[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ [baby crying] [coughing] [buzzing] Patient Liptrott?

Yeah, that's me.

Dr. Rahmat will see you now.

It's my throat, Doctor.

It's tormenting me.

Open your mouth, please.

Wider.

Say "ah."

Ah!

Good.

And now, if you could just lie down on the couch for me, please.

[scoffs] Good.

Good.

But it's my throat, Doctor.

Yes, I know.

Good.

Ah.

And now, if you could just slip down your trousers for me, please.

You don't have to take them off entirely.

Beast!

He's a fake.

Is Dr. Rahmat finished with you?

Finished with me?

Oh, that's funny, that is.

I wouldn't let him start.

Excuse me.

I am dying, Egypt.

[hilda starts vacuum cleaner] Dying!

[stops vacuum cleaner] Can that have anything to do with the fact that you were up until all hours last night, celebrating the elevation of Hoskins to the bench?

[restarts vacuum cleaner] Well, I suppose that's the rule nowadays.

You're no good at the bar, they make you into a blooming circus judge.

I'm surprised Uncle Tom isn't Lord Chancellor by now.

[stops vacuum cleaner] - When are you getting up?

Perhaps never.

[hilda restarts vacuum cleaner] There's nothing-- (RAISED VOICE) --nothing today except a chambers meeting.

If my clerk rings, tell him Rumpole's life is ebbing-- [stops vacuum cleaner] (SHOUTING) --quiet-- [clears throat] --quietly away.

Then I'd better call the doctor.

Oh, no.

Hilda, please, no, not another old quack like McClintock, who put me on a starvation diet and then dropped off the twig himself.

There'll be plenty of other doctors in the surgery.

[moans] A complaint to the General Medical Council?

I never thought it would go as far as that.

Well, we're all behind you, Rahmat.

I can't believe you'd do anything so damn foolish.

Of course, sir, we've all been tempted.

But I wasn't tempted.

I was not tempted at all.

That's the whole point of the matter.

Oh, Doctor-- oh, I didn't know you were here, Dr. Cogger.

No, no, that's all right.

Go ahead.

A Mrs. Rumpole called for a doctor.

She wants a call round on her husband.

Oh, old Rumpole.

He's a barrister, Rahmat.

You'd better go and do your best for him, in all the circumstances.

And how is the great barrister at law feeling now?

Near to death.

Well, we're all near to death, sir, but I'm sure Mr. Rumpole will surprise us all.

I am Rahmat, senior medical doctor, also Bachelor of Arts.

Of course, I have no such imposing title as barrister at law.

Well, congratulations, Mrs. Rumpole.

Your husband looks as strong as a horse.

I certainly don't feel it.

Could that possibly be because horses don't drink much Pomeroy's plonk, as you call it?

The slightest noise, Doctor, I feel as if my head's cracking.

Temporary, sir.

Only temporary.

And now, if you'll breathe in for me.

[inhales, exhales] In, out.

In-- HORACE RUMPOLE: [inhales, exhales] --out.

And for the last time, in-- [inhales, exhales] --out.

Well, there'll be no need for the flags to fly at half mast over the Old Bailey.

Tomorrow, there will be rejoicing there.

Word will go round, and crowds in the street will be cheering, our great barrister at law is returning to us.

Oh, what a fine lung you have there, sir.

[coughs] It's a pleasure to listen to your hearty breathing.

There's nothing wrong with him, is there?

I diagnose a slight case of the collywobbles, brought on by some food poisoning, perhaps.

Food poisoning?

GHULAM RAHMAT: Well, yes.

I hardly think so.

Oh, for which I prescribe two Alka-Seltzers and a glass of water, strong black coffee, and a quiet day in bed, with even more kindness and consideration from your charming lady wife.

Oh, well, thank you, Doctor.

Think nothing of it, sir.

Perhaps, one day, I'll ask you to help me out of a bit of a hole.

By all means.

What crime were you thinking of committing?

Oh, no crime, sir.

No crime at all.

PROSECUTOR: Mrs. Etheridge then caused her white BMW vehicle to skid off the Uxbridge Road and mount the pavement, terrorizing the passers-by.

She then collided with a municipal disposal bin, wrecked a mobile shopping basket, and finally crashed into a lamp post.

Questioned by the officer, she said, do call me Bambi, darling, and can't we forget all about it?

Well, the prosecution will say that this was eccentric and dangerous behavior, even for a lady driver.

[clears throat] Did my learned friend say, even for a lady driver?

He did, Mr. Rumpole.

My hearing is particularly keen, and I heard him quite distinctly.

Even for a lady driver.

Oh, perhaps my learned friend can help me.

Is my unfortunate client being put on trial for dangerous driving or simply because she is a woman?

MAGISTRATE: That's exactly what I should like to know.

I'm very sorry.

I didn't mean to infer-- I mean, well, surely, we-- I mean, we all have the greatest respect and, indeed, affection for ladies.

Mr. Govett, this is a perfectly ordinary driving case.

Perhaps you could manage to keep sex out of it.

You got me off.

[kisses] You're an absolute sweetie.

Oh, please, Mrs. Etheridge.

Oh, do call me Bambi.

Everyone does.

Mrs. Etheridge, I did not get you off.

The prosecutor got you off when he started on about lady drivers.

How can I reward you, Mr. Rumpole, darling?

What about a naughty lunch for just the two of us?

Can you get an afternoon off?

Oh, I'm afraid that's quite impossible.

No, of course you can.

Do you enjoy scrumptious desserts as much as I do?

Of course you do.

All men enjoy scrumptious desserts.

Well, that's settled, then.

I'll give you a tinkle.

I never lunch out.

Pressure at work.

[clicks tongue] All work and no play make Mr. Rumpole a dull boy.

And I'm sure you're not that, are you?

Goodbye, Mrs. Etheridge.

[clears throat] Mr. Rumpole!

Has anyone ever told you you're a very cuddly kind of barrister?

♪ Roll out the barrel ♪ ♪ Let's have a-- ♪ Ah, Rumpole, there you are.

Last week, I put up a notice-- remember the forests of the Earth, save paper.

So you did.

And some person has scribbled across the bottom, yes, and don't waste it on bloody silly notices.

That seemed like fair comment.

I have certain responsibilities, Rumpole, as head of chambers, and one of them is to the forests of the Earth.

- Quite right.

Anyway, there's something I thought you might like to know.

About the forests of the Earth?

No.

About our new pupil, Mrs. Heather Whittaker.

She is a thoroughly nice sort of person.

Oh, good.

We could do with a few of those around here.

Yes, we could.

Now, she is no longer young, Rumpole.

She's taking up the bar in middle life.

She's come here as a pupil to Claude Erskine-Brown and will help him out when he's in court.

Oh, she doesn't want to work full-time, then?

I think you were away sick when we agreed to take her on.

Oh, I was dying.

Really?

It-- I changed my mind.

Oh.

Well, there's something I want to make clear to you.

Mrs. Whittaker is not the type of person who would enjoy rough behavior in chambers.

And I do not think she would relish a working environment where people scribble obscenities on notice boards.

Oh, it wasn't obscene.

Ah, ah, I'm glad you admit you wrote it.

I never plead guilty.

Look, excuse me, Ballard.

I have to confer about some hanky-panky on the National Health.

Through all my troubles and tribulations, I had only one thought-- that I have an absolutely wizard barrister at law.

Ah, well, I can't work miracles.

Tell me about yourself, Dr.

"rah-matt."

"Ra-mutt."

HORACE RUMPOLE: "Ra-mutt."

Are you married?

Was married, sir.

But the memsahib died giving birth to our son.

When you first came to England, you went straight into old Dr. McClintock's practice?

Yes.

He was very kind to me.

And then, when the Dr. Cogger took over?

Oh, just the same.

Old Tim Cogger is a thoroughly good chap with a fine sense of humor.

Do you know what they used to say about him in parts?

He was a very fine joker.

Perhaps not a brilliant doctor, but-- Are you?

What?

HORACE RUMPOLE: A brilliant doctor.

[scoffs] Most of us are not.

Most of us are at a loss more than we'd like to admit.

But we try and be kind and cheerful and wait for the disease to go away.

Yeah, well, that's frank anyway.

But I am afraid Ms. Liptrott is not very likely to go away.

No, dash it all.

What a pain in the neck that girl-- I mean, if one could be so rude about a young-- Had you seen her before she came to the surgery that morning?

No, sir, and I hope I never shall see her again.

What does she look like?

I can help you there, Mr. Rumpole.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh.

She got herself plastered all over the beacon.

There she is, Mr. Rumpole.

A children's nurse, sir.

She looks a perfectly nice sort of girl, unfortunately for us.

Yeah.

Age 27.

Works for a wealthy Kensington family as a nanny.

Went to the surgery with a sore throat, but the doctor seemed to have other ideas about treatment.

Told me to lie on the couch and undress.

Dr. Ghulam "Ra-matt"-- "Ra-mutt."

HORACE RUMPOLE: --50, who came to England 12 years ago, said, I shall fight this to the last ditch.

I have the best barrister in the country.

Well, that's true, at any rate.

I never took a shine to her, Mr. Rumpole.

I swear I never did.

All right, all right.

What's our defense?

Oh, whenever I ask the client that, he mentions a book about some passage.

Our defense, Mr. Rumpole, is the same as in EM Forster's fine novel A Passage to India.

I'm sure you know it well.

[laughs] Of course.

Just remind me of the plot, will you?

Well, see, in it, an English girl accuses an Indian doctor of raping her in the Marabar Caves.

I told the client, frankly, the tribunal is not going to be very interested in stories about Indian caves.

Yes.

Now, let him finish.

Well, what was the doctor's defense in that case?

That it all went on in the fevered imagination of the girl.

And what was the verdict?

He was acquitted, of course.

And you will enjoy a similar triumph, great barrister at law.

Yes, well, let's hope so.

But, as Mr. Pinhorn says, that was a work of fiction.

We have to deal with facts.

Tell me, Dr. Rahmat, your precise clinical reasons for asking a young lady with a sore throat to remove her underwear.

Phylli!

Darling.

Oh.

No, no.

Let me.

So the fraud's all over.

All over and all convicted.

Did you have fun in Swansea?

Please, Claude, don't ask silly questions.

It's wonderful to have you back, Phylli.

Of course, the children have been terribly good, but it isn't the same, is it?

I mean, you can't crack a bottle of Fleurie and discuss the scandals in chambers with the kids, can you?

Have you been up to something?

You're looking absolutely alluring, Phylli, darling.

You have been up to something.

Nonsense.

Look, I tell you what.

I'll just drop these things in my room, and we'll go for a drink in Pomeroy's to celebrate your return.

And the scandal in chambers-- what is the scandal in chambers?

Well, I don't know.

I'm sure there must be some, but I've no idea what it is.

Claude?

Yes, Phylli?

Are you the scandal in chambers?

Of course not.

Not this time.

I mean, not ever.

How could you think of such a thing?

You've got new pictures.

Oh, those are my pupil's, Heather Whittaker.

She came while you were away.

You'd like her, honestly.

- Would I?

- I don't see why not.

She's got gray hair and glasses, and she's well past her sell-by date.

Claude, sometimes you sound as though you invented male chauvinism.

Well, that's not fair.

I like women.

I like them very much indeed.

Well, not all women.

Naturally, I don't like all of them, you especially.

Well, just you, Phylli, in that sort of way, of course.

Look, all I'm really trying to say is that Mrs. Whittaker would never tempt me, if I were ever to be tempted, which I'm not, not in the least.

[whimpers nervously] [knock at door] Oh, Henry, how wonderful to see you.

You saw me this morning, sir.

Yes, it's wonderful to see you again.

What's that, a brief?

- What does it look like?

A bunch of autumn roses.

Tomorrow, you're on before Mr. Justice Graves in court number three, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

There's a couple of pleas before you, and a short mention.

Then there's a murder at 11:15, which Fred in Crown Office row says they're trying to get the bloke to plead guilty because there's Mr. Morton Bisset's in trouble in Manchester.

So I reckon you'll get a start before lunchtime.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Thank you, Henry.

Phylli, darling, are you ready for that drink?

Oh, yes.

Yes, Claude.

Quite ready.

Ah, I must.

It's Mr. Rumpole, isn't it?

Oh, a piece of him, yes.

[laughs] I've been so longing to meet you.

I'm Heather Whittaker, Erskine-Brown's pupil.

I've taken to the bar rather late in life, I'm afraid.

Oh, just as well.

The young can't stand the pace.

You're a legend, Mr. Rumpole.

Of course, you know that.

I'm absolutely dying to hear you on your feet.

Well, why don't you pop down on a General Medical Council?

I've got a doctor there in trouble.

Oh, I'd love-- Hilda!

I am a home, sans Pomeroy, straight as an arrow shot from the bow.

HILDA RUMPOLE: And you are wanted on the telephone by a woman who, apparently, rejoices in the name of Bambi Etheridge.

Didn't you tell her I was dead?

No.

I said, Hilda Rumpole speaking.

And she said, is your lovely husband home?

And I said, I can hear Rumpole's key in the lock.

What does she want?

I don't know, Rumpole.

You better ask her.

Rumpole speaking.

Oh, dear.

It's a bad moment.

You're with your wife, aren't you?

[gasps] Ought I to have pretended to be the gas board or something?

HORACE RUMPOLE (ON PHONE): No, I can't advise you to appeal against the order for costs.

You'll have to pay them yourself, I'm afraid.

[gasps] Of course.

You can't talk now, can you Mr. Rumpole, darling?

I'll ring again when you're not in the bosom of your family.

An appeal would simply be throwing good money after bad.

BAMBI ETHERIDGE (ON PHONE): Oh, what a thing to say.

You're not bad money, are you, Mr. Rumpole?

And lunch is on me.

I'll ring again when you're all alone.

[kisses] Bye.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Extraordinary thing.

Women seem to be falling over each other to ask me to lunch.

--salmon.

And with the lamb, Chateau Beychevelle suit you, would it, Rumpole?

I dare say I can force it down.

And number 52.

Thank you, Madame.

Well, what are we celebrating, Portia?

They putting you up on the High Court bench?

They're not putting me anywhere.

The question is, where am I putting myself?

I have just about had it, Rumpole, up to here.

Oh, dear.

Well, what can I do?

At least you can help me spend some of Claude's money.

And I hope he finds that boring.

The Chablis, Madame?

Fine.

Rumpole, tell me, honestly, am I a rut?

A what?

A rut?

No.

Humdrum?

Would you call me humdrum?

Would Madame care to taste the wine?

No, just slosh it about.

Run of the mill?

Am I run of the mill?

Not in the least.

Yes, men are all the same.

Oh, are we?

Well, perhaps not you, Rumpole, but then you're not really interested in it, are you?

Interested in what?

In what everyone else who happens to be male spends their time thinking about-- sex.

Oh, is that the stuff that leads to embarrassing telephone calls?

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: I mean, look at that wretched doctor of yours.

Dr. Rahmat.

A woman only has to wander into his surgery with a sore throat, and he's trying to get inside her knickers, just like Claude.

Claude looks after people with sore throats?

I don't understand.

I'll get him, though.

I shall prosecute the life out of him.

He'll be struck off for at least 10 years.

Who, Claude?

No, Dr. Rahmat.

Well, what has Dr. Rahmat got to do with you?

I'm prosecuting him, that's all, before the General Medical Council.

Oh, first rate.

I shall have a foeman worthy of my steel.

Sorry, foeperson.

Yes, I don't know how you could defend someone like that.

You know perfectly well I have to defend someone like anyone.

But you couldn't defend a real snake.

Dr. Rahmat?

No, Claude.

Oh, Lord, Claude.

What's our unfortunate, learned friend been up to now?

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Let me read you something.

Yeah?

Oh, thank you.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Barrister-- Mm-hmm.

Good-looking and young at heart.

Hold on.

In a rut, bored, with the humdrum of "run of the mill" married life, seeks new partner for the occasional fling, country walks, opera going, four-star restaurant treats, and all the other pleasures of the flesh.

Tall and slender preferred.

Write with a photograph, if possible, to-- and there's a box number.

Yes, well.

There you are.

Read it for yourself if you want to.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh.

No, Rumpole, not there.

When I turn down the page.

Oh, yes.

Where?

Oh, I see, yes.

[laughs] What makes you think Claude is the lonely heart?

Oh, come on, Rumpole.

He's a barrister, and he's opera-going.

There are about 6,000 barristers.

Some of them must go to the opera.

No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Erskine-Brown, I don't think your evidence is absolutely conclusive.

I found that in Claude's room, in chambers.

Oh, things are beginning to look black for the accused.

[laughs] Do you mind if I hang on to this for half an hour this afternoon?

4-2-1.

[phone ringing] [vocalizing] MARIETTA LIPTROTT (ON PHONE): Hello?

Oh, hello.

Is that the Naughty Marietta escort service?

MARIETTA LIPTROTT (ON PHONE): Yeah.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Would it be possible to speak to Marietta herself, please?

MARIETTA LIPTROTT (ON PHONE): This is Marietta speaking.

Ah.

Marietta Liptrott, I presume?

MARIETTA LIPTROTT (ON PHONE): Hey, who are you?

Are you the newspapers?

No, no, no.

I promise you, no.

Just someone in need of your escort service.

MARIETTA LIPTROTT (ON PHONE): When's the function?

Well, it's not for me, exactly.

It's for a friend of mine.

He wants to take you along to add a little color to the ladies' night at the Lawyers' Christian Society.

I'll be in touch with the other arrangements.

Nice to talk to you, Ms. Liptrott.

Rumpole, is this your idea of a joke?

You should not have been listening to a private conversation.

- I couldn't help overhearing.

- Of course you could.

- I couldn't.

- You could.

Anyway, you were using chambers' facilities to telephone an escort agency.

Rumpole, you are a married man.

Oh, that fact has not escaped my attention.

Well, don't you think you ought to make a clean breast of this to Hilda?

A clean breast of what?

The fact that you are troubled by these sort of, well, needs.

Ballard, when you are next troubled by the need to talk absolute balderdash, why don't you make a clean breast of it to matey?

[taps desk] [taps desk] Have you finished with that wretched little magazine?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, yes, Exhibit A.

Thank you.

Most helpful.

Well, what are you going to do?

Confront the unfortunate Claude?

Confront him?

- Hmm.

- No good at all.

And then he'd pretend it wasn't him, or something equally devious.

No, I shall set a trap for him, leave him absolutely no way of escape.

Poor old Claude.

Poor old Dr. Rahmat.

What chance has either of them got?

What's all that?

Oh, I'm studying medicine.

If all else fails, I may set up as a quack.

Sorry, it's only the rut.

That's all right, darling.

Anything interesting in the Post this morning?

No, absolutely nothing, as a matter of fact.

Nothing from any one tall and slender?

Well, this one's from a chairman, Inspector of Taxes, Bloomsbury district.

I don't know if he's tall and slender.

Or even if he likes country walks.

Sorry?

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Thinking of going on a country walk this afternoon, were you, Claude?

Well, you know I hate country walks.

They tire you out, and you get your shoes dirty.

Oh, no.

I know you didn't really mean country walks.

I know that's not what you really had in mind.

Phylli, I'm not entirely following your drift.

All right, all right, I'll let you go on reading your letters.

I just hope they're all from short, fat people.

They're all circulars, bills and things, honestly.

And what about the one you just threw away?

What?

When I came in the door just now, I distinctly saw you throw a letter straight into the wastepaper basket.

Haven't seen you move so quickly for years.

Look, if you want to know what it was, look.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Please, don't bother.

We're having dinner with the Arthurian Daybells tonight.

That is, unless you've fixed up a treat in some four-star restaurant.

"Are your pipes fully lagged for the winter?

One call from our Lag-U-Man prevents frozen-tap misery."

There, is that what you wanted to see?

There.

Oh, very clever, Claude.

Very clever indeed.

You think you've wormed your way out of it again, don't you?

Your missus quite all right, is she, Erskine-Brown?

Yes, of course.

Perfectly all right.

She didn't seem to notice me at all.

Oh, well, I suppose not.

Of course, I got in early today to do some extra practice.

I'm not usually here before the clerks.

Your missus seems to have got some strange ideas into her head.

Oh, why do you say that?

We had a fellow in chambers, Ibbotson.

"Ibby" Ibbotson, we used to call him.

Most charming fellow.

But his missus got the idea into her head that she was the reincarnation of Nell Gwyn.

[chuckles] She used to come into the clerks' room and offer to sell us oranges.

Poor old Ibby.

He had to leave the bar and take her to live in Littlehampton.

I'm not sure if that cured her.

Uncle Tom.

Hmm?

There's absolutely nothing wrong with Phyllida.

Oh, well, if you say so.

It's just a-- sort of a joke we have together, that's all.

(LAUGHING) Oh, really?

How frightfully funny.

[sniffs] I've arranged you to see Dr. Cogger.

Oh?

Why on earth?

My health is excellent, thanks to my sensible lifestyle.

That Marguerite Ballard rang this morning.

She said that Sam was very worried about your health, that you've been acting rather strangely lately.

What have you been doing strange, Rumpole?

I suppose phoning up escorts.

What do you say?

I said, I suppose I was feeling out of sorts.

Well, if you're feeling out of sorts, stop complaining to me.

I've arranged for you to see Dr. Cogger at the morning surgery.

Looking for a friend?

Oh, really, Mr. Rumpole, I don't know what you mean.

Oh, lots of people advertise for friends in this.

Look, I'll show you.

You take Casanova regularly, do you?

Oh, no.

As a matter of fact, the cleaner found it in one of the doctor's wastepaper baskets.

She was going to put it out, but I thought I'd just have a look.

[buzzing] Ah, Dr. Cogger's free, is he?

[whimpers] I gather from your wife you have some sort of problem.

A failing eyesight, perhaps.

I thought I saw you in the Savoy Grill.

I raised my glass to you, but you didn't seem to recognize me.

At the Savoy Grill?

It's a bit out of the class of a struggling GP.

Oh, then it wasn't you?

I hardly think so.

Now, tell me why your wife made this appointment.

Well, somebody told her I was behaving rather strangely in chambers.

Behaving strangely?

What sort of strangely?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Ringing up escort agencies.

Escort agencies?

Well, Mr. Rumpole, why ever should you do that?

Well, I suppose they thought I needed an escort.

You mean young girls to take out to dinner?

That sort of thing?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes, that sort of thing.

Yes.

[laughs] My dear Mr. Rumpole, I shouldn't let that worry you in the least.

A lot of men-- perfectly decent chaps, in my experience-- feel the need of young, fresh-- well, young company occasionally.

It doesn't mean they're sick in any way.

It's perfectly natural.

Is that what you think?

Oh, yes, I do, quite honestly.

Well, then, you're probably familiar with this friendly little magazine.

I don't think so.

Are you sure?

I mean, it's full of advertisements for escorts, companions, people for a night out on the town, that sort of thing.

Is it?

Well, it certainly seems to have interested you.

Yes.

Your receptionist told me that it was found in one of the doctor's rooms.

Mr. Rumpole, my partners are all big boys now.

I really can't be expected to nanny them.

Perhaps I should have, though, when I think of the trouble poor old Rahmat's got himself into.

Now, what would you say your problem is, medically?

Medically, I can't sleep.

I seem to wake up at about 1 o'clock in the morning and worry about poor old Dr. Rahmat.

I suppose you'll give him an excellent character.

Well, um-- [chuckles]-- that's a little awkward.

I'll say everything I can for him, of course.

But you see, I've been asked to be a witness for the prosecution.

Ah.

Look, I'll write you out some pills.

Fobomorin, perfectly harmless.

Fobomorin.

Not poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the world will ever medicine me to that sweet sleep which I owedst yesterday.

I know.

It's distressing for all of us when a doctor goes off the rails.

PETER KELLAWAY: Just a few chocs for you, Ms. Dankwerts.

Oh, really?

You shouldn't, Mr. Kellaway.

They are naughty, but irresistible.

[laughs] A little goodwill present from Marchmain's Medicines.

You've always been so helpful.

Now, is Dr. Cogger free?

Oh, yes, I'm sure.

You've finished with Dr. Cogger, haven't you, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, yes.

(TO HIMSELF) For the moment.

[exhales] Well, can I help you, Mrs. Erskine-Brown?

Not at all, no.

I'm just going to borrow Dianne's typewriter.

I'll be going home, then.

Mrs. Erskine-Brown, I said I was going home.

Don't let me stop you.

I'll be glad if you did, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Good night, Henry.

The wife having invited the chair of the Ways and Means over for a bite in order to discuss rubbish disposal in the borough and matters arising.

It's not the sort of thing one hurries home to, Mrs. Erskine-Brown, quite honestly.

I mean, going home is probably a different matter for you entirely.

You'll be going home to Mr. Erskine-Brown and the kiddies.

Henry, are you trying to tell me you've got problems?

Well, yes.

If you've got problems, you keep them to yourself.

Much better.

I've got problems up to here.

I just can't manage another single person's problem.

Is that clear?

Well, if that's the way you feel, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Dear Barrister, I am slim, intelligent, and considered attractive.

I am also bored with the humdrum of married life.

I am absolutely crazy about the opera and country walks.

I am rather busy at the moment, but suggest we meet a week next Thursday at a place convenient to you, the temple churchyard, at 6:00 PM.

Shall we both wear white carnations?

I am looking forward eagerly to the ensuing fun and games.

Yours sincerely, In A Rut.

Oh, Doctor.

Dr. Rahmat-- Ah, the great barrister at law.

And looking extremely fit, if I may say so.

Yes, I wanted to see you.

There's a question I should have asked you.

Mr. Pinhorn's been trying to get in touch with you at the surgery.

[laughs] Alas, I'm seldom there these days.

The patients don't seem too dead keen on seeing me.

But shall we walk along?

I have an appointment.

Yes.

It's-- it's about Dr. Cogger.

Did you and he ever quarrel about anything?

Look, if I'm going to defend you, you've got to trust me.

Well, yes, sir.

We did have a few words once, about drugs.

Drugs?

Yes, he was always wanting us to prescribe new drugs.

They were very expensive, most of them from Marchmain's.

They were always experimenting.

So I said to him, look, my patient would be just as well off with a few kind words and a couple of aspirin.

And what was his reaction to that?

Oh, poor old Tim got into a most terrible bate.

He went as far as to say that he didn't want partners who were so pig-ignorant on the subject of new drugs.

Well, I'm sure it was all said in the heat of the moment, and he didn't mean it exactly.

Well, most reluctant to part with the great barrister at law, but as I told you, I have an appointment.

Oh, I'll come in with you.

You can buy me a beer or something.

It would be such a pleasure, but some other time, I'm afraid.

This appointment is of a rather private nature.

[traditional indian music] [phone ringing] Hello?

BAMBI ETHERIDGE (ON PHONE): Is Horace there?

This is Bambi speaking.

This is a recorded message.

I am sorry we are not available, but if you leave your name and telephone number, we will contact you on our return from Tasmania.

Beep.

[discordant music] PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: This is a distressing case of a doctor's violent and unprovoked sexual assault upon a young woman patient.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Totally surrounded by quacks, quacks who saved their patients' lives or launch them into eternity with one slip of the scalpel.

Old quacks who applied leeches as a cure for pneumonia.

Quacks who thought sex made you blind.

And quacks as judges, waiting to decide the professional life or death of the good Dr. Ghulam Rahmat.

Oh, the quack in charge, Sir Hector MacAuliffe-- sawbones, by appointment, to royalty, an old darling with the grim look of a man who starts the day with porridge and prayers.

What on Earth has poor old Rahmat got to look so cheerful about?

It can't be the way our Portia is opening her case.

Dr. Rahmat then put his hand between her legs, tried to kiss her, and suggested there was time for a quick one.

Meaning sexual intercourse, Mrs. Erskine-Brown?

This is what we ask the committee to infer.

Hmm.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Ms. Liptrott screamed and had to struggle to free herself from the doctor's embraces.

And when she pulled her clothes back on, she fled from the room.

She was still screaming "the beast, the beast" in the reception area, where she was seen by the waiting patients and by Ms. Dankwerts, the receptionist.

After the incident, she suffered extreme bouts of nervous depression and was treated for that complaint by Dr. Cogger, a senior member of the same practice, whom-- Very fair.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: --I shall be calling as a witness.

She puts the case most fairly.

And old Tim Cogger will be fair to me, also.

Dr. Cogger is an extremely busy general practitioner.

Of course, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Dr. Cogger is well known to most of us.

Yes, he has to get away to his practice.

I wonder if my learned friend has any objection to my calling him before Ms. Liptrott.

Oh, that suits us.

If I can blast Cogger out of the water, we'll have an easier job at Marietta.

No need for the barrister to blast anyone out of the water.

He must not attack poor old Tim Cogger.

Do tell Rahmat to put a sock in it, will you?

I have absolutely no objection to my learned friend calling Dr. Cogger first.

Absolutely not!

Dr. Cogger, please.

Is Dr. Rahmat a good doctor, in your view?

I've always found him so, within his limitations.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: So tell us, Dr. Cogger, if a young woman patient came to a competent doctor with a sore throat, can you think of any good clinical reason why he should ask her to lie down on a couch and remove her knickers?

I'm afraid I can't.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Thank you very much, Dr. Cogger.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Now, Dr. Cogger, you are, no doubt, familiar with the infectious mononucleosis, otherwise known as glandular fever?

Of course.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Is it not so prevalent among young people that it is sometimes called the kissing disease?

I think you may take it, Mr. Rumpole, that we all know what glandular fever is.

I would have thought so, sir.

That is why I can't understand anyone thinking Dr. Rahmat's method of examination in any way peculiar.

Is not a symptom of glandular fever a sore throat?

It can be.

In fact, it may be the patient's only complaint.

That may happen.

So that if you suspect glandular fever, you might look for other signs, such as swellings in the armpits and the groin.

You might.

A competent doctor would do so.

If he suspected mononucleosis, yes.

Yes, so that if a young lady complaining of a sore throat came to a competent doctor, he might well ask her to lie on the couch and remove her knickers so that he could examine her groin.

It's possible.

Now, Dr. Cogger, are you here to assist the committee by telling us the truth?

Well, yes, of course.

Then why did you tell my learned friend Mrs. Erskine-Brown that you know of no reason why Dr. Rahmat should examine the young lady in the way described?

I suppose the complaint you're suggesting didn't occur to me.

I see.

You mean that you are a competent doctor, like Dr. Rahmat, within your limitations.

And your limitations lead you to forget the odd disease, occasionally.

I hope, Mr. Rumpole, you're not suggesting that a routine examination by a competent doctor includes trying to kiss his patient and suggesting there might be time for a quick one.

HORACE RUMPOLE: At this point, sir.

I am suggesting nothing.

Dr. Cogger, you said that you were treating Miss Liptrott for nervous strain.

What-- what did you give her?

A couple of aspirins?

No, I prescribed Fobomorin, as far as I can remember.

Ah, Fobomorin.

Yes, that seems to be a favorite of yours.

Is this an expensive drug?

TIM COGGER: I believe it's fairly expensive.

I haven't looked up the price lately.

[laughter] HORACE RUMPOLE: And is it supplied by the firm of manufacturing chemists whose representative buys you luncheon at the Savoy Hotel?

Peter Kellaway of Marchmain's is a personal friend.

We lunch together occasionally.

HORACE RUMPOLE: The last time you lunched together, who paid?

I can't remember.

Oh, well, do try to think.

It may have been Peter.

And it may have been his company, Marchmain's, the manufacturing chemists.

Mr. Rumpole, we are here to decide if your client sexually assaulted his patient.

What on earth does Dr. Cogger's lunches at the Savoy got to do with it?

I quite agree, sir.

These questions can't possibly be relevant.

You said that Dr. Rahmat had certain limitations.

Did you mean that he was unwilling to prescribe certain drugs?

We had some disagreements about drugs, yes.

I thought his treatments often old-fashioned.

He did not want to prescribe expensive drugs for Marchmain's.

TIM COGGER: I suppose that some of the drugs that we disagreed about came from Marchmain's, yes.

Yes.

Tell me, did you only get four-star luncheons out of it, or did a little, um, cash change hands occasionally?

HECTOR MACAULIFFE: Perhaps I should warn the witness, Dr. Cogger, you are in no way obliged to answer any questions which might incriminate you.

Do you follow?

I do.

I prefer not to answer the question.

Please, don't be too rough on him, sir.

You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs.

And seeing that Dr. Rahmat refused to take part in your prescription racket, you wanted him out of the practice.

It's very hard to get rid of a partner, as you know, Mr. Rumpole.

Yes, indeed, very hard.

Unless, of course, you can have him found guilty of professional misconduct.

Mr. Rumpole, you're not suggesting that I went into Dr. Rahmat's room and tempted him to seduce me, are you?

[laughing quietly] Would you just take a look at that, please?

Oh!

What are you doing to the poor chap, sir?

Wait and see.

Does that not appear to be an advertisement for an escort service?

It would seem so.

And do you see the photograph of the young lady who calls herself Naughty Marietta?

Yes, I do.

Is not that Ms. Marietta Liptrott the complainant in this case, the young lady who you say you are treating for a nervous disorder?

Oh, really, there is no need for this, sir.

[tsks] It looks like her.

It is her.

The so-called children's nurse we hear so much about goes to restaurants for money, rather like you, Dr. Cogger.

Just what are you suggesting?

You know perfectly well, don't you?

I am suggesting, sir, that you paid this young lady to create that scene in Dr. Rahmat's consulting room.

That is absolutely ridiculous.

I didn't even know of the existence of Miss Liptrott until after the incident took place.

Did you not?

The incident we hear of took place on August the 13th of this year.

Would you look at the front of that Casanova magazine?

What is the date on it?

July.

July, yes.

And we know where the magazine was found, don't we?

MARIETTA LIPTROTT: Then he asked me to lie on the couch.

HECTOR MACAULIFFE: Did that strike you as rather strange?

MARIETTA LIPTROTT: Not really, not at the time.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Did you lie on the couch?

MARIETTA LIPTROTT: Oh, yeah.

He said he just wanted to see if I had any swellings, and would I mind him feeling?

And I said no.

Did he remove your knickers?

No.

I think I may have pulled them down.

And then?

What happened then?

I'm not quite sure.

I think he examined me, like, and then he went to wash his hands at the basin in the corner.

What did you do?

Oh!

[laughs] I ran screaming out the door.

What made you do that?

I don't know, really.

Well, I had been up late with this gentleman who kept me talking half the night about mortgage rates.

I think I was overtired.

My nerves were bad.

I suppose I just lost control of myself.

Ms. Liptrott, you made a statement to the General Medical Council to the effect that Dr. Rahmat had made improper advances to you.

I'd made such a fuss in the surgery and stuff, if I had to give some reason for it.

But I mean, I always meant to tell the truth when I got here.

What is the truth, Ms. Liptrott?

The truth is that Dr. Rahmat always behaved like a proper gentleman.

[whispering, murmuring] We've won.

Portia's gonna throw in her hand.

Sir, in view of the answers the witness has given, we do not feel it would be right to continue with the case against Dr. Rahmat.

Mr. Rumpole, during the course of your cross-examination, you made certain serious allegations against Dr. Cogger.

Withdrawn, sir, unreservedly.

Oh, do shut up.

Yes, very well.

They're withdrawn.

As far as we are concerned, Dr. Cogger is as pure as the driven slush.

What was that?

Snow, sir.

Driven snow, I said.

Thank you, Mr. Rumpole.

And now, Ms. Marietta Liptrott, the next time you are feeling overtired, please try and resist the temptation to make scandalous allegations against an innocent doctor.

Yes.

HECTOR MACAULIFFE: You have put a large number of distinguished medical men and lawyers to a great deal of unnecessary trouble.

The girl in A Passage to India, the one that was supposed to have been raped by the Indian doctor-- she withdrew her whole story in court.

You're right.

Old EMF-- always so true to life.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Do you think Marietta read the book?

GHULAM RAHMAT: Perhaps.

Such a fine novel.

MR. PINHORN: So Cogger put her up to it?

Oh, yes.

He thought I'd tumbled to why he wanted all of us to use the Marchmain drugs, you see.

He tried to get rid of me, so he hired Marietta.

How do you know?

She told me.

You talked to her?

GHULAM RAHMAT: Oh, yes.

I've taken her out to dinner quite often.

We go to the tandoori restaurant Memories of India, in Gloucester Road.

But I didn't think it was something you would wish to know, great barrister at law.

Why on earth not?

Because, you see, I didn't want us to win the case by rubbishing poor old Tim Cogger.

I want to keep my partnership, you see, just as I want to get along well with all the chaps in the surgery, Dr. Tim included.

So I thought the best way out was to persuade Ms. Liptrott to tell the truth, which is that nothing happened.

But it seemed to me too simple a way to win, and far too unsubtle for a brilliant barrister like yourself.

But at least, sir, you will agree that I managed, humbly, to make an omelet without the breaking of a single egg.

[laughs] Oh, charming.

My dear old quack, what if you spread the infection?

What if all my clients arranged their own acquittal?

I'd be out of work, and it'd be a disaster.

Clients settling their own cases?

It's not right, you know.

I'm sorry, Mr. Rumpole.

I truly am very, very sorry.

Well, what did you offer the young lady to persuade her to tell the truth?

I offered her, sir, as you might put it, all my worldly goods.

Oh, don't babble.

What are you talking about?

GHULAM RAHMAT: No, honestly, Mr. Rumpole, I do not babble.

Ms. Marietta Liptrott is as charming and honest as she is beautiful, and she has done me the honor of agreeing to be my wife.

The ceremony will be at the mosque in Regent's Park, to be followed by a reception at the Memories of India in the Gloucester Road.

And you and your good lady are cordially invited, as indeed are you, Mr. Pinhorn.

But not Dr. Cogger.

GHULAM RAHMAT: But, oh, yes, Dr. Cogger, because all the surgery will be there, and I'm hoping Tim Cogger will propose a toast to the happy couple.

I'll certainly ask him.

[laughter] Cheers!

[church bell ringing] [scoffs] PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Nobody came except Claude's pupil, Mrs. Wiggins, whatever her name is.

Mrs. Whittaker, very nice lady.

So the trap didn't work.

She was wearing a white carnation.

Perhaps she'd been to a wedding or something.

[laughs] Portia, you are a brilliant advocate.

Your courtroom manner is irresistible.

But you simply cannot skate lightly over the written evidence here.

Have another look at that.

Read it aloud, if you please.

- Barrister-- - Stop.

Barrister-- isn't there another letter after the word "barrister," a small letter in brackets?

[clicks tongue] Oh, yes.

It, um, looks like an F. It is an F. F for "female."

You were so sure that you had Claude in the frame, you didn't even notice it.

A lady barrister looking for adventure, sharing Claude's room.

That's why you found the magazine there.

Oh, dear, Portia, I'm afraid you disappointed Mrs. Whittaker dreadfully.

Mrs. Whittaker?

HORACE RUMPOLE: The evidence seems conclusive.

Poor old Mr. Whittaker, eh?

Obviously of the humdrum persuasion.

We ought to-- we ought to take out a subscription to this magazine.

We've had a lot, haven't we, out of only just one issue?

Well, perhaps you can, Rumpole.

I really must go and find Claude, you know?

He did seem pleased to see you.

A-ha!

Of course he did.

You owe him a lunch at the Savoy.

[phone ringing] Hello?

[indiscernible speech] Oh, God.

BAMBI ETHERIDGE (ON PHONE): It's Bambi.

Yes, Mrs. Etheridge, I'm listening.

BAMBI ETHERIDGE (ON PHONE): Something got in the way again.

You mean you ran into something again?

What?

BAMBI ETHERIDGE (ON PHONE): The cenotaph.

The cenotaph.

I see.

Ah, Ballard!

I've got some good news for you at last.

Really, Rumpole, what's that?

I've got a client for you, charming lady.

She's in a bit of trouble with a motoring offense.

Oh, it's rather serious, I'm afraid.

I told her she'd better brief a reliable QC.

Well, yes, yes, of course.

What's her name?

It's a Mrs. Etheridge?

Etheridge.

I told her that you're a rather cuddly kind of barrister.

Oh, and I do call her Bambi.

Everybody does.

[phone ringing] [theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪