[audio logo] [theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [festive music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Dennis!

MAN: Hey!

WOMAN: Our mobile home!

CHILD: Get away!

Get away!

Hey!

[knocking] [knocking] [knocking] MAN: Open up.

- Sorry.

We're closed.

[glass shattering] MAN: Frank Wilfred Armstrong?

Yes, indeed.

Are you the proprietor of Free as Air Holidays, also known as Sand Sun Mobile Homes?

That's right.

I'm chairman of the board and managing director, yes.

What are you selling, sir, castles in Spain?

We have reason to believe a good number of your Sunshine Mobile Homes are non-existent.

Or else they seem to have vanished mysteriously.

Could I just phone my solicitor?

Plenty of time for that, sir, when we got you down to the station.

Excuse me.

Can I just-- [chatter] Yep.

Thank you.

How would you like the money, sir?

Oh, preferably in enormous quantities.

[chuckles] HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Stupid thing to say.

Now she'll take my check off to the back of the shop and discover the extent of the Rumpole debt.

Why is she reading that thing so attentively?

The art of check cashing is to appear totally unconcerned.

[stamp thuds] Ah, how would I like it?

Oh, uh, just as it comes.

Thank you.

Nothing special.

No doubloons or pieces of eight.

Just pour me out a moderate measure of the good old pound sterling.

Thank you.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Now, the great thing is not to run.

Walk casually.

Even whistle in a carefree manner.

[whistles] MR. MEDWAY: Good morning, Mr. Rumpole.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Medway, the manager.

Should have made a dash for it.

Oh, good morning to you, Medway.

Paying in or drawing out today, are we?

Oh, drawing out, I see.

Could you step into my office, sir?

Oh, no.

Not now.

Got to get back to court.

Money brief, of course.

Just a moment of your time, Mr. Rumpole?

Gone right over the limit of our overdraft, haven't we, Mr. Rumpole?

My overdraft?

Ha.

It's a fleabite compared to what you fellas are lending the Poles.

I don't think the Poles are making out quite so many checks in favor of Jack Pommeroy of Pommeroy's Wine Bar.

Those are for the bare necessities of life.

Now, look here, Medway.

A man's got to live.

No "got to" about it.

There's bound to come a time when that may not be necessary, at least not at the expense of the Fleet Street branch of the United Metropolitan Bank.

The bank with the friendly ear?

There comes a time, Mr. Rumpole, when the United Metropolitan goes deaf.

Now look here, Medway.

My overdraft is peanuts.

I mean, it's laughable compared to my outstanding fees.

Oh, they'll come in, of course they'll come in.

Do you know how long solicitors keep us waiting for money?

Hmm?

Do you know there's a firm that hasn't paid me for a private indecency I did for them back in 1972?

No names, of course, but-- Is that Mr. Perivale Blythe?

Well-- --of Blythe, Winterbottom, and Paisley?

Yes, I believe that's the chap, slow player.

Oh, the money's there.

Of course it's there.

Is it, Mr. Rumpole?

Yes.

Yes, I see.

Thank you.

Talk to your solicitor, did you, sir?

Uh, no.

No, he-- he just slipped out the office for a moment.

Well, hello there, Rumpole.

How are you?

Tired with all these, for restful death, I cry.

What's all this talk of death, Rumpole?

You know young Archie, don't you, Mr. Justice Featherstone's nephew?

My god, not another Featherstone.

Will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?

I'm sure he'd like your advice about starting out at the bar.

My advice is don't.

Don't?

Young Featherstone would love to get a seat in our chambers, Rumpole.

I've told him there's not the accommodation available, not quite yet.

Not quite yet?

Well, you can't stay in your room forever, can you?

The time's got to come when you take things a little more easily.

The case of the vanishing umbrella stand.

Henry my umbrella stand's disappeared.

Yes, it's most disturbing.

Institute a thorough search at once.

Oh, listen, there's something else.

No, hang on, I'm coming in.

Forget the brolly stand for a minute.

How much does Perivale Blythe owe me in fees?

2,765 pounds 93 p, Mr. Rumpole.

You tell me wealth undreamt of by the United Metropolitan Bank.

Stretching back a fair way in time, I suppose?

Stretching back, Mr. Rumpole, to the indecency at Swansea in April 1973.

HORACE RUMPOLE: You have been on to him about it?

Almost daily, Mr. Rumpole.

Well, what does the blight of Blythe have to say for himself?

Well, the last time, his secretary told us a check was in the post.

[laughs] Oh, that old chestnut.

Not true.

Not unless it evaporated mysteriously between here and Cheapside.

Get after this Blythe, Henry, like a terrier.

Get your teeth into him, and don't let go until he disgorges the loot.

Is that a brief for me you're fingering?

Mr. Myers brought it in, sir.

It's a case at the Bailey.

God bless old Myers, a man who pays up from time to time.

What is it-- murder, robbery, sudden death?

Sorry, Mr. Rumpole.

It would seem to be about Sand Sun Mobile Homes.

Mr. Perivale Blythe has slipped out of the office.

[phone ringing] I can only ask you to call again later, please.

Yes, I'll tell him you rang-- [phone ringing] --Mr. Rumpole's clerk.

My brother Fred and I-- we was born into the modern world, Mr. Rumpole.

And what is the name of the game in the world today?

Space Invaders.

No, the name of the game is leisure interests and computer technology.

Now, you won't believe this, Mr. Rumpole.

You will not believe it.

Well, try me.

Our old dad kept a fruit barrow in the Shepherd's Bush market.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Not incredible.

- Yes, indeed.

Well, he earned a few bob in his time.

And when he died, Fred and I-- we divided up the capital.

And Fred-- he went into hardware, right?

Ironmongery.

No.

Fred joined the microchip revolution.

Oh.

And looking around your office today, Mr. Rumpole, I doubt very much if it's fully automated.

You have great delays in sending out your bills.

Am I right?

[chuckles] I sometimes think my bills are sent out by carrier pigeon, with a broken wing and no sense of direction.

Trust in the computer, Mr. Rumpole, and you will have so much more time, leisure-wise.

Because that is the name of the game.

- Name of the game.

- Yes, indeed.

That is why I saw my future, definitely, in the leisure industry.

It sounds like a contradiction in terms, isn't it?

Well, who wants hotel expenses these days?

Who needs porters, tips, waiter service, all that hassle?

No.

The future, as I see it, lies in self-catering mobile homes, set in A3 and B1, popularity, mass appeal, holiday areas.

That is the vision, Mr. Rumpole.

And it's got me where I am today.

Out on bail, facing charges of fraud, and a fraudulent conversion.

Mr. Rumpole.

I want you to believe this.

Well, try me again.

I just don't understand what's going on.

And I say that to you very, very frankly.

I was doing my best to run a go-ahead service industry, geared to the needs of the '80s.

Now, what went wrong exactly?

I dare say a close examination of the accounts will tell us that.

Oh, by the way, that's why I asked you to give Miss Allways a little brief.

She has a remarkable head for figures.

And quite a figure for heads, I should imagine.

[laughs] Pardon me, Miss Allways.

I think I was a little bit out of place there.

Am I right?

I'd like the account sent down to chambers as soon as possible.

There's a great deal of spade work to be done.

This is where we're in a certain amount of difficulty.

Oh, surely not.

Well, you see, the accounts were given to Mr. Armstrong's previous solicitor.

That's the firm that acted for his father back in the fruit barrow days, and went on acting until after our client's arrest.

No, it's perfectly simple.

All you have to do is get in touch with the former solicitors.

No, no, it's not as simple as that, Miss Allways.

We've tried writing, and we never get a reply to our letters.

And when we telephone, well, the-- the gentleman dealing with the matter always seems to have just slipped out of the office.

Really?

Well, what's the name of the firm?

Don't tell me.

Blythe, Winterbottom, and Paisley.

Yes, this is it.

Erskine-Brown-- oh.

[chatter] J'accuse.

What?

Umbrella stand pincher.

My dear Horace, that's the most serious allegation.

Stealing umbrella stands is a very serious crime.

Now, look here, Rumpole.

You don't need one in your room.

Oh, really?

No, you see only criminals, men who hardly ever carry umbrellas.

I happened to have a conference yesterday with three solicitors, all with umbrellas.

That umbrella stand is a family heirloom.

I inherited that from She Who Must Be Obeyed's old daddy.

And it's the only useful thing I ever got out of him, and I prize it highly.

All right.

All right, all right.

If that's the attitude, good night.

Good night.

Keep your fingers off my family furniture.

Henry, what's your poison?

Oh, Cinzano Bianco, please, Mr. Rumpole, with lemonade.

Oh, dear.

Di?

Oh, I'll have the same, please, Mr. Rumpole.

It's what we used to have in Lanzarote.

Oh, was it really?

I won't go too deeply into that.

A couple of Cinzano Biancos with lemonade, please, Jack, and a large cooking carrot.

And I'm sure you'd be happy to cash a small check?

Well, not exactly happy, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, come on, Jack.

You've got nothing to worry about.

You haven't left any money to the Poles, have you?

This is a better bank than the United Metropolitan.

Take one for yourself while you're at it.

Thanks.

Now, then, Henry, this abominable Blythe-- he hasn't surfaced, has he, by any stretch of the imagination?

No, Mr. Rumpole, not as yet, sir.

As yet.

Lying in his hammock, I suppose, on some South Sea island, fondling some almond-eyed beauty and turning our brief fees and refreshers into iced champagne, I shouldn't wonder.

I've made inquiries around the temple.

Mr. Brushwood in Queen Elizabeth's buildings had the same problem, his clerk was telling me.

Blythe owed well into four figures, and they couldn't ever find hide nor hair of him, sir.

- Oh, Tommy Brushwood's dead.

- No longer with us.

I know that, sir.

And as soon as he heard he'd gone, Blythe called on Mr. Brushwood's widow and got her to give him some sort of release for a small percentage of the sum outstanding.

So she signed as executor, not quite knowing the form, apparently.

But how did this blot on the landscape, Blythe, manage to talk her into that sort of arrangement?

Well, told her it would be far less distressing to get the estate cleared up quickly Scared her with a long, expensive dispute if she wanted to claim the full amount of her husband's fees.

Cheers, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, yes.

Cheers ever so.

Yeah, and he's done it before, I'm told.

But why hasn't this Blythe been reported to the law society?

Why hasn't he been clapped in irons-- oh, Jack, oh, bless you.

It's very civil of you.

Thank you very much.

--and transported to the colonies.

All the clerks have thought of reporting him.

Of course, sir.

But if we did that, we'd never get our money, now, would we?

Yes.

Despite that appalling drink that you affect, you have your head screwed on.

However, I have another solution.

Honestly, Mr. Rumpole, I'd be glad to hear it, sir.

We need Blythe as a witness in the Sand Sun Holiday case.

R v. Armstrong?

This is it.

We'll get Newton, the private dick, to find Blythe and slap a subpoena on him.

Well, if old FIG Newton can't find the little horror, who can?

Well, there is a 10:45 to Penzance.

Yes, in a day or two.

Yes, thank you.

Yes?

Can I help you?

If you'd be so good, yes.

Is Mr. Perivale Blythe in?

Have you an appointment?

Newton-- Ferdinand Ian Gilmour Newton of Newton Investigations, known in the profession as FIG Newton.

Oh, Mr. Blythe is expecting me.

I see nothing in his diary.

Must have slipped his memory.

Busy, man.

I'm sure that Mr. Blythe can't remember everything.

He remembers if he's made an appointment.

Excuse me.

Mr. Blythe has slipped out.

Yes, of course.

Well, I'll just wait until he slips back, shall I?

What are these?

Bills, Rumpole.

Can't you recognize them?

Oh, yes.

Distressingly familiar.

Gas, electricity, rates, water rates.

We really must cut down on these frivolities.

HILDA RUMPOLE: They've all gone red.

Look, look, that's only last quarter's telephone bill.

We should lay that down for maturing.

You don't have to rush into paying these things.

Perivale Blythe hasn't paid me anything for 10 years.

Well, you better tell Mr. Perivale Blythe that the London Electricity Board isn't as patient as you are, Rumpole.

Hilda, you know perfectly well we can't sue anybody for our fees, you know.

I don't see why not.

Well, it wouldn't be the gentlemanly thing to do.

And it'd against all the finest traditions of the bar.

I suppose the gentlemanly thing is to sit here in the dark, with the gas cut off and no telephone, and nasty looks whenever you go into the butcher.

Well, all I can say is that you can sit here and be gentlemanly on your own and take your feet off the sofa.

You'll have to go now.

I'm locking up.

So I see.

[engine starts] [birds chirping] [camera clicks] I'm going away, Rumpole.

Promises, promises.

What did you say?

I said, when from, Missus?

Dodo's been asked to stay with a friend in the Lake District, Pansy Rollins, who was at school with both of us, if you remember.

HORACE RUMPOLE: No, I wasn't there at the time.

And Pansy has recently lost her husband.

How careless of her.

So it'll be a bachelor party.

Of course, when Dodo first mentioned it to me, I told her I couldn't possibly leave you, Rumpole.

Oh, I'm prepared to make the supreme sacrifice and let you go, my dear.

You don't have to worry about me.

Well, I suppose I should, unduly.

But you ought to worry about yourself, Rumpole.

You take my advice and find this Colindale Blythe.

Perivale.

Wherever he lives-- find him and get him to pay you.

Make that your task while I'm away, Rumpole.

And keep your feet off the sofa.

[chatter] [laughs] What are you laughing at?

[camera clicks] [smooth jazz music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [chatter] Hello.

Could I have a bottle of Guinness, please?

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ FIG Newton drew a blank.

No sign of Blythe, either at the flat at Dolphin Square or at his office.

- Oh, lord.

Newton followed the Secretary.

She spends most of her time dancing with her boyfriend.

Here's his report.

There's some snapshots in it.

- All right.

Thanks.

Well, that's an essential witness.

Yes, of course he is.

We just need more time for Newton to make inquiries.

Can't we ask for an adjournment?

We can ask.

Surely, Mr. Rumpole, any reasonable judge would grant it.

Mr. Rumpole, for the fifth time of asking, I am not going to adjourn this case.

So far as I can see, the defense has had all the time in the world.

Your Lordship must know how difficult it can be to trace a solicitor, if Your Lordship remembers his own days at the bar.

Neither your so-called eloquence nor your alleged jokes will make me change my mind.

And may I remind Your Lordship that, for many years past, my client's business life has been in the hands of the elusive Mr. Perivale Blythe.

Your client's business life, such as it was, was in his own hands, Mr. Rumpole.

And it's time he faced up to his responsibilities.

This case will proceed without any further delay.

This is my final decision.

If Your Lordship pleases.

You did your best, sir.

Good old Myersy.

He always says that when I fail dismally.

[chatter] I'd like to ask you now about your Cornish site for Free as Air Holidays Limited.

Your Lordship and the jury have the photographs in exhibit 3.

Oh, thank you, Mr. Ward-Webster.

Hardly looks like the Garden of Eden, does it, members of the jury?

[laughter] It appears to be next door to an industrial tip.

[laughter] Looking in the other direction, there is an uninterrupted view of the sea.

What?

Oh, yes, between the crane and the second lorry.

[laughter] A great deal of our patrons' time is spent on the beach, My Lord.

Perhaps they want a quiet night.

[laughter] Yes.

Carry on, Mr. Ward-Webster.

Mr. Armstrong, do you agree that on no less than 50 occasions, holidays on the site in Cornwall turned out to have been booked in non-existent mobile homes?

Yes, indeed.

And-- WARD-WEBSTER: And that your firm was paid large deposits for such holidays?

Well, this is it.

And on one occasion at least, a mobile home was actually removed from an unhappy mother just as she was about to enter it?

Oh, well, it was one of those things.

Instead of the mother running away from home, the home ran away from the mother.

[laughter] Oh, well done, Bull.

Quite the stand-up comic.

And that letters of protest from the losers and their legal advisors remained unanswered?

If there were any complaints, the information should have been fed through the office computer.

Well, perhaps the people in question would rather have had their money back, than their complaints consumed by your computer.

Quite frankly, Mr. Ward-Webster, the office at Free as Air Holidays Limited is equipped with the latest technology.

Pity it isn't also equipped with a little old-fashioned plain dealing.

My Lord, I object.

That is for the jury to decide.

Very well.

Members of the jury, you will have heard Mr. Rumpole's objection.

[chuckles] Now, shall we get on with the trial?

Mr. Armstrong, are you telling us these events are due to the inefficiencies of your office?

My office is not in the least inefficient.

My brother's business is in computer technology.

WARD-WEBSTER: And what is the relevance of that, Mr. Armstrong?

FRANK ARMSTRONG: Well, he provides all the office equipment.

- Here's FIG's report.

Some photographs, he said.

Look at that.

WARD-WEBSTER: I agree, My Lord.

I will pass on another matter.

Myersy.

WARD-WEBSTER: Mr. Armstrong-- A remarkable resemblance to our client, isn't it?

--for Sand Sun Mobile Home.

Well, naturally, sir, the accommodation was extremely luxurious.

Ring FIG Newton.

Would you see if he can get here by the lunchtime adjournment?

He's never seen our client, has he?

No, he hasn't.

I had told you before.

I asked the computer to do it.

We use modern methods.

[chatter] It's very like him, but it's not the same gentleman.

What's your brother up to these days?

He's in the Gulf, in Dubai, as far as I know.

He's been asked to develop a computer center over there.

Do you have a photograph of him?

Yes, indeed, I have.

It was taken the summer before last, in Marbelia.

How about that?

That is the gentleman.

No doubt about it.

Fred's been dancing.

How long has he been out in Dubai?

FRANK ARMSTRONG: Six months.

Yeah, all of six months.

Since before you were arrested?

I only ask because Mr. Newton saw him in London two nights ago.

Mr. Rumpole, I don't what you're getting at, but I'm sure Fred would help if at all possible.

Have you quarreled about anything?

Well, we had a little falling out, perhaps, when he wanted to buy my land in Cornwall.

But I wasn't selling.

But didn't he offer you enough money?

An enormous amount.

Stupid sort of price, I called it.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Well.

Well, I suppose it was a bit unbrotherly of me, but I wanted to build up my empire.

Perhaps Fred wanted to build up his.

We have lot to do.

You've got to find brother Fred.

In Dubai?

And I want a watch kept on the Free as Air Holiday offices.

Not during business hours, only late at night and early in the morning.

Oh, and Blythe-- you've got to lay hands on Blythe, too.

You may have to go to Cornwall.

I suppose you want all this done before 2 o'clock.

No, no, Myersy.

We've got to get the Bull to give us an adjournment or die in the attempt.

Come on.

Sir, what is the basis of this application that you are making for the eighth time since the start of this case?

What is it?

- Ninth.

Oh, thank you, Mason.

For the ninth time, Mr. Rumpole.

The basis should be clear, even to Your Lordship.

It is vital that justice be done to the gentleman I have the honor to represent.

Mr. Rumpole, this case has been committed for six months.

If this Mr. Blythe could have helped you, he would have come forward long ago.

That is an entirely unwarrantable assumption.

There may be all sorts of reasons for Mr. Blythe's absence.

It seems to me you know very little about this Mr. Blythe.

May I ask, have you a proof of his evidence?

No.

No?

No, I don't.

So you have no idea of what this Mr. Blythe is going to say?

No, but I know what I am going to ask him, My Lord.

And if he answers truthfully, I have no doubt that my client will be acquitted.

A pious hope, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, well, of course, if Your Lordship wishes to exclude this vital evidence and has no interest in doing justice in this case, I have very little more to say.

Well, I have a lot more to say, as you should know perfectly well, Mr. Rumpole.

Getting through the work of the Old Bailey is a matter of considerable public importance.

Oh, yes, of course, much more important than justice?

In my view, these constant applications by the defense are merely an attempt to put off the evil hour when the jury has to bring in a verdict.

It is my job to see that justice is done speedily.

Mr. Rumpole, I believe you have a taste for poetry.

You will no doubt remember the quotation about the law's delays.

Oh, yes, My Lord.

It comes in the same passage which deals with the insolence of office.

If I might say, My Lord-- Mr. Rumpole, your application for an adjournment is refused.

There is absolutely nothing you could say that would persuade me to grant it.

Nothing, My Lord?

No, Mr. Rumpole.

Absolutely nothing.

[grunts] [crowd clamoring] I will adjourn this case.

Send for a matron.

[chatter] I wish that I die with my wig on.

Don't be ridiculous, Rumpole.

You're not going to die.

Did he say, die?

Hold on, sir.

I'll just go and hurry up the matron.

(WHISPERS) Fiona.

Yes, Rumpole.

I can't breathe.

Take me outside.

Steady on, Mr. Rumpole.

No, it's all right, Myers.

I just want a breath.

I want to smell dear old Ludgate Circus.

That's all.

Go and look after the client, will you?

Short little runabout outside.

Well, yes, but I really don't-- Take me out.

I want a breath.

You don't want me to spend my last moment outside Bullingham's court, do you?

[breathes heavily] They reckon it's a stroke.

They may mention bail later.

I don't know.

How is he?

How is Mr. Rumpole?

Well, he can't go on forever now, can he?

Not like he's been doing.

It may be the best way out for the old fella.

My mother had a blessed release.

She'd just called bingo.

When matron got downstairs, it seems the old chap had gone already.

Rumpole.

He can't do this to me.

I've got my warehouse breaking starting Thursday.

He wasn't old.

How old was he?

Not old, really.

Probably the life he led during these last few years.

Somebody was saying, the other day at lunchtime, he'd been surviving almost entirely on claret, Pommeroy's claret.

I say, Mason, you don't think he was drunk, do you?

Oh, no, no, Judge.

From what I hear, it was pretty serious.

It crossed my mind he might have been drunk.

It was probably delirium.

Did you hear what he said to me, Mason, during the course of the argument?

Not all of it, Judge.

A fellow must be pretty far gone to talk about the insolence of office down at the Old Bailey.

Well, looks like an early afternoon.

Then you won't be going on with the trial.

No, it wouldn't be right.

One has to show a certain respect, I suppose, even for old Rumpole.

Well, I'll try and find where they've put him, Judge.

Would you wish to send flowers?

Oh, come on, Mason.

There are limits.

Flowers will not be necessary.

I shouldn't have brought you home.

Oh, I couldn't stand hospital.

I couldn't bear all that snoring, and bedpans, and piped wireless-- there we are-- not to mention a complete lack of medicinal claret.

[chuckles] [breathes heavily] Your wife's not here?

No, must have slipped out for something.

She'll be back directly.

I think I'll just pop into bed.

I'll give you a hand.

No, no.

Perhaps-- perhaps better not.

She Who Must Be Obeyed is sure to stalk in.

She-- she-- [chuckles] she gets some very strange ideas, does she.

Look, you'll really be all right?

Do you ever think about the hereafter, Fiona?

Rumpole.

Oh, oh, the hereafter will be all right.

Oh, lord, until Ballard gets there, he's sure to make it.

Go along now.

No, really, go on.

Are you sure?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yeah.

Ask for bail from the mad Bull for Frank.

Oh, Lord Bullingham will be turning up in the hereafter, too, sooner or later.

Just apply for bail, Fiona.

I'll ring you later.

Later.

Not too late.

The prosecution has no objection to bail continuing on the same terms as before.

Bail?

Yes, of course, as always.

By all means.

Yes, on the same terms.

What is the latest news of Mr. Rumpole?

He is resting peacefully, My Lord.

Peacefully.

Ah, well, yes, it comes to all of us in some time.

Mm-hmm.

Mason, nothing else for me this afternoon, sir?

No, My Lord.

No reply again.

No reply from Rumpole's flat.

Probably no one at home.

That would appear to be the natural assumption, Uncle Tom.

Well, surely.

We've got absolutely no reason to believe that Rumpole is-- I agree.

All we know is Rumpole suffered some sort of stroke or a seizure.

Yes, he often said that Judge Bullingham had that sort of effect on him.

And that he's clearly been taken somewhere.

I'd like a full report from Allways.

Where is Allways, Henry?

R v. Armstrong being adjourned, sir, Miss Allways is traveling up to Manchester to do a pawn job.

A pawn job?

I'd have thought this was hardly the moment for that sort of thing.

Mr. Rumpole would want chambers to carry on, sir, I'm sure, as usual.

Yeah, poor old fella.

Well, there's one thing to be said for him.

He went in harness.

I don't really think this is the sort of matter we should be discussing in the clerk's room.

No doubt I shall be calling a chambers meeting when I have rather more detailed information.

[sniffles] Diane, please.

Didn't you hear what I said to Mr. Ballard?

Chambers must go on.

That would have been his wishes.

[phone ringing] Hello.

[cars passing] [chatter] Please let firm of Blythe, Winterbottom, and Paisley know sad news.

Deeply regret Rumpole gone up to a higher tribunal.

Signed, Rumpole.

Well, what is it, Henry?

It's a telemessage, sir.

Telegrams having been abolished, per se.

Yes, I know it's a telemessage.

But the wording-- doesn't it strike you as being somewhat strange?

Mr. Rumpole was always one for his jokes, sir.

Caused us a good deal of embarrassment at times.

But presumably, this can't have been signed by Rumpole, not in the circumstances.

On any reasonable interpretation, the word Rumpole being silent, as far as sex is concerned, must surely be construed as referring to Mrs. Rumpole.

Mrs. Rumpole.

Well, that's what I assumed, sir.

Unfortunately, I can't get through to the Gloucester Road flat on the telephone.

Seems there's a fault on the line.

Mm.

Have you tried calling round?

I have, sir.

No answer to my ring.

Yes, well, it's a busy time in any family.

A busy and distressing time.

[sighs] Doesn't it strike you as being rather odd, Henry?

Oh, just a bit, sir, yeah.

As head of chambers, surely I should be the first to be informed of any decease among members.

Am I not entitled to that?

In the normal course of events, sir.

In the normal course of events.

But this telemessage makes no reference to me, to his fellow members, not even to the court in which he was appearing when he was stricken down.

This firm of Blythe, Sidebottom, and-- Winterbottom, sir, and Paisley.

Yes, quite.

Was it a film to which Rumpole was particularly attached?

I don't think so, Mr. Ballard.

They owed him money.

They owed him money?

Strange.

That's very strange.

You know, from the way he was talking the other morning, I think the old fellow had a queer sort of premonition that the end was pretty close.

[chatter] JACK POMMEROY: Around 23 of his checks.

HENRY: Yes, and my clerks aren't exactly up to date either.

You'll miss him round here, though, won't you?

Of course it's true.

Everyone's talking about it.

Poor old boy.

He'd had a good innings, though, hadn't he?

I'm not sure how much of it was good, though the end itself made up for a great deal.

Oh, yes, of course, the end itself.

And it does mean one has a chance of getting into Uncle Guthrie's old chambers, continuing the family tradition, all that sort of thing.

As I told your uncle, the judge, on the telephone, I can't promise anything.

And the whole matter will be discussed at the chambers meeting, hmm?

That telemessage was telephoned in at 3:15 yesterday afternoon.

Bit rum, isn't it?

What does he mean, exactly, higher tribunal?

I have no doubt he means that great court of appeal, before which we must all appear eventually, Uncle Tom.

I never got to the court of appeal.

Never had the brief to go there, as a matter of fact.

Probably just as well.

I wouldn't have been up to it.

Knowing Rumpole, there must be a joke there somewhere.

But this must have been sent by Mrs. Rumpole.

Poor Rumpole is not in a position to sign telemessages.

Not in a position.

Oh, yes, I see what you mean.

Yes, exactly.

Now, of course, the sad event will mean some consequent changes in chambers.

So far as the furniture is concerned, yes.

I don't suppose anyone will have any particular use for the old umbrella stand which stood in Rumpole's room.

His umbrella stand, Erskine-Brown?

Yes.

Well, I happen to have conferences from time to time with a number of solicitors.

Naturally, they have umbrellas.

So I thought if no one else wants it-- I don't think there will be exactly a stampede for Rumpole's old umbrella stand.

I was thinking there ought to be a bit more work about.

Hoskins?

Well, I mean, I suppose Henry can hang on to some of Rumpole's solicitors, Myers, and people like that.

Now, the work may get spread around a bit.

I'm not sure that I agree with Hoskins.

You think Miss Allways may get her hands on Rumpole's work?

Where is Allways?

Still up in Manchester, according to Henry, on the obscenity.

Obscenity.

No, you see, that's exactly what I mean, or rape or indecent assault or possessing housebreaking instruments by night.

I mean, this may be our opportunity, sad as the occasion is, of course, to improve the image of chambers.

I mean, do we really want little dirty book Merchants hanging around the clerk's room?

Speaking for myself, I think there's a great deal in what Erskine-Brown says.

In my view, if you're not for these moral degenerates, you must be against them.

I'd like to see a great deal more prosecution work in chambers.

Well, you are certain of the money with prosecutions, speaking as a man with daughters.

Mm.

And there is a young man who is a certainty for the Yard's list of prosecutors.

You know, I think I've mentioned young Archie Featherstone to you, Erskine-Brown.

Of course.

The judge's nephew.

Yes, well, it may be-- in the changed circumstances, we may have a room to offer young Archie Featherstone.

He won't be taking work from us, I trust?

No, in my opinion, he'll be bringing it in in the shape of prosecutions.

Now, there are a few arrangements to be discussed.

Ah, arrangements.

Yes, of course.

I hope, arrangements, doesn't mean a crematorium.

I think there's something so terribly depressing about those little railway lines disappearing behind the velvet curtains.

I prefer the old-- Of course, it is something of an event.

I wonder if we'd get the Temple Church.

Ooh, I imagine not.

Of Course, We've seen nothing in The Times obituaries.

I'm afraid old Rumpole never got the kind of cases which make legal history.

I suppose there might be some sort of memorial service in Pommeroy's Wine Bar.

I think we should send a modest floral tribute.

Henry could arrange for that out of chambers' expenses.

After all, there is such a thing as the great fraternity of the bar.

Everyone agreed?

Agreed.

Agreed.

Now, in view of the fact that at the 11th hour, he appeared to become reconciled to the deeper realities of our brief life here on Earth, you may all care to stand for a few minutes silence in memory of Horace Rumpole.

Mrs. Rumpole?

Blythe, Perivale Blythe, solicitor of the Supreme Court, as I mentioned to you on the telephone.

Yes.

Do come in.

I felt I had to intrude, even at this sad, sad moment, Mrs. Rumpole-- not as myself, not even as Blythe, Winterbottom, and Paisley, but as a representative, if I may say so, of the entire legal profession.

Your husband was a very great gentleman, Mrs. Rumpole, and a fine lawyer.

A fine lawyer.

He never told me.

And, of course, the most persuasive advocate.

Oh, yes.

He told me that.

We all join you in your grief, Mrs. Rumpole.

And I have to tell you this.

There are no smiling faces today in the firm of Blythe, Winterbottom, and Paisley.

Thank you.

No-- anyway, I suppose from inner London to Acton magistrates, he will be sorely missed.

I have to tell you what will be sorely missed, Mr. Blythe.

What, Mrs. Rumpole?

All those fees that you owe him, since the indecency case, I believe, in 1972.

Ah, you have heard a little about that.

I've heard a great deal about it.

Well, of course, a great deal of that money hasn't been completely recovered from the clients, not in full.

But I am here to settle up.

I imagine that you are the executor of the late Mr. Rumpole?

Who else?

And as such, empowered to compromise, in my experience, Mrs. Rumpole, the bereaved only want to get the estate settled up quickly.

It's far less distressing, hopefully.

And no doubt the bereaved would want a little cash in hand as soon as possible.

I'll tell you what this bereaved wants, Mr. Blythe.

Tell me, Mrs. Rumpole.

2,765 pounds and 93 p. Well-- [laughs] quite the businesswoman, Mrs. Rumpole.

Would an immediate payment of, let us say, 25% be a nice little arrangement?

You won't want to face a long dispute over the exact figure.

Mr. Blythe, I have to face the butcher-- Well, of course.

--and the water rates, and the London Electricity Board, and the telephone was actually cut off while I was away in the Lake District.

I can't offer them a nice little arrangement, can I?

Well, possibly not.

But I can offer you one, Mr. Perivale Blythe.

Well, that's most obliging of you.

I will offer you this.

I will not report this conversation to the Law Society, although this year's president's father was a close personal friend of my father, Mr. CH Whiston, I will not take immediate steps to have you struck off, Mr. Blythe, providing that you just sit there and write out a check for 2,765 pounds and 93 p, in favor of Hilda Rumpole.

Most unfortunately forgotten my checkbook.

I shall slip one in the post.

Have a look in your briefcase, Mr. Blythe.

I think you'll find your check book there.

[doorbell ringing] Oh, excuse me.

Oh, and don't try the window, Mr. Blythe.

It's really a great deal too far for you to jump.

[sighs] Thank you, Mr. Blythe.

And now there's a gentleman to see you.

FIG Newton.

What-- what ever is this?

It's a subpoena, Mr. Perivale Blythe.

They want you to give evidence in the case down at the Old Bailey.

They've restored R versus Armstrong for this afternoon, Judge.

Armstrong.

Who's taking over from Rumpole?

I think Miss Allways is in court, Judge.

Miss Allways-- a bright girl, that, good-looking girl.

In all the circumstances, do you think it might be at all appropriate if I sent her down a box of chocolates?

No, Judge, I don't think it would be appropriate.

No, I suppose not.

It would look well, however, if I said a few words about Rumpole.

Yes, Judge.

It would look very well.

Members of the jury, before we start this case, there are one or two words I want to say.

In our courts, warm friendships sometimes spring up between judges and counsel, between the bench and the bar.

We are not superior beings as judges.

We do not put on side.

We are the barristers' friends.

And one of my oldest friends over the years was Mr. Horace Rumpole.

During the times he appeared before me, in many cases, I can truthfully say there has never been a cross word between us, although we may have had trivial disagreements over points of law.

No, we are all part of that great, happy family, members of the jury, that is the Central Criminal Court.

And Mr. Horace Rumpole was one of our old stagers.

Not a leader, perhaps, not a general, but one of the reliable, hard-working, and good-hearted old soldiers of the line.

My Lord, I am deeply touched.

[chatter] Mr. Rumpole.

Rumpole, I heard-- Oh, the report was greatly exaggerated, I do assure Your Lordship.

May I say what a pleasure it is to be resuming this case before Your Lordship again?

Mason, what does this mean?

Well, quite honestly, Judge, I haven't a clue.

And you wanted me to send flowers.

Mr. Rumpole, have you an application?

No application, My Lord.

If you remember, Your Lordship was kind enough to adjourn this case.

It has now been restored to your list.

Our inquiries are complete, and I shall call Mr. Perivale Blythe.

He's back.

I understand he went straight down to the Old Bailey, sir.

Miss Allways is with him.

Henry.

Is it too late to do something about the wreath?

Mr. Blythe, after the death of their father, [clears throat] did you continue to act for the brothers Armstrong, my client, Frank, and his brother, Frederick?

Yes, I did.

And did Frederick supply and install the computer set up in his brother's holiday firm?

I believe he did, Yes.

Will you take the photographs of the Cornish holiday site, please, Mr. Blythe?

The industrial area, Mr. Rumpole.

Exactly, My Lord.

Do you know what that industry is, Mr. Blythe?

Tin mines, My Lord, I rather think.

You think.

You know, don't you?

Did you not visit that site on behalf of your client, Frederick?

I did.

He was anxious to buy his brother Frank's site.

Yes, because he'd had it privately prospected and knew that tin was to be found on it.

Yes, I believe so.

Of course, I don't believe he told his brother that.

I don't believe he did.

And when his brother refused to sell, did he not take every possible step to ruin his brother's business, presumably by interfering with the computers that he had installed so that they constantly gave misleading information, booked non-existent holiday homes, and gave false instructions for caravans to be towed away?

Oh, I never approved of that, My Lord.

I am an officer of the court.

I would have no part of it.

Even though you knew about it?

Well, come along, Mr. Blythe.

You must have known about it to disapprove of it.

Sir Rumpole, I take the gravest objection to this line of questioning.

It's outrageous.

Oh, only a trivial objection, My Lord, surely.

Your Lordship has told the jury that we only have trivial disagreements.

You are presenting an entirely new case to this witness, as far as I can see, without evidence.

Oh, there will be evidence, My Lord.

I hope my learned friend does not intend to give that evidence.

I hope my learned friend does not wish to withhold from the jury the fact that Detective Inspector Limmeridge arrested Mr. Frederick Armstrong in the early hours of this morning, after he had entered his brother's offices and was reprogramming his computers.

There will be a charge of perverting the course of justice.

Is this true, Mr. Ward-Webster?

So I understand, My Lord.

I shall be recalling the detective inspector, My Lord, as a witness for the defense.

Thank you, Mr. Blythe.

I don't understand why you were so startled.

Isn't there a biblical precedence for this sort of thing?

Rumpole, I suppose you're very proud of yourself.

Well, it wasn't a bad win, was it?

Got the Sand Sun Mobile Homes' owner away, free and clear, made the world safe for a few more ghastly holidays.

I am not referring to your case, Rumpole.

You caused us all, the great fraternity of the bar, a good deal of unnecessary grief.

Oh, come off it, old darling.

I understand you couldn't wait to re-let my room to young Archie Featherstone within a month.

"Or ere those shoes were old" with which you followed poor old Rumpole's body, "like Niobe, all tears."

We had to plan for the future, Rumpole, deeply distressed as we all were.

Deeply distressed, my eye.

Didn't Uncle Tom.

Suggest a Memorial service in Pommeroy's Wine Bar?

I never approved of that.

Not a bad idea, actually, now I'm back in the funds again.

Why don't I invite you all?

And I thought you'd finally found faith.

That's what I shall never forgive.

We are rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

She Who Must be Obeyed has the check in her hand bag.

It was really very naughty of Rumpole, but it was the only way that he could get his fees from that appalling Mr. Perivale Blythe.

Mrs. Rumpole, you were a party to this extraordinary conspiracy.

Oh, yes.

I'll have you after my job, Mrs. Rumpole.

I couldn't get Blythe to pay up, not till we got this idea.

Great Scott.

He'd never die in the middle of a case, would he?

It was just the same when we thought he'd retired.

He kept popping back like a bloody opera singer.

[laughter] [tapping] Learned friends, since none of you seem inclined, it falls to me to say a few words.

After the sad news that poor old Horace Rumpole had kicked the bucket, it must have come as a great pleasure to you all to learn that he had simply turned a little pale.

When he was deceased, he was constantly in your thoughts.

Some of you wanted his room.

Some of you wanted his work.

Someone I know couldn't wait to get his covetous fingers on his umbrella stand.

But be that as it may, you are all cordially invited to drink to his long life and continued success in a glass of Chateau Thames Embankment Oh, Jack.

To Rumpole.

To his positively last reappearance.

He looks so much better since he died, don't you think?

[laughter] To the great fraternity of the bar-- CROWD: Hear, hear.

--may it rest in peace.

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