

[chuckling] If you would all like to follow me, we will now go up to the long gallery and to the state bedrooms.

Is the family about?

Lord and Lady Sackbut are in residence, yes.

They occupy the West Wing, which was built as a family mansion in the year 1825.

Come along, my party.

Come along, Rumpole.

Oh, Madam, that is closed to the public.

We are not the public.

In the first state bedroom, we shall find a hotel bed or post-- We are the Rumpoles.

We have been invited for the weekend.

Is your mother-- I mean, is Rosemary-- They're not back yet, I'm afraid.

There's only me.

I am Hilda Rumpole.

And this is my husband.

Good afternoon, sir.

I'm Jonathan Sackbut.

Horace Rumpole.

Rosemary is my cousin, you know?

Once removed.

Rumpole, don't let's go into all that right now.

Auntie Hilda!

HILDA: Oh, Rosemary, there you are at last.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Richard's driving the horsebox back from Wheldrake show.

I took the car.

I was terrified of keeping you waiting.

You must be Uncle Horace.

I have no alternative.

[chuckles] Jonathan, I hope you've been entertaining the Rumpoles.

Not really.

HILDA: Richard's son?

Yes, Richard's son by his, uh-- well, anyway, Richard's son.

Let's see if we can rustle up some tea.

You would like a cup of tea, wouldn't you, Uncle Horace?

Ah, well, if you have anything in the way of a bottle of red, nothing of any particular distinction.

Peasant's Claret would be perfectly acceptable.

Rumpole.

No, Auntie Hilda.

Let Uncle Horace have what he wants.

We're going to spoil him.

Oh, do come and sit down.

You must be exhausted after all those absolutely splendid court cases you do.

Splendid cases, Walter "The Wally" Wilkinson.

Rosemary says they've invited old Lord Plunger Plumpton.

Why plunger?

Was he a high diver or something?

Oh, he used to gamble terribly.

You really should keep up with Debbie's diary.

Hugo Swabey, our local coroner, he's enjoying every minute of it, bouncing around like a terrier on heat.

You've seen him out hunting, haven't you, Plunger?

Absolutely everything wrong with him, Rumpole.

He comes out like a dog's dinner.

Oh, that should give him a deep understanding of foxes.

Don't suppose he ever got near enough to see a fox.

He comes out with a string on his top hat.

Has no one ever told him?

And the red coat when no one's asked him to wear such a thing.

No, darling, that's not the point.

The point is the red coat with flat buttons.

Imagine that, Mrs. Rumpole.

[laughs] Yes, of course, flat buttons.

Very extraordinary.

Flat, shiny buttons with no hunt crest on them means that he's got the whole thing off the peg from Moss Bros. - Oh.

Oh, is, uh-- is that a serious offense?

I suppose it depends on what you think is serious in this world.

Oh, well, I-- I only deal in murder and robbery and suchlike trivial pursuits.

It's the first time I've heard of the crime of flat buttons.

We had a rather nasty accident here, Rumpole.

Some old tramp woman managed to drown herself in the lake.

And you swear he's going to be a pain in the neck about it, Richard?

Oh, well, you know what he's like.

He wants to get his name in the papers, make a state trial of it.

He thinks he's going to discover all sorts of things that aren't there to be discovered.

It's just a bore, quite honestly.

A terrible bore when it's nothing to do with you at all.

I don't see that makes you responsible for anything.

After all, most people have got a lake of some sort.

Haven't they, Rum boy?

Ah, uh, not too many around the Gloucester Road, I'm afraid.

Talking of state trials, darling Uncle Horace was telling me about an absolutely sensational one he did yonks ago in a bungalow, wasn't it, Uncle Horace?

The Penge bungalow murders, yes, that was an extraordinary case.

I was quite young at the time, a white wig, as a matter of fact, I won it alone and without a leader.

Where is Penge, actually?

I don't know, really.

Isn't it somewhere near Bognor?

Rosemary, shall we-- Oh, yes.

Well, uh, shall we leave the men to their-- Murder cases, apparently.

[chatter] Hilda?

See you later.

I think we'll go to the drawing room.

[grunting] By the way, Rum boy, can you get your gamekeepers to eat rook?

Rook?

Well, now that you mention it, I don't believe I've ever really tried.

When I was a boy, gamekeepers pretty well lived on rook.

Their wives used to make them up into pies.

You won't find a woman who'll do that today.

No.

As a matter of fact, I don't have any gamekeepers or rooks either, for that matter.

That's odd.

I thought you said you've got a place in Gloucester.

Horace, Rosemary's been telling me that you've had a great deal of success in your cases.

Well, I have acquired a certain reputation around the Brixton cells.

This is the first time I've been famous in a castle.

And a good many of these cases have dealt with, um, well, dead people?

Dead people, yes.

Contrary to popular opinion, I've always found they can tell you quite a lot.

I wonder if you'd be free for a chat tomorrow sometime, if you're still available for business, that is.

Oh, always.

Always available.

[chuckles] Good, good.

That's very good.

Well, shall we join the ladies?

Yes, let's join them and make one huge, enormous lady.

[chuckles] [chuckles] [chuckling] I need never have suffered this blunt execution.

We wore the wrong things.

But they never said a word.

Did you notice that, Rumpole?

They never referred to it, not once.

It was sweet of them to invite us, wasn't it?

Why do you think they did?

Well, we're family, aren't we?

No, Hilda, not because we're family.

Not even to make up for not inviting us to the wedding.

Richard Sackbut is in trouble.

At least he's got that in common with Walter "The Wally" Wilkinson.

His lordship needs a good brief.

Oh.

That's Richard's father.

Did amazingly brave things in the war.

Looks exactly like Richard, doesn't he?

No-- no portrait of Richard's mother?

Uh, Rosemary, as we missed the wedding, I wonder, have you any photographs?

- Oh, yes.

Absolutely loads of them.

[church bells ringing] Here we are.

Take a pew.

Thank you.

Oh.

Oh.

Do you remember him?

TOUR GUIDE: The collection of arms covers several centuries in Europe, as well as specimens from India, Persia, and Africa.

The suits of armor hanging on the walls dates from about 1580.

Mr. Rumpole.

And they were probably worn by-- Mr. Rumpole.

Dr. Hugo Swabey.

I'm the Wheldrake coroner.

Oh!

We met briefly, I don't know if you'll recall, when you came up to Leeds on that stabbing in the old people's home.

Of course.

I remember you gave some rather interesting evidence on the direction of stab wounds.

Well, thank you.

Thank you very much.

One is sometimes able to throw a little light in dark corners.

[chuckles] [church bells ringing] Well, seeing the sights of the North Country, are you?

Uh, no.

As a matter of fact, we are guests of the Sackbuts.

Oh you're privileged.

I have never been invited into the private apartments, strange as it may seem, into the Holy of Holies.

Though I go out with the hunt, and I'm pretty well-known in the neighborhood.

His Lordship invited you today?

I imagine it was his wife.

No, it must have been His Lordship.

Women don't take decisions in the Sackbut clan.

Come to think of it, it may have been rather an intelligent move with the inquest coming up.

Oh, yes, I heard about that.

Some old bag lady tumbled into the lake.

Yes, one of the homeless, I believe.

Homeless-- is that what she was?

Or was she looking for a home?

All these suits of armor, maximum protection and nothing much inside them.

[tapping] Typical Sackbut.

Have you come here to see my client?

Oh, is His Lordship that already?

He has asked me to represent the family at the inquest, yes.

Really?

That will be fun.

There's just one thing you might be asking your client to explain.

Oh, yes?

What's that?

An old photograph found in the dead lady's possession.

It shows a woman holding a baby out there on the castle terrace and a man in uniform.

Now, there's no doubt who the man is-- your client's father.

There's absolutely no mistaking the Sackbut features.

How very interesting.

Isn't it?

Have you any other little treats in store?

Wait and see, Mr. Rumpole.

Just you wait and see.

Is that her, what you saw, Mr. Saggers?

Yes.

Yes, I think so.

You think so?

No.

Correction-- I'm sure.

Thank you.

This is the place?

Just here.

Thank you.

Yes, I've been talking to the coroner.

He doesn't seem to like you very much.

No.

I have to say, the feeling's entirely mutual.

Well, now, how about telling me what's really worrying you?

What do you mean?

Well, why ask for the expert advice of Rumpole of the Bailey just because some old bag woman slips and drowns herself in your lake?

I mean, it's very sad, of course, but that's hardly a threat to your peace of mind, I should think.

Well, we're open to the public.

People may say we're not safe.

Nonsense.

You're not responsible for tramps in the night.

What's the real problem?

And what's making the grand inquisitor of Wheldrake so self-importantly excited?

Perhaps-- well, it's entirely a family matter.

Well, tell me.

I'm used to hearing about family matters.

Murder's a family matter 9 times out of 10.

Murder?

Who said anything about murder?

Uh, no one yet.

But dear old Dr. Swabey is simply bursting to come out with it.

[band playing lively tune] Have you got anything suitable for wearing in a cardboard box?

Are you going to take up residence in one, Uncle Horace?

No, but I've got a client who may have to go back to one if I can scream from the neck.

- (LAUGHING) Oh.

Well, come along, Rumpole.

They're just about to start the dog show.

A bring-and-buy sale and a dog show?

Can Rumpole survive this excitement?

[applause] Well done, Plungey Poo.

Thank you very much, pip.

And don't drink it all at once.

Oh, all right.

[applause] Well, congratulations.

Oh, thank you very much.

Boosen and I win it every year.

God knows what I'm going to do when the filthy dog snuffs it.

Bottle of cherry bounce, presented by Dr. Swabey.

It's rubbish.

I don't drink the stuff.

Oh, well, we might get something more bearable over there.

Oh, that's a bright idea of yours, Rumpus.

You have this sort of do-do your place in Gloucester?

I hear my old friend Horus Rumpole is representing the family at the inquest, My Lord.

Yes.

I do think that's wise of you.

Extremely wise.

I hardly think it's worth his trouble.

I imagine it'll be no more than a formality.

Oh, you imagine that, do you?

Well, of course, we haven't heard all the evidence yet.

[CHILDREN CHATTERING, BALLS THWACKING] [thwack] Ah, interesting, isn't it?

People looking like their-- well, like their dogs, or their fathers, of course-- Richard, for instance.

Like his father.

Oh, Richard is the spitting image of Robert.

He was a damn fine fellow, Robert, and a bloody good war, too.

Peace didn't treat him quite so kindly.

Came back home to find all sorts of things wrong-- a lot of pheasant covers cut, rooks out of control-- Oh, rooks.

--Labor government, something seriously dicky with the roof, things not so marvelous on the domestic front either.

Oh.

Did you know his mother?

Well, it depends what you mean by "know."

Not in the biblical sense, old boy.

I was probably in the minority.

No, she seemed a very nice woman to me.

She was a bit affected.

She used to call Richard Ricardo, a sort of Italian accent.

Or was it Riccardino?

Of course he hated it.

What was her name?

Margaret, Maggie.

Maggie, we used to call her.

Then she ran off and married an Italian.

So what happened to her in the end?

In the end?

In the end, she died.

Are you sure of that?

Oh, yes.

There were lots of rumors about her coming back to England, but I never believed any of them.

I suppose I was about nine.

Yes, I was just nine at my prep school.

Message came through.

Headmaster wants to see you in his study after prayers.

Well, you knew what that meant.

You got that awful feeling in the pit of your stomach and sweaty palms.

Anyway, I knocked on his door, and there he was, Snowy, snowy Slocum, big, tall fella with a shock of white hair.

He told me to close the door, walked up to his desk, and he said, Sackbut, I know you're going to take this like a man.

Of course, then I knew exactly what I was in for.

And then he said, I've just had your father on the telephone, Sackbut.

And he's asked me to let you know, I'm afraid, your mother's dead.

Do you know what I felt, Rumpole?

I felt an enormous kind of relief that he wasn't going to beat me.

Did your father tell you how she died?

Not really.

When I got back from the holidays, my father said, I suppose Slocum gave you that message about your mother.

And I told him yes.

I don't think we really discussed it much after that.

But didn't you make any sort of inquiry?

No.

RUMPOLE: Why not?

I don't think my father would have wanted me to.

Have you any idea how old your mother would be if she were alive now?

Not really.

60-something.

In her 60s.

Has it never occurred to you that, uh, she might try to get in touch with you?

You mean, come back from the dead?

Well, something like that, I suppose.

No.

It's really not worth taking a taxi.

Oh, of course not.

The fresh air will do us good.

It's a wonderful evening given this opera.

That fellow is dreadfully overweight for the Egyptian army.

Rumpole, I think I've got a young relative in your chambers.

Oh, really?

David Luxton, son of my cousin Bertie.

Grandson of the old Lord Chancellor.

Lord Ruggs's son?

No, no, no, he's not in Rumpole's chambers.

Oh, no, he doesn't use the family name.

He didn't want to trade on his legal connections.

So he picked a name from a poem he learned at school, something about a rock with a bell on it.

Inchcape!

That's it.

"Till the vessel strikes with the shimmering shock, oh, Christ, it is the Inchcape rock."

David Inchcape, son of the Lord?

He must be an honor.

Well, yes, I suppose he is.

Come on.

Will Miss Liz ever forgive him?

The trouble with going to the opera is you keep tripping over all these people tucking up for the night.

Yes, it's terribly inconsiderate of them.

I suppose they really must enjoy it.

Oh, yes.

Of course.

It's their annual holiday.

They've been saving up for a nice warm spot over the kitchen ventilator.

What a heavenly evening, Richard.

Mr. Rumpole!

Uh, excuse me.

Mr. Rumpole!

Mr. Rumpole, I recognize you, sir.

I've seen your picture in the paper when you was defending Walter "The Wally" on that big murder case.

What on Earth's happened to your husband?

Do you think he needs some help?

I'm afraid he's met a friend.

Let's walk on, shall we?

Wally was with me that night, Mr. Rumpole.

We was all down under the Hungerford Bridge.

But Wally got himself into a bit of an argument, right, with Bronco Billington.

[chuckles] Now, I know he don't look it, but Wally is strong when he's roused up.

And he left poor old Bronco flattened.

So we went off sharpish round Center Point, where there were still places.

Next day, I read in the paper about this triple-murder.

Wally was with me all that night, Mr. Rumpole.

Straight up, he was.

Only thing, he thought he'd done for poor old Bronco, who'd never had good health at the best of times, And had he?

No, bless him now!

[chuckles] Bronco was down at the Cutwater loo Thursday midnight, singing his head off on a bottle of meths!

[laughs] [laughs] Many thanks.

Here.

Don't waste it all on cups of tea.

[chuckles] You must have been being sure of her death.

Otherwise, she might have had a claim on the estate.

Well, not really, Mr. Rumpole.

Richard's father had started divorce proceedings before his mother left England.

She never appeared again, and so the case went through undefended.

As she was no longer married to the late Lord Sackbut, she would have had no claim.

Did Richard know that?

I don't think we ever discussed it with him.

I'm sure his father didn't.

Who did she go off with?

An Italian prisoner of war.

And I believe she met him when he was working on one of the farms.

I suppose she misconducted herself and joined him somewhere in Italy.

Oh, did you do as I asked, Mr. Cursitor?

Of course.

We always obey counsel's instructions.

Although I must say, in all humility, I can't understand why Richard didn't allow us, his family solicitors, to conduct the inquest.

RUMPOLE: Well, perhaps he thought you were too much of a gentleman to deal with a really obnoxious coroner.

And may I remind everyone, this is a solemn proceeding, the coroner's court.

We have the duty, you and I, members of the jury, to inquire into the mysteries of death.

And I hope we may do so without interruption.

Dr. Malkin, please continue.

She was a woman in her late 60s, in poor general health.

I came to the conclusion that death was probably caused by a blow to the head with some blunt instrument before the body entered the water.

I didn't think that it was a case of death by drowning because, well, there was no water in the lungs.

So death might have been caused by a deliberate attack, a blow to the head by some assailant?

I thought it might.

Struck before the body was put into the lake?

Yes.

Which would make this an unlawful killing, or, to use a word with which the jury might be more familiar, murder.

I can't rule that possibility out.

No.

Dr. Malkin.

Mr. Rumpole-- [pen tapping] --do you wish to apply to ask the pathologist a question?

A good many questions.

Then I shall grant your application.

Very generous, sir.

Dr. Malkin, in the case of this sort, is it not possible for death to occur due to a sudden cardiac arrest?

It has happened in the case of drunken sailors falling off ships?

Well, it has happened, yes.

And in such a case, there might be no water in the lungs?

Perhaps not.

Now, we know that this woman had an almost empty gin bottle in her possession.

And you found a high level of alcohol in her blood, did you not?

Well, fairly high.

Fairly high.

So it remains a possibility that this unfortunate woman may have died due to heart failure.

It's-- it's possible, yes.

Now, dealing with the blow to the head, there were a number of branches on the bank, were there not, and the tree stump on which traces of blood were found?

Yes.

RUMPOLE: Would you rule out the possibility that this unfortunate woman, having drunk more gin than was good for her, slipped and fell into the lake, striking her head on the tree stump as she fell?

I can't rule that out altogether.

Thank you, Dr. Malkin.

It seems that we may have reached a sensible interpretation of the facts.

Dr. Malkin, we gather from your evidence that this blow to the head might have been accidental, or it might have been deliberate.

Is that right?

Quite right, sir.

Thank you, Dr. Malkin.

We'd now like to ask Mr. Saggers a few questions.

[chatter] SAGGERS: I swear by almighty God that the evidence-- Oh.

SAGGERS: --shall be the truth-- Yes, as soon as possible, Mr. Cursitor.

Quick as greased lightning.

Off you go.

SWABEY: Mr. Tonks, the photograph, if you please.

Mr. Saggers, when did you first see the lady in that photograph?

The lady in the lake.

It was the day before they found her, sir.

She came up to the castle entrance and wanted to go in.

She wasn't with the groups that had already paid.

I asked her for the 2 pound.

She said she hadn't got it, but she wanted to see His Lordship.

I told her that wouldn't be possible.

Well, I didn't think she was anyone His Lordship would want to see.

Well, then she just sort of wandered off.

And what time was that about?

Uh, just before 4 o'clock, sir, because I was going off for my tea break.

Continue, Mr. Saggers.

Well, then as I was passing the formal garden-- that's where the long border-- the white border, they call it-- runs down to the statue-- well, I saw them then.

You saw who, Mr. Saggers?

The old lady and His Lordship.

SWABEY: And what were they doing?

SAGGERS: Just talking, sir.

I saw them, then went on for my tea.

Have you any questions, Mr. Rumpole?

Mr. Saggers, before you went off for tea, how long did you see these two together?

Perhaps half a minute.

I didn't stop to look at them.

How far away were they?

You say at the end of the long border.

What, 50 yards?

Yes, about that, sir.

It was the afternoon.

Was the sun behind them?

I think it was.

Then you couldn't see Lord Sackbut's face clearly, could you?

I know what I saw, Mr. Rumpole.

To be quite honest with you, I've got no doubt about it.

He's going to tell a lie.

What?

Richard Sackbut did speak to that old lady, but he's going to lie about it.

Oh, but he would never do a thing like that.

Oh, why not?

Because he's a lord?

Because he lives in a castle?

I tell you, Hilda, people have been lying in this place ever since the Wars of the Roses, lying and locking up their wives, because their fathers did it.

The first time I saw the old lady was when her body was found in our lake.

I had never set eyes on her before that.

My Lord, I remember you told me that at the time, and no doubt others heard you.

But you have heard Mr. Saggers' evidence.

Is Mr. Saggers lying?

I'm not saying that.

I'm saying Saggers is mistaken.

I didn't speak to the old lady that afternoon.

Very well.

The jury will have to make up their minds who is telling the truth.

Lord Sackbut, when you were a boy, your mother left your father.

I fail to see what that has got to do with this case.

DR. SWABEY: Bear with me, My Lord.

I think it may have a great deal to do with it.

At that time, did your father tell you that your mother was dead?

She was dead, yes.

DR. SWABEY: But how did you know that?

Because my father said so.

Did it ever occur to you that your father was so angry with your mother that he pretended she had died so that you wouldn't try to see her again?

It never occurred to me that my father would tell a lie, Dr. Swabey.

Lord Sackbut, do you not know that there have been many rumors in your family and in the town that your mother didn't die, as your father said, but was still alive many years later?

This is intolerable!

Lord Sackbut is here to give evidence, not to deal with tittle-tattle!

Please, Mr. Rumpole, don't excite yourself.

You've reached an age when that might be injurious to your health.

Mr. Tonks, the photograph, please.

Now, we've heard evidence that this photograph was found in the old lady's possession.

Let's look at it, shall we?

Is that the terrace of Sackbut Castle?

Yes.

And is the man in it your father, as he was in the late 1940s?

It is my father, yes.

Oh, I'm so very much obliged.

Now, there is also a woman with a baby.

Is that woman your mother?

I really can't say.

You mean to say you can't remember what your own mother looked like?

Not altogether clearly, no.

Well, I suggest to you that it is a family group, your father, your mother, and yourself as a very young child.

I suppose that is a possibility.

Or a probability.

Now, can you tell the jury why this old lady had that photograph in her possession when she came visiting Sackbut Castle?

How can my client possibly answer that?

Then let me suggest an answer to assist Lord Sackbut.

Could it be because she was the lady your father, in a fit of wounded pride, had given out as dead?

I object to that.

Is this an inquest, or are we telling each other fairy tales?

There is not the slightest scrap of evidence!

DR. SWABEY: Oh, yes, there is, Mr. Rumpole.

There is a photograph.

Now, if this old lady was the Dowager Lady Sackbut fallen on evil days-- If-- --she'd hardly be a welcome visitor of the castle, would she?

After all that time, come, no doubt, with a claim for money.

Didn't it occur to you, My Lord, that she might be better dead, as your father had wished so many, many years ago?

[brakes squealing] [engine rumbling] This way, please.

DR. SWABEY: Mr. Rumpole, you've asked me to take the evidence of this witness, Mrs., um-- Petronelli, sir.

Mrs. Petronelli, though I have no idea what light she can throw on this dark subject.

Oh, then let me help you out.

What was your name before you married Signior Petronelli, madam?

Lady Margaret Sackbut.

Lady Margaret Sackbut, sir.

And your son is?

Richard.

RUMPOLE: It's many years since you saw him.

I'm afraid it is, a great many years.

While you were married to Signior Petronelli, I think you lived in Como.

Yes, my husband had a hotel there.

When he died, I decided to sell it and come back to England.

To where in England?

To London.

I live in Southwark.

Now, Mr. Tonks, would you look at this photograph, please?

Now, since you have lived there, have you become interested in a charity that deals with homeless people?

Well, there seem to be so many in that part of London.

We give them meals, try to find them beds, even invite them home sometimes.

That's Bertha.

Bertha?

When I first met her, she was sleeping at the back of Waterloo Station.

I let her stay with me one night when we couldn't find her a bed anywhere else, and we began to talk.

She told me about her husband, who'd been a builder and gone bankrupt and been sent to prison for some reason.

I don't know why.

I told her about Sackbut Castle and my son.

I never really talked about it to anyone else.

But with Bertha, It seemed it wouldn't matter.

So she stayed the night in your house.

Did she leave the next morning?

Yes.

I never saw her again.

Was there anything missing after she had gone?

Well, yes, a photograph I'd shown her when we were talking.

I kept it in a desk, not on display or anything.

When Bertha went, that went with her.

Mr. Tonks.

Is that the photograph?

MARGARET: Yes, it is.

One final question, did your son Richard ever hit you over the head with a blunt instrument and push you into a lake?

(CHUCKLING) No.

No, he never did that to me, even if he thought I deserved it.

[chatter] Accidental death.

Hilda, the jury in the Sackbut Castle case has returned a verdict of accidental death.

Blah, blah, blah, blah.

You said that Richard was lying.

Oh, yes.

Bertha waylaid him in the garden.

She told him that she had news for him, probably asked him for money.

He didn't believe her and sent her away.

So she wandered around Wheldrake the rest of the afternoon, and then returned to the castle in the evening, full of gin and unsteady on her pins.

Splash.

Now, it really was an accident.

But why did he lie?

Oh, I don't know, Hilda.

Perhaps he had a secret fear that Bertha was his mother.

After all, he hadn't seen his mother for 30 years.

But recognizing her would make his father a liar, the father who could do no wrong.

So he just pretended he didn't have the faintest idea who she was.

Well, that wasn't very nice of him.

RUMPOLE: Oh, but luckily, his mother reads The Daily Telegraph.

By lottery?

Oh, didn't I tell you?

I asked Bonnie Bernard to put an advertisement in all the posh newspapers.

"Riccardino wants to see Mother.

Very urgent.

Ring this number."

Poor woman.

[phone ringing] Oh, the poor woman.

Which one?

Yes, Rumpole.

Oh, Miss Liz!

Yeah.

Oh?

You're offering no evidence against Walter "The Wally" Wilkinson.

Why not pray?

Oh, they found who did it.

Well, you'll have to buy me a celebratory plonk at Pomeroy's, won't you?

[chuckles] Bye.

Do you know why The Wally confessed to a triple-murder, Hilda?

Snobbery, pure snobbery.

He thought he'd done in an old dosser called Bronco Billington.

But he didn't want to be potted for something so downmarket, so he put his hands up for a smart triple-murder.

That way, he could join the upper crust at Pentonville Prison and be treated like a lord by all the screws.

Rumpole.

Yes?

I don't think we'll go to Sackbut Castle again.

Oh, I don't think we'll be asked.

[chatter] There we go.

Liz, I wanted to tell you.

I know all about the honorable David Luxter, otherwise known as Dave Inchcape.

Honorable.

Don't remind me.

It makes me feel sick.

Well, he comes from a pretty dodgy background, you know?

He's got the old Lord Chancellor Luxter as a grandad.

Instead of having a decent upbringing in a one-parent family in Camden, he's the son of a lord.

In other words, he was a deprived child.

Oh, what?

RUMPOLE: They all are, Liz, all the lords and ladies and the marquesses of whatnot that figure in Debbie's diary in the Coronet Magazine.

They turn their sons out of home at a tender age.

They put them in the care of some young offenders' institution like Eton.

They tell them lies.

They tell them their mother's dead.

No.

The dice are loaded against the young Inchcapes of this world.

Well, I suppose he has been discriminated against.

Oh, one of the outcasts of society, I'd say.

I shouldn't have withdrawn my support.

Replace it, Liz.

Prop the poor bloke up.

It's a bloody unjust world, Rumpole.

Oh, ho.

All your years in the law, you've only just discovered that.

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