[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [chatter] Well?

[stammers] It's a mystery, I-- I'm afraid.

What do you mean, a mystery?

Oh-- oh, I can tell you that.

You see, mystery is my business.

It means something for which there is no logical explanation.

[typewriter clanking] Mr. Rumpole shouldn't be many minutes if you'd like to wait in his room.

All right, sir.

Of course, we do very little crime as ecclesiastical solicitors.

But I'm told that this man, Rumpole, has tremendous experience of shoplifters.

Please, Mr. Morris, my brother is not a shoplifter.

No, no.

Of course, not.

No.

Do take your coat off, dear.

You won't feel the good of it when you go out.

Yes, yes.

Of course, yes.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Mornings at 7:00.

[bells chiming] Or rather, just past 10:30.

The hillsides dew pearled.

The larks on the wing.

The snails on the thorn.

God's in his heaven.

With any luck at all, there's a little crime going on somewhere in the world.

Robert Browning, the Rumpole version.

What's on today?

Main course-- a committal at Bow Street, Hors d'oeuvre, a conference with a vicar.

Mordred is so absent minded.

The number of times he's asked me to help look for his spectacles, and they're there all the time-- on the end of his nose.

That's something we must remember to tell Mr. Rumpole.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): The trouble with vicars is they make the most terrible witnesses.

I mean, we've all called them, haven't we?

To tell the judge that the dear little lad who mugged the old lady in the off license is a pillar of the local youth club, and coming on ever so nicely at ping pong.

In my experience, when you get that sort of evidence from gentlemen of the cloth, it usually adds about two years to the sentence.

Well, that really isn't good enough, Henry.

It's an insult.

After all, that was a very long case.

So just get in touch with their solicitors.

Well, I'll have a go, sir.

Yes, you do that.

♪ Years at the spring ♪ ♪ The days at the morn ♪ Rumpole, I saw a priest going into your room.

Ah, yes.

My con, that right?

- Right, sir.

Yeah.

Your conversion, Rumpole.

Have you seen the light?

Is number 3 Equity Court, your road to Damascus?

Erskine-Brown, you've made a funny.

[laughs] Very rich, yet most amusing.

The man of God has come to seek my earthly advice.

Oh dear, a vicar in trouble.

I suppose it's the choir boys again.

RUMPOLE: No, not this time, Uncle Tom.

It's the sales.

I always thought they were running a hell of a risk having choir boys.

They'd be far safer with a bunch of middle-aged lady sopranos.

I shouldn't have thought vicars were quite your line of country.

Of course, they're my line of country.

The unworldly cleric with his eyes fixed on eternity, caught nicking half a dozen shirts.

You find that comic?

Oh, no.

Perish the thought, Ms. Trant.

The Reverend gentleman will have my most serious attention.

ERSKINE-BROWN: All the same, Philly's got a point.

I shouldn't have thought you'd have a great deal in common with your client, Horace.

After all, no one could say you're particularly devout.

Oh, would you say not, Erskine-Brown?

Rumpole's idea of religion is limited to getting off as many villains as possible.

Let's say, to keeping the prisons as empty as possible.

And I am very religiously inclined to have fun with the prosecution.

Well, excuse me now.

I must go to the man of God.

Oh, not you, my learned head of chambers.

Yeah.

What are you talking about, Rumpole?

Rumpole's defending a clergyman.

Shoplifting at the sales.

Well, it's a step up from your usual clientele, Rumpole.

Well.

Really, our waiting room is beginning to look more and more like a rogue's gallery.

One feels grateful for the odd dog collar.

- Coffee, Guthrie?

- Oh, thank you, Erskine-Brown.

Of course, what we need is more of Erskine-Brown's clients.

Property developers have such a beautiful sense of morality.

I tell you, there's a lot to be said for simple larceny.

See you later.

See you in church, Rumpole.

[laughter] George, my dear fella.

Morning, Rumpole.

You haven't forgotten about tonight, have you?

We're splitting a bottle of Chateau Fleet Street at Pomeroy's.

No, no, no, no.

I'm bringing a friend to dinner with you and Hilda.

You want to spend an evening with she who must be obeyed?

Oh, Rumpole, we fixed it up weeks ago.

Yes, of course, we did.

Oh, no Pomeroy's then?

No, but we might bring a bottle with us.

I have a little news, and I'd like you and Hilda to be the first to know.

George, have you been indulging in brilliantine, by any chance?

We'll be there for 7:30, Rumpole.

Good morning to you all.

[chatter] I was suppose, a little confused, a little preoccupied.

You see, it is, as a matter of fact, a tremendous honor.

What?

To be nicked in the Hall of Food?

My brother has been invited to preach in interdenominational week.

At the Cathedral, yes.

By the Bishop of Deptford.

Oh, I see.

Well, we must make sure that you don't let your public down.

Now, then, it was, uh, three sport shirts with collars, presumably.

Do you wear that sort of shirt?

Oh, yes.

RUMPOLE: Out with the lads brigade rambles around the Ruislip Reservoir?

My brother takes them to Epping Forest.

Oh, my dear lady, I do apologize.

Now, Mr. Skinner, when you were in the gents haberdashery, your mind was on what you say exactly?

The problem of evil.

Oh, really?

Yes.

You see, what puzzles the ordinary fellow is, if God is all wise and perfectly good, then why on Earth did he put evil in the world?

RUMPOLE: May I suggest an answer?

Oh, please.

Perhaps so that ordinary fellows like me could pick up a few briefs around the Old Bailey in the inner London.

- Oh, no.

I can't think that's what he had in mind.

This may seem a trivial little case to you.

No, it is not trivial.

Man's reputation is never trivial.

I must ask you both to take it very seriously, Mr. Skinner, may I ask you to address your mind to one vital question?

Given the fact that there were three sport shirts found in your shopping basket, how the hell did they get there?

I can't tell you.

I've prayed about it.

You mean they leapt off the counter by the power of prayer?

Something like the loaves and the fishes?

Mr. Rumpole, yours would seem to be an extremely literal faith.

May I remind you, Mr. Skinner, that when you were asked for an explanation by the store detective, Mr. Batt, the best you could come up with was that the whole thing was a total mystery.

I'm afraid that's the best explanation one can give of most of the important things in life.

Are you suggesting, Mr. Rumpole, that my brother is guilty?

Of course not.

I have complete faith in your brother's innocence.

And innocent he will be until 12 commonsensical old darlings picked at random off the street, find him otherwise.

Oh, I-- I rather thought a quick hearing before the magistrates with the least possible publicity.

A quick hearing before the magistrates, Mr. Morse, is as good as pleading guilty.

You mean you think you might win this case with a jury?

Ah, juries are rather like God Almighty, Mr. Skinner, totally unpredictable.

[phone ringing] A very good day to you.

Well, we'll ask for a jury trial, then, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, yeah.

Yes, Henry.

Oh, Mr. Skinner, when you are next at prayer, you might put in an application for some sort of a defense.

Yes, who is it?

Yes, Hilda.

No, of course, I haven't forgotten George is coming to dinner and bringing a friend.

Oh, I don't know.

I rather fancy it might be a lady.

The poor fellow's gone and dowsed his head in brilliantine.

[chuckles] 2 pounds of cooking apples from the shop near the tube station.

Yes, I suppose so.

Any further orders?

No, of course, I won't be late.

Bye.

She who must be obeyed.

Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, Ms. Skinner.

I don't think you quite understand my brother.

Oh, well, I'm never totally at home with vicars.

He's like a child in many ways.

Oh, really?

The Peter Pan of the pulpit.

I'm two years older than Mordred, and I've always had to look after him.

He would never have got anywhere without me, Mr. Rumpole.

Simply nowhere.

Mordred just never thinks about himself or what he's doing half the time.

And that's what you'll have to make clear to the jury, Mr. Rumpole.

You should have kept a better eye on him in the sales, Ms. Skinner.

Of course, I should.

I should have been watching him like a hawk every minute.

I blame myself entirely.

Evelyn.

Coming, dear.

I'm coming at once.

Always keep tight hold of nurse for fear of finding something worse.

[champagne popping] - There.

[laughs] And we wanted you to be the first to know.

Oh, I do love champagne.

Well, it was jolly nice of you to bring the bottle, George.

- Not at all.

I love the way it goes all tickly up your nose.

Don't you, Hilda?

We hardly get it often enough to notice.

Well, now, if we're all filled up, I suppose it falls to me.

Accustomed as I am to public speaking-- Usually on behalf of the criminal classes.

Yes.

Well, I think I know on these occasions what's expected of me.

Oh, you mean you like the film star's fifth husband?

You know what's expected of you, but you don't know how to make it new.

[laughs] RUMPOLE: Ah, yes.

Rather good that.

Yeah.

Well, here's to the happy couple.

Here's to us, Georgie.

Ooh!

[laughs] Would you care for a little more Charlotte Russe, Mrs. Tempest?

Oh, Ida.

Do please call me Ida.

Well, um, oh, just a teeny weeny scraping.

I don't want to lose my sylph-like figure, do I, Georgie?

Otherwise, you may not fancy me anymore.

Oh, there's no danger of that.

What, of you not fancying me?

Oh, I know you.

Of you losing your figure, my dear.

She's as slim as a bluebell.

Isn't she as slim as a bluebell, Rumpole?

Ah, well, that rather depends on the size of the bluebell.

[laughs] Oh!

Horace, you are terrible!

[laughs] Why have you been keeping this terrible man from me, Georgie?

Well, I hope we're all going to be seeing a lot of each other.

When?

After we're married.

Oh, yes, George.

Yes, of course.

Sure, that'll be very nice.

Let me, uh-- let me top you up.

There we are.

Lovely glasses.

They're so tasteful.

Just look at that, Georgie.

Isn't that a lovely, tasteful glass?

They're export rejects, actually, from the Army and Navy stores.

Lovely.

Oh, what whim of providence was it that led you across the path of my old friend, George Frobisher?

- Well, Mrs. Tempest-- uh, that is Ida-- came as a guest to the Royal Borough.

You know that's where I've been putting up since I lost my poor sister.

You noticed me, didn't you, dear?

I must admit, I did.

And I noticed him noticing me.

GEORGE: [chuckles] Oh, you know how it is with men, Hilda.

Well, sometimes I wonder if Rumpole notices me at all.

RUMPOLE: Of course I notice you!

I notice you all the time.

I come home from work in the evening-- and there you are.

As a matter of fact, we first spoke in the manageress's office.

We'd both gone to register a complaint on the question of, um, bathwater.

Bathwater?

There's not enough hot, I tell you, to fill the valleys, let alone cover the hills!

[laughs] And George agreed with me.

Didn't you, George?

Well, shall I say we formed an alliance?

Oh, we hit it off at once.

We have so many interests in common.

Oh, really?

Mm-hmm.

Ballroom dancing.

What?

Mrs. Tempest-- that is, Ida-- has cups for it.

George, you're a secret ballroom dancer?

GEORGE: We're going for lessons together at Miss McKay'sÉcole de Dance in Rutland Gate.

Good Lord, is your life to be devoted entirely to pleasure?

[chuckles] [gasps] Does Horace tango at all, Hilda?

He's never been known to.

No, I'm afraid crime is seriously cutting into my time for the tango.

Oh, it's such a pity, dear.

You don't know what you're missing.

You'll want to powder your nose, won't you?

No, I don't think so.

My nose isn't shiny, is it, Georgie?

No, my dear, but, um-- Oh-- oh, you mean spend a penny?

No, no.

No.

No, that wasn't what I meant, actually.

But it is customary, isn't it, at this stage to leave the gentlemen alone?

Oh, you mean you'd like a hand with the washing up?

Of course.

[clattering] Now, not too many naughty stories, boys.

I don't want you leading my Georgie astray.

[laughs] GEORGE: Oh, charming.

Isn't she charming, Rumpole?

Hey, your Mrs. Tempest seems to have a certain vitality, George.

Well, she's a very able businesswoman, too.

Oh, really?

Yeah, she used to run a hotel with her first husband.

Excellent business, I believe.

Somewhere in Kent.

Oh, is that so?

Yes, and I thought-- after we're married, of course-- that she might take up a small hotel again.

Perhaps in the West Country.

Oh, but George, what about you?

Can you give up all your work at the bar, devote yourself to the velita?

Well, I don't want to boast, but I thought I might go for a-- well, for a circuit judgeship.

What?

In fact, I have already applied in-- in some rural area.

A judge, George?

Hmm.

You, a judge?

[chuckles] Yes.

Well, come to think of it, it might suit you very well.

You never were much good in court, were you?

[laughter] Was it in Ramsgate?

What?

Where your Mrs. Tempest ran a small hotel.

Why do you ask?

Oh, no particular reason.

Cheers.

Horace seems a very kind sort of person.

HILDA: Not when I ask him to carry the shopping basket.

Oh, but he always defends.

Ah, that's not because he's kind.

That's because he likes to tease judges.

You don't get much of a chance to tease judges.

Not if you prosecute.

I'm always telling Rumpole, if only he would prosecute, they might make him a judge eventually.

Might they?

HILDA: After all, he should be moving on.

He's done it all by now-- all the heavy crime.

Oh, but he'll soon tell you all about it.

He simply loves telling everyone about his old cases.

[glass breaks] - Oh!

It's one of your lovely glasses.

I-- Oh, it doesn't matter.

No, no, it really doesn't matter.

I-- I'll get the dustpan.

Don't do it, George.

Don't be a judge?

Don't be married.

Look, George, old chap.

Your Honor, if your lordship pleases, have a bit of consideration, old man.

Where would you be leaving me?

Very much as you are now, I should imagine, Rumpole.

Those peaceful moments, the end of the day, those hours we spend over a bottle of Chateau Fleet Street from 5:30 PM on in Pomeroy's wine bar.

Ah, that wonderful oasis of peace that lies between the-- the battle of the Bailey and the horrors of home life.

I'm very fond of you, of course, Rumpole, but you're not exactly someone with whom-- well, with whom one can share everything.

I'm not a dab hand at the two-step.

No, I didn't say that, Rumpole.

Look, George, don't do it.

It's like pleading guilty for an indefinite sentence.

Without parole.

You're exaggerating.

I am not.

I swear by almighty God, I am not.

Listen to me, George.

Do you know what happens on a Saturday morning when free men are having a nice lie-in or-- or wandering contentedly toward a glass of breakfast Chablis and a slow read of the obituaries?

Hmm?

You will both set out with a list and an embroidered shopping basket.

And your wife will spend all your hard-earned cash on things you haven't the slightest desire to own, like Vim and saucepan scourers, and jade cloths and mansion polish.

And when it's stuffed full, you will be asked to carry the damn pansy-looking thing home like a bloody native bearer.

I beg of you, George, don't do it.

HILDA: Rumpole?

She who must be obeyed.

Yes, Hilda!

HILDA: You can carry in the coffee tray now, Rumpole.

You see what I mean?

Do you see what I mean, George?

Of course she won't do for George.

Oh, you think so?

Why not?

Noticing our glasses?

I thought she was going to ask me how much they cost.

12.50, please.

Such bad form-- noticing people's things.

All the prophets of the Portsmouth rape trial frittered away on Vim.

My word.

Saucepan, scourers.

Saucepan scourers, all present and correct, are they?

HILDA: Butter, cream, and bags, and the eggs.

All right, Rumpole, you can carry the basket now.

Yeah Oh, really?

You get all the fun of buying this stuff.

All I get is the hard labor.

I don't understand what we do with all that Vim.

Do we eat Vim?

You'd soon miss it, Rumpole, if it wasn't there.

[blows dust] [blows dust] RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): The Penge Bungalow murders, the Cheltenham circus killing.

Memories of my distant triumphs and disasters.

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow for old, unhappy, far-off things and battles long ago.

Battles, long, long ago.

Ah, the Ramsgate arson case, unexplained destruction of the Saracen's Head Hotel.

[chatter] Oh.

You seen George anywhere?

- Frobisher?

Yes.

No, he hasn't been in yet.

Ah.

Glass of wine for a learned friend?

Oh, well, I was waiting for Claude, actually.

Claude?

- Erskine-Brown.

- Oh.

Of course, yes, I keep forgetting.

Claude-- made me feel quite fond of him.

[chuckles] What on Earth are you waiting for him for?

Well, we are by way of being engaged.

Ah, yes, so you are.

Yeah.

Listen, are you, uh-- are you sure you know enough about him?

Yes, I'm afraid I do.

I mean, one would want to know everything about someone one was going to commit matrimony with.

Oh, go on, surprise me.

Tell me he married a middle-aged Persian contortionist when he was up at Keble.

I'd love to know that.

It would him far more interesting.

Hello, darling.

It's all right.

You needn't worry.

Rumpole's told me everything.

Rumpole, I've got some news for you.

RUMPOLE: Oh?

What-- what do you mean, Phylli, he's told you everything?

Everything about your murky past.

I haven't got a murky past.

That's what I was afraid of.

Henry has just given me the brief for the prosecution in the Queen versus the Reverend Mordred Skinner.

Oh, yes, indeed.

Going to court no evidence, aye?

I mean, It's a lot of fuss for the Queen to make over a couple of shirts, isn't it?

It isn't a couple of shirts, Rumpole.

Three, as a matter of fact.

It's the principle of the thing.

When a man sets himself up as a paragon of morality-- Yes, you think it's a lot more fun to pot him.

It won't be fun at all, Horace.

It'll be the most painful duty.

Ah!

My heart bleeds for you.

Nonetheless, I shall be fascinated to see how you conduct the religious ceremony at the Inner London.

You seem to have forgotten what my religion is-- having fun with the prosecution.

[chuckles] Ah, there he is!

Excuse me.

George.

George!

I've got it at last, Phylli, a case in which Rumpole has got absolutely no defense.

He'll have to plead guilty.

He can't do that.

It's against his religion.

We've just got time for the one before the Requiem.

- Thank you.

- Uh, Ms. um-- Pichon Longueville, 1967.

You celebrating, George?

In a way, yes.

We have a glass or two up in the room now.

Can't seem to get anything decent in the restaurant.

George, have a drink.

I must say, it's very pleasant up in the room.

Have you listened to the BBC's overseas service?

Yeah.

Old Victor Sylvester records requested from Nigeria.

Yes, George, there's something-- They only seem to care for ballroom dancing in the Third World nowadays.

I'd like to talk to you.

GEORGE: I'm sorry to desert you, Rumpole.

George, it'll only take a minute.

It wouldn't do to keep Ida waiting.

Now, George-- I'll see you in the morning, my dear Rumpole.

Good night, everyone.

Yes, Mr. Rumpole?

Red plonk, please, Peg.

Large glass.

Chateau Fleet Street.

I have nothing to celebrate.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): It's an extraordinary thing.

It always looks like a wet Monday around the Inner London, stuck in the desert of Newington Causeway, with nowhere to go for a spot of steak and kidney pud at lunchtime.

An unhappy sort of court, down the Old Kent Road, with all the cheeky cockney sparrows turned into sad, silent figures waiting for the burglary to come on in court, too, and juries who look as if they relied on the work to eke out their social security.

Morning.

When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, to shame, to draw them thence.

So sweet is gentle contemplation.

You nervous?

No.

As a matter of fact, I'm strangely calm.

We are before Judge Bullingham.

Judge who?

MORSE: Bullingham.

Dearly beloved brethren, I say unto you, God is not on our side.

He has sent us Bullingham.

How do you explain that, Vicar?

An example of the Almighty's wonderful sense of humor?

Are you trying to tell us that Judge Bullingham doesn't like parsons?

God knows.

I doubt if he's ever met one.

The Bull's leisure tastes run to watching Crown Court and the all in wrestling.

He learns most from the wrestling.

Very well.

Shall we enter the ring?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform.

COUNSEL: Members of the jury-- RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Nothing more mysterious than his appointment of Roger Bullingham as a circuit judge attached at the moment to the Inner London.

COUNSEL: --that he did on the 18th of October-- RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): I can only suppose the Bull's unreasoning prejudice against all Black persons, defense lawyers, and probation officers comes from some deep psychological cause.

Perhaps his mother, if such a creature can be imagined, was once assaulted by a Black probation officer on his way to give evidence for the defense.

May it please Your Honor?

I appear in this case to prosecute.

And who is for the defense?

Mr. Rumpole.

I have the honor to represent the Reverend Mordred Skinner.

Before you became a straw detective, I understand you were in the Metropolitan Police.

Yes, sir.

RUMPOLE: Well, why did you leave the force?

Pay and conditions were hardly satisfactory, sir.

Ah.

And that being so, you decided it would be more profitable to keep your beady eye on the ladies' lingerie than do battle with serious crime, hmm?

Are you suggesting, Mr. Rumpole, this is not a serious crime?

For many people, my Lord, the theft of three shirts may seem a mere triviality.

But for the Reverend Mordred Skinner, they represent the possibility of total ruin, disgrace, and disaster.

In this case, my client's whole world hangs in the balance.

Mr. Rumpole-- That is why it cannot be decided by a judge alone.

Mr. Rumpole.

That is why we must cling to our most cherished institution-- trial by jury, ladies and gentlemen, with all your fairness, common sense, and knowledge of the world.

Mr. Rumpole, you should know your business by now.

This is not the time for making speeches.

You will have an opportunity at the end of the case.

RUMPOLE: And as Your Honor will have the opportunity of making a speech after me, I thought it might be as well to make clear who the judges of fact in this case are.

Yes.

Very well.

Get on with it.

Certainly.

That's what I am attempting to do.

Mr. Batt, when you were in the shirt department-- Yes, sir.

--you didn't see my client remove the shirts from the counter and make off with them?

No, sir.

If he had done, no doubt he would have told us about it.

Your Honor is always so quick to notice points in favor of the defense.

Then why did you follow him?

The supervisor noticed there was a pile of shirts missing.

She, um-- she said there was a reverend been turning them over, Your Honor.

He might not have told us that if you hadn't asked the wrong question, Mr. Rumpole.

No question is wrong if it reveals the truth.

So you don't know whether my client was carrying the shirts when he left Haberdashery?

No.

RUMPOLE: Was he carrying it when you first spotted him on the moving staircase?

I only saw his head and shoulders.

So the first time you saw him with the basket was in the hall of food?

BATT: That's right, sir.

Are you suggesting, Mr. Rumpole, that a basket full of shirts mysteriously materialized itself in your client's hand in the tin meat department?

[laughter] May I remind Your Honor of what Your Honor himself said?

This is a serious case.

As you cross-examined, I was beginning to wonder, Mr. Rumpole.

The art of cross-examination, Your Honor, is a little like walking the tightrope.

Oh, is it?

One gets on so much better if one isn't continually interrupted.

It would have been quite impossible for my client to have paid for his purchases in the shirt department, wouldn't it?

No, there were two assistants behind the counter.

RUMPOLE: Oh, really?

Young ladies?

Yes, sir.

And when you saw them, what were they doing?

Can't exactly recall.

Well, then let me jog your memory.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): I mean, let me hazard a guess.

Were they not huddled together in an act of total recall of last night at the disco or the Palais de Hop?

Were they not blind and deaf to the cries of shirt-buying clerics.

Were they not totally oblivious to the whole of life around them?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): That's right, old darlings, you know all about young lady non-assistance.

Well, Mr. Batt, isn't that exactly what they were doing?

It may have been, Your Honor.

So is it surprising that my client should take his purchases and go elsewhere in search of more attentive assistance?

I followed him downstairs into the hall of food.

RUMPOLE: And when he goes into that witness box, my client will say that he intended to pay for his purchases there, given the slightest opportunity.

BATT: I saw no signs of his attempting to do so.

RUMPOLE: Just as you saw no signs of the young ladies attempting to take his money?

No, but-- RUMPOLE: Oh, it's a risky business, going into your store, isn't it, Mr. Batt?

You can't get served, and the only time anyone talks to you is to tell you that you are under arrest.

Mr. Batt, did you see Mr. Skinner make any attempt to pay for his shirts in the hall of food?

No.

No, I didn't.

He didn't, by any chance, ask for them to be wrapped up along with a pound of ham, for example?

[strikes gavel] BULLINGHAM: This is not a music hall.

As Mr. Rumpole has reminded us, it is an extremely serious case.

The whole of the reverend gentleman's future may be at stake.

If Your Honor pleases, Mr. Batt, what did Mr. Skinner say when he was stopped by you?

Did he offer any logical explanation?

BATT: He said it was a complete mystery.

He added, Your Honor, that mystery was his business.

Mystery was his business.

I suggest we pursue the mystery 10 minutes past 2:00.

Members of the jury, you're out.

Ah, uh, Mr. Morse, perhaps you could take Ms. Skinner down to the canteen.

Or would you prefer the pub, Ms. Skinner?

Nice meat pie and a pint of Guinness.

- No, thank you very much.

- Very well.

Come along, Vicar.

This way, Ms. Skinner.

Now then.

What did you mean by that?

You can't call me to give evidence?

I'll have to call you.

I simply could not take the oath.

What's the matter?

Have you no religion?

[sighs] You don't like me very much, do you?

I thought you might at least have told me the truth.

You of all people.

After all, it must mean something, wearing your collar back to front.

Truth is sometimes dangerous.

It should be approached cautiously, don't you think?

Well, let me approach it cautiously.

I've noticed with women-- my wife, for example-- when we go out on our dreaded Saturday morning shopping expeditions, she who must be obeyed has complete charge of the shopping basket.

She makes the big decisions-- how much whim goes into it and so forth.

And when all the shopping is finished, I get the job of carrying the damned thing home.

Simple faith is far more important than the constant scramble after unimportant facts.

I believe that's what the lives of the saints tell us.

Well, my simple faith tells me that your sister had that shopping basket in the shirt department.

Does it?

When Batt approached you in the hall of food, you were carrying the basket that she'd just given to you on the escalator.

Perhaps.

Because your sister took those shirts and put them into the basket while you were busy thinking about your sermon on the problem of evil.

You don't like mysteries, do you?

Not very much.

I could tell you a story.

You may not find it particularly helpful.

Oh, try me.

She was a pretty child.

Difficult to believe it now.

She was always attracted to bright things-- boiled sweets, red apples, jewelry from Woolworth's.

As she grew older, it became worse.

She would take things she couldn't possibly need, like-- like spectacles and bead handbags, cigarette cases, although she never smoked.

She was like a magpie.

[sighs] I thought she'd improve, but-- I do try and watch her as much as I can.

But you were right.

On that day, I was involved with my sermon.

Matter of fact, have no need of such shirts.

I may be old fashioned, but I always wear a dog collar, always.

Even on your rambles with the lads brigade.

Even so, I believe she did it out of love.

Those are the facts?

Well, they seem of no importance to anyone except my immediate family.

But that is what I am bound to say if I take my oath on the Bible.

But you were prepared to lie to me.

SKINNER: Well, there is a difference.

Mr. Rumpole, I have the greatest respect for your skill as an advocate, but I have never been in any danger of mistaking you for almighty God.

Look, tell the truth now.

She'll only get a fine, and it'll be nothing.

No, it'll be everything to her.

She couldn't bear it.

But what about you?

You'd give up your whole life.

Well, it seems the least I can do for her.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Sometimes I don't know how I keep my temper.

SKINNER: I do sympathize.

He found his ideas irritated people dreadfully, particularly lawyers.

He will not go into the witness box.

- What do we do?

- What, indeed.

Try to convince the jury there's not enough evidence to convict him.

Can you do that?

With the Bull charging against me?

The only thing I suggest you do, Mr. Morse-- What, Mr. Rumpole?

--is pray for a miracle.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, there is a golden thread that runs throughout British justice, and it is this.

The prosecution must prove its case.

The defense needs to prove nothing.

Mr. Rumpole-- RUMPOLE: The Reverend Mordred Skinner need not trouble to move the few yards from that dock to the witness box unless the prosecution have produced evidence to show that he intended to steal and not to pay for his purchases in another department.

JUDGE BULLINGHAM: Mr. Rumpole-- Never let it be said a man is forced to prove his innocence.

Our fathers have defied kings for their principle, members of the jury.

They forced King John to sign Magna Carta.

They sent King Charles to the block for it!

And now, it has been handed down, even to the Inner London sessions, Newington Causeway.

JUDGE BULLINGHAM: If you would let me get a word in edgeways-- And now it is in your hands.

Mr. Rumpole, I entirely agree with every word you say.

And I shall direct the jury accordingly.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Now I know how the Israelites felt when the sea parted, or the amazement of the disciples when the water darkened and smelt of the grape.

His Honor, Judge Bullingham, is about to find for the defense.

JUDGE BULLINGHAM: Yes, Mr. Erskine-Brown, what is it?

ERSKINE-BROWN: Uh, Your Honor, surely, I submit there is ample evidence of guilt here.

Have you proved that Mr. Skinner wouldn't have paid in the hall of food, have you?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Most rightful judge.

Perhaps not, but he said to Mr.-- "Perhaps not" is hardly good enough, is it?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Most learned judge.

But-- but when asked for an explanation-- JUDGE BULLINGHAM: The defense does not have to explain.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Oh, upright judge.

But, Your Honor, he did explain.

He-- he said it was a mystery.

That is hardly an explanation, Mr. Erskine-Brown, is it, of anything?

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): A Daniel come to judgment.

Your-- Your Honor, if he had meant to pay, then-- He probably forgot all about it.

Clergymen are notoriously absent-minded.

Yes, Mr. Erskine-Brown, is there something else you want to say to me?

[crowd murmuring] RUMPOLE: Even you may not have realized it, but you just witnessed a miracle.

The natural malice of the Bull quelled by the rule of law.

I was quite reconciled to losing.

You know, I don't think my sister would have stood by me somehow.

She couldn't have put up with the disgrace, you see.

I think I should have been alone.

You would have been out of a job, old darling.

I distinctly heard the rustle of a distant unfrocking.

It might have been extremely restful, not to have to pretend to any sort of sanctity, not to pretend to be different or better.

But just the same as all your other clients.

My clients?

[chuckles] Don't long for a life of crime.

You obviously haven't the talent for it.

We can go now, dear.

You're quite free to go.

Ah, Ms. Skinner, I told your brother it was a miracle.

Oh, you're much too religious, Mr. Rumpole!

As a matter of fact, I thought the judge was extremely fair.

Better put your mac on, dear.

It's raining outside.

All right, Eden.

I'll put it on.

Well, you must come to tea in the rectory, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, alas, dear lady.

Pressure of work-- I have so little time for, uh, pleasure.

Say goodbye to Mr. Rumpole, Mordred.

Come along, Mr. Morse.

Uh, goodbye, Mr. Rumpole.

You see, it was entirely a family matter.

TRANT: Everyone's waiting for you.

Oh!

Miss Trant, I'm sorry.

I was lost for a minute.

Lost in my old, forgotten cases.

Old, unhappy, far-off things and battles long ago.

You keep things, Miss Trant?

Mementos, locks of hair, bundles of letters tied up with ribbon?

[chuckles] No, not really.

Good.

I have still got my first brief from when I prosecuted you in Dock Street.

Oh, yes.

When I, uh, outwitted you.

(CHUCKLING) Oh, you did.

Burn it, Miss Trant.

Forget the past.

Look to the future.

Right.

Hmm.

Now, aren't you coming to this party we're laying on for George?

Yes, of course.

George!

He'll have a lot to celebrate.

[chatter] Can I give you some more, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, yes, indeed.

Thank you.

That was a monstrous win of yours in Skinner, Rumpole.

Oh, was it indeed?

Yeah, and Bullingham behaved abominably.

Oh, rubbish.

He was just giving you a taste of what it usually feels like to appear for the defense.

It was a miracle you got off.

Oh, it may have seemed like that to you.

But it's possible, just possible, that justice was done.

I don't believe a word of it.

Oh, ye of little faith.

Oh, why, yes, sorry.

It's well known amongst lawyers that the finest advocate never makes the best judge.

[laughter, chatter] It's the glory of the advocate to be opinionated and brash, hectoring, partisan, rude, cunning, and unfair.

Rumpole!

Bullingham, Erskine-Brown.

[laughs] The idea-- the ideal judge, however, is detached, courteous, patient, painstaking and, above all things, quiet.

You're absolutely right.

[chatter, applause] All of these virtues are to be found personified in the latest addition to our bench of circuit judges.

Hear, hear.

Circus judges, Rumpole.

Sorry, heaven.

So, ladies and gentlemen, would you please raise your glasses to His Honor, Judge George Frobisher?

ALL: Judge George Frobisher.

Well done.

- Well done.

- Well done, George.

- Thank you, Harold.

- Well done.

Coupled with the name of Mrs. Ida Tempest.

No, Rumpole, no.

No?

What do you mean, no?

She should be here to share your triumph, George.

You can give us an exhibition tango.

What, is she keeping the Moet on ice for you back at the Royal Borough?

Mrs. Tempest left the Royal Borough last week, and I have no means of knowing how to find her.

Yes, I'm coming.

I'm coming.

MAN: Speech!

Oh, yes.

Come along!

[chatter] - Yes, sir.

Have a glass of champagne.

I'm, um-- I'm totally unprepared to say anything on this occasion.

RUMPOLE: Poor old George.

I think he's sweet.

Lovely dancer, too, I'm told.

You're joking.

Gentlemen, I have long felt the need to retire from the hurly burly of practice at the bar.

Comes as news to me that George Frobisher had a practice at the bar.

Thank you, Uncle Tom.

To escape from the benevolent despotism of Henry, now our senior clerk-- Can you do a careless driving at Croydon tomorrow, Your Honor?

[laughter] No, Henry, I can't.

Touche, sir.

So I have long considered applying for a circuit judgeship in some rural area.

Oh, where are they sending you, George?

Glorious Devon?

I think they're starting me off in Luton.

Oh.

And I hope that very soon that I will have the pleasure of you all appearing before me.

Where did George say they were sending him to?

Luton, Uncle Tom!

♪ Luton, glorious Luton ♪ Shh, Henry!

Naturally, as a judge, as one, however humble, of her Majesty's judges, certain standards will be expected of me.

Oh, yes.

No more carousing in Pomeroy's with Horace Rumpole.

No, well, and, um, I mean to try to do my best to live up to those standards.

Well, that's all I have to say, really.

Thank you.

[applause] Well done.

Thank you.

Congratulations.

Thank you.

George, I am sorry to hear about Mrs. Tempest.

Well, it was all your fault, Rumpole.

My fault?

But what did I do?

I didn't say anything, George.

Discretion's my middle name.

I was as silent as the tomb.

When I brought her to dinner with you and Hilda, she recognized you at once.

Oh, Lord.

Well, she didn't say anything.

No, she's a very remarkable woman.

I was a junior counsel for-- for her former husband.

I think he led her on.

She made an excellent impression in the witness box, George.

She made an excellent impression on me, Rumpole.

But she felt that you would be bound to tell me.

Oh, she felt that.

So she decided to tell me first.

ALL: (CHANTING) We want the speech.

We want the speech.

We want the speech.

We want the speech.

Oh, well, if you insist-- [cheering, applause] As the oldest member of chambers, I can recall this place before old CH Wystan-- that's Rumpole's revered father-in-law-- took over.

It was in old Barnaby Hawks' time.

And the young men were myself, Everett Longbarrow, and old Willoughby Grime, who became Chief Justice of Tonga, where he went on circuit-- so I was told-- wearing a battered opera hat and dispensed rough justice.

ALL: Under a bong tree!

[laughter] UNCLE TOM: Of course, old Willoughby-- Mrs. Tempest got three years, if I recall.

Yes.

Her former husband got seven.

I don't believe she actually struck the match, George.

All the same, it was a risk that I didn't feel able to take.

Oh, Lord, you haven't noticed the smell of burning round at the Royal Borough overnight, have you, George?

- No, no, of course not.

But by then, the Lord Chancellor's Secretary had told me of the appointment.

And it doesn't do for a judge's wife to serve three years, even with full remission.

Well, do you have to be a judge, George?

I thought about that, of course.

I had the appointment.

But, you know, at my age, Rumpole, well, it's difficult to learn any new sort of trade.

ALL: Flat on the grass with his lady pupil!

UNCLE TOM: Yes!

Well, nothing was said at the time.

But, oh, Willoughby was terrified he'd been spotted, you see, because this was years before the-- Come on, George.

Drink up.

There'll be other ladies turning up at the Royal Borough.

I very much doubt it.

And every night as I sit down at my table for one, I shall think, if only I hadn't taken her to dinner at Rumpole's, I might never have known.

Don't you see?

We might have been perfectly happy together.

Sometimes I feel it will be difficult to forgive you, Rumpole.

But, George, what did I do?

I didn't do anything.

You knew, Rumpole.

That's what you did.

You knew about it.

UNCLE TOM: See, I was trying to get an old golf ball into the wastepaper basket-- ALL: With a mashie niblick!

[laughter] Well, that was as good a training as any for the bar, I suppose.

Of course, all CH Wystan never took silk.

Eh, but now, we have a QC-- ALL: MP-- UNCLE TOM: --and dear George Frobisher is now a circus-- I beg his pardon-- a circuit judge.

♪ For-- ♪ ALL: ♪ He's a jolly good fellow ♪ ♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪ ♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪ ♪ And so say all of us ♪ Thank you.

They've never made George Frobisher a judge.

Oh, in my view, an excellent appointment.

I shall expect a good record of acquittals at Luton Crown Court.

When are they going to make you a judge, Rumpole?

Oh, don't ask silly questions, Hilda.

Every time it came to the sentence, I'd have to say there but for the grace of God goes Horace Rumpole.

[chuckles] I can imagine what she must be feeling like.

She?

She.

The cat that swallowed the cream.

Oh.

Her Honor, Mrs. Judge.

[chuckles] Oh, she'll be quite the thing, I'll be bound.

No, she's gone.

Gone, Rumpole?

Gone where?

Just gone.

Well, what did George have to say about that?

Cried, and the world cried, too.

Mines the treasure.

Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished.

Well, if he wants my opinion, George is well out of it.

I don't think he does.

What?

Want your opinion.

Do you know, I'm not sure I should have taken up as a lawyer.

Whatever do you mean, Rumpole?

Perhaps I should have taken up as a vicar.

Have you been getting at the gin, Rumpole?

Faith, not facts.

Is that what we need, do you think?

George Frobisher has always been a bad influence on you, keeping you out drinking.

As a matter of fact, I'm rather glad he's going to be a judge.

Perhaps it means I shall see a bit more of you now, Rumpole.

I'd never have got to know all these facts about people if I hadn't taken up as a lawyer.

Well, of course, you should have taken up as a lawyer.

Why, exactly?

Well, if you hadn't taken up as a lawyer, if you hadn't gone into Daddy's chambers, you never would have met me, Rumpole.

Oh, that's true.

Damn it.

That's very true.

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