[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Rumpole?

Rumpole?

Yes?

Can you hear something?

Yeah.

What?

I can hear you, Hilda, you.

[thud] Rumpole!

What is it now?

There's someone in the flat.

Of course, there is.

We are in the flat.

We usually are at night.

- Shh!

Don't shush me.

I didn't start this conversation.

Can't you hear?

Hear what?

Sounds!

Be not afraid, Hilda.

The flat is full of noises, sounds and sweet airs that delight and hurt not.

Sometimes, a thousand twangling instruments will hum about thine ears, and sometimes voices, that, if I then had waked after long sleep, will make me sleep again, I sincerely hope.

Good night.

It's no doubt one of your friends, one of your business associates.

What on Earth do you mean?

What if it's some sort of burglar?

Why don't you go and find out what he's after?

No need to disturb the fellow.

Rumpole, are you afraid?

Hilda, there is no burglar.

You've been dreaming.

Then prove it!

I can't.

I'm asleep, asleep.

Or is that a job you'd rather leave to a woman?

[sighs] [thudding] Oh!

Oh.

All right, Guv, it's a fair cop.

Just like you, Rumpole, to make a joke out of burglars.

Well, the television set still seems to be with us.

Did you leave that window open?

Yes!

No.

Oh, I can't remember, Hilda.

I'd make a terrible witness.

Ah, that is odd.

What is?

My brief for The Queen versus Joby Jonson.

- No one's stolen that?

- No, but.

But what?

I left it in my briefcase.

Somebody's been at that.

Look at it!

That's not my bow.

And this is not the way I leave a brief I've been working on.

Checkbook, Mrs. O'Thingamy's money, untouched.

There's nothing missing.

Something is.

What?

A proof of evidence of Joby Jonson, alleged robber of old age pensioners.

His statement of defense, such as it was, has melted into air, into thin air.

So somebody was here?

Yes.

You're usually right, of course.

Somebody was.

Any sort of news in the paper, Phylli?

Some sort of news, yes, war in Bulgaria, earthquakes in South America, renewed threat of global warming.

No, I mean important news.

The list of the new QCs, for instance.

Oh, well, look for yourself.

No, no, I don't want to look for myself, Phylli.

I'm not brave enough to look for myself.

I don't think I could put up with another disappointment.

The list of new queen's counsel will be announced by the Lord Chancellor next month.

It's expected to include-- Me?

Tabitha Merriweather, the brilliant Ghanaian woman civil rights lawyer from Miles Crudgington's radical chambers in the Edgware Road.

Nothing to say I'll get it.

Nothing to say you won't.

I mean, you've asked often enough.

Only five times, Phylli.

They'll probably give it to you for persistence.

We all know you got it first time.

Bit of a fluke, actually.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: No, it wasn't a fluke.

It's because you're a woman.

[drumming] Doing your fitness classes, is you, Joby?

Getting into shape to beat up someone else's granny.

That's a brave boy.

Going three rounds with an old lady-- I never.

You arguing with us, boy?

I haven't been convicted.

Ah, he's innocent!

Hear that, Snouty?

They got you down as a granny basher.

Do you want to argue?

Well, not here, Snouty, not with you, just in court.

I mean, my brief's going to get me off.

Leave it out, will you?

Leave it out!

You put your hands up in court, Joby.

You got no alternative.

Trust us, sunshine.

You got no better briefs than we are.

Oh, Erskine-Brown.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Ballard.

I thought you'd be glad to know.

Your name cropped up when I was speaking to old Keith from the Lord Chancellor's office.

Did it, Ballard?

Did it, really?

Naturally, he was interested to hear my views as Head of Chambers on your application for silk, Interested?

Was he really interested?

I mean, they're taking my application seriously?

Well, naturally, they take it seriously.

Keith was saying, it's become a sort of annual event, like Christmas.

You mean they look forward to it?

Let's say, they give it their serious consideration.

And I was able to let him have my views, fairly fully.

Thank you, Ballard.

Thank you very much.

Yes.

Yes, yes, of course, yes.

I said, I did not think there would be any repetition of the incidents in which you had been involved in the past, such as the complaint I had to deal with, lodged by our new typist, Miss Clapton.

You told Keith from the Lord Chancellor's department about Dot?

Yes.

I felt it was my duty.

It was some evidence which the Lord Chancellor might have to consider of your lack of gravitas.

- My lack of what?

- Bottom.

What?

It might be some indication that you are not fundamentally sound.

You said that to Keith from the Lord Chancellor's department?

And I said it in your own best interests.

You pompous prick!

I don't think I heard that, Erskine-Brown.

Oh, yes, you did, Ballard.

And if you don't know what it means, I suggest you ask Dot Clapton.

It's a view of your character, quite commonly held at number 3 Equity Court.

Pompous what, exactly?

What have you done to your face?

Accident.

Oh, yes, mistook it for an ashtray, did you?

That's right, yeah.

We can help you make a complaint to the Governor.

Oh, leave it out.

Oi - What?

You leave it out.

No.

Well, you want to get me killed or something?

No.

Strange as it may seem, Joby, we're trying to get you off.

Now, then, a Mrs. Louisa Parsons, aged 75, living at an end house, number 1 Pondicherry Road, somewhere behind Euston Station, answered a ring at her front door on the morning of October the 19th.

A youth was there, who said, you still living here, Mrs. Parsons?

And then ran off.

Later that day, a person she identifies as the same youth, though his face was partially covered, again rang her doorbell, and when she answered it, forced his way in and attacked her, punched her in the face and stomach.

Oh, charming-- tied her up with some clothes from the kitchen, kicked her, broke up most of the crockery and some of the furniture in the house, left with Mrs. Parson's post office savings book, in which there was a balance of 5 pounds, 79 pence.

She later identified the defendant, Joby Jonson, at an identification parade in Euston nick.

And that is the first time I ever set me eyes on the old bat, at the ID parade.

Joby, it might be as well, when you're giving evidence, to resist the temptation to call the victim, an old bat.

It is not an expression likely to endear you to the jury.

Oh, by the way, have you got a spare copy of Joby's statement?

Mine seems to have walked in the night.

Now, the defense is an alibi, Mr. Rumpole, if you remember.

You remember what I said, didn't you?

Yes, Joby, of course I did.

Over the last few months, it's been my sole bedtime study.

So far as I can remember, that's a promising start, isn't it?

So far as I can remember, at the time Mrs. Parsons was attacked, I was hanging about near the Super Loo in Euston Station, with three girls down from Manchester who were singing and dancing a bit.

Mr. Bernard says that you was a brilliant brief.

Can't you even get me off on this?

I may well be a brilliant brief, Joby.

But I am unable to walk on water or transmute base metals into gold.

Nor am I able to make use of a so-called alibi, which ignores the most important piece of evidence in this case.

Oh, yeah?

What's that meant to be, then?

Your palm print on Mrs. Parson's front door.

Yeah, well, I'm not for putting my hands up, as long as that's clear.

I don't care what they says.

You got that?

Oof, not exactly the most likeable young man, Mr. Rumpole.

[laughs] Mr. Bernard, that is the understatement of the year.

Do you know what's deteriorated since the good old, bad old days?

The character of our young offenders.

Where have all the artful dodgers gone?

And where are all those cheerful cockney pickpockets that stuck their thumbs in their waistcoats and says, watch me, old cock sparrow?

It was a sad day for England when the artful dodgers turned into the Joby Jonson's.

[typing] Dot?

Yes, Henry.

I couldn't have better staff than you, Dot.

A senior clerk would not wish for more efficient staff, or more pleasant.

And I've done my very best to make you feel thoroughly at home here in Equity Court.

But, oh, a barrister's chambers is, well, a barrister's chambers.

You've got some criticism of my typing, Henry?

Quite frankly, Dot, your typing has been little short of perfection.

Or at the speed at which I get the fee notes out?

You get the fee notes out, Dot, at the speed of light.

What I wanted to say was, well, barristers, I mean, some of them are what I suppose you'd call, old fashioned.

Old fashioned?

I'd call them museum pieces, still in y-fronts and braces if anyone cared to look.

Yeah, hello?

Yeah.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: [laughs] Is something amusing you, Mr. Erskine-Brown?

No, no.

No, no, really nothing, Dot, honestly, nothing.

It's just that, well, I haven't had much to laugh at recently.

That's all.

I say, Dot, congratulations.

That's what Chambers needs, someone to make a statement.

After all, we're not all clones, are we?

We're not all imitation male lawyers in pinstripes.

We're the great sisterhood of free spirits.

Are you, Ms. Probert?

I'm just trying to get on with Mr. Inchcape's typing.

Dot, there's a couple more pages of the particulars of negligence.

Well, leave them here, Mr. Inchcape.

I'll make you my top priority.

Mr. Rumpole?

Yes.

It's the Office of the Under-Secretary at the home office, wonders if you'd find it convenient to call in for a brief word.

Oh, does he really?

Tell him we'll try and fit him in with my other engagements.

Sorry, no, I'll have to call you back on that one.

I have to find a little window of time in Mr. Rumpole's diary.

Henry?

Yes, Mr. Ballard.

I shall have to call a Chambers meeting on the most serious situation that has just arisen.

I hope you will all be able to attend as a matter of urgency.

I don't know about that, Ballard-- depends on my business with her Majesty's government.

Tom Mottram, Under-Secretary, Home Affairs, with special responsibility for prisons.

I'm the fellow who tries to keep them in.

Horace Rumpole, counsel for the defense.

I am the fellow who tries to keep them out.

Very good.

Was that good, Elspeth?

Elspeth Dodds, Parliamentary Private Secretary.

Hello.

Do come sit down, Mr. Rumpole.

You may have wondered why I asked you to drop by.

Please.

Thank you.

It's about a young lad called Joby Jonson.

Oh, really?

I'm a constituency MP, I hope a good one.

I've had Joby Jonson's mother round at my surgery, week in, week out.

Poor woman.

She really is quite distracted.

I expect she is.

I've told the old girl that I'd see he was properly defended.

Of course, I was delighted to hear you were appearing for him.

I know you'll see that he doesn't make things worse by putting up some sort of stupid defense.

So can I tell her, he's being well looked after?

Oh, yes!

He's having the time of his life, banged up for 23 hours a day in a seven-foot cell with a couple of chamber pots, and a sworn enemy that passes the time by stubbing cigarettes out on his face.

And, of course, Joby Jonson is entirely innocent.

Innocent?

Oh, that's interesting.

Is that your view of the matter?

As innocent as we all are, until 12 fellow citizens come back into court and tell him, he's guilty.

You're giving us your courtroom performance.

It's very good.

Isn't it, Elspeth?

Oh, very good, indeed.

I was merely trying to point out the conditions endured by prisoners on remand.

Oh, worse than they were 100 years ago.

We know that, don't we, Elspeth?

Only too well, I'm afraid, Mr. Rumpole.

And our minister will be the first to agree with you.

Then why doesn't your minister do something about it?

Unfortunately, we live in a democracy.

We have to listen to the instructions of our masters with the votes.

So we prefer to leave prison reform to the private sector, people like you, of course, and Seb Pilgrim.

Who?

You don't know Seb?

He runs YERT.

Runs what?

Youth Enterprise Reform Trust.

You must have heard of Sir Sebastian Pilgrim.

He's an absolutely splendid fellow.

He carried his bat for England.

He does wonderful things with hopeless cases like Joby Jonson, teaches them cricket, gives them a bit of pride in themselves, really reforms their characters.

You two should get together.

Oh, really?

Do you think so?

I've never carried my batter, anyway.

[sirens] Hilda!

Hilda!

What's wrong?

Is there an air raid?

HILDA RUMPOLE: Oh, don't be so silly, Rumpole.

It's perfectly simple.

You just press 3, 4, 8, 9, 6, and the yellow button.

And you see it quiet, immediately.

What else have you installed, death rays, man traps?

You're going to sit in the kitchen all night with a double-barreled shotgun?

Come on, old darling.

You've got to give the criminal classes a chance to earn their living.

Oh, hello.

Good afternoon, Mr. Rumpole.

Kensington CID, DS Appleby.

Your wife called us in again.

It seems the villains have turned against you.

What's the matter, sir, been losing their cases, have you?

Ha, ha, ha!

Very amusing.

I insisted Mr. Appleby came back to look for fingerprints, Rumpole.

Do you, Mr. Appleby?

Thank you, Madam.

A very thorough investigator, your good lady, Mr. Rumpole.

She knows my job better than I do.

Oh, yes!

Mrs. Rumpole is one of nature's detective superintendents.

I shouldn't worry about that, if I were you.

It's almost certainly a professional wearing gloves.

And didn't take anything of value, as I understand it, sir, just some papers out of one of your cases.

Now, I wonder, who could have been interested in that?

[phone ringing] Yes, I've been wondering about that myself.

Hello?

Yes, Rumpole speaking.

What?

Sir Sebastian Pilgrim wants a word with me?

What about?

Joby Jonson?

Yes, all right, join the queue.

A pompous prick?

I called him that, our Head of Chambers.

And the next table was full of solicitors.

That, Claude, was the most persuasive and accurately-phrased speech you ever made down the Old Bailey, as well as the shortest.

He told Keith from the Lord Chancellor's Office that I had no bottom.

Yes, well, he's got enough for both of you.

That I wasn't fundamentally sound.

I have a good mind to tell the Lord Chancellor a few home truths about our leader.

Like the fact that he's a smarmy, hypocritical, God-bothering vegetarian?

No, Claude, the time for speeches is over.

The time for action has come.

The hour of decision.

Oh, Phylli.

What does that mean, exactly?

It means, Claude, I am on the case.

[glasses clink] Mr. Rumpole?

That's me.

I'm Fred Bry.

I've come to take you to Sir Sebastian Pilgrim.

Thank you.

[thudding] It's yours, Mr. Rumpole!

[clang] No, I'm sure it's yours.

Fancy a go at the wicket?

Oh, not in the least.

I'm allergic to any form of sport.

Except for teasing her Majesty's judges.

You're very famous among our lads.

You're not allergic to a drink, I hope.

I thought you'd never ask.

SEBASTIAN PILGRIM: I'm sorry, Mr. Rumpole.

The lads have voted this a smoke-free zone.

Oh, really?

When are you running here, a monastery?

Oh, very funny.

Delightful wit.

That's what old Tom Mottram told me about you.

No, I don't make the rules.

The boys do.

Self-discipline, that's the name of the game.

Oh, I thought it was cricket.

No alcohol, no smoking.

And, of course, if anyone catches one of their number dropping an E-- A what?

Ecstasy.

Anyone indulging in any sort of drug gets a hard time from the other fellows, a very hard time, indeed.

It's no good, imposing rule from above.

How's the coffee?

I'm afraid we're not up to your gastronomic standards, Mr. Rumpole.

We have more important things to think about.

Yes, Joby Jonson, for instance.

Ah, yes, Joby.

I must admit, I'm worried about Joby.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Most people seem to be.

What we find here is that the first step to reform is to admit to what you've done, if only to your mates.

Plead guilty, you mean?

Even if you only admit it to yourself.

Look over there, what we call our quiet corner.

HORACE RUMPOLE: What is it, a prayer meeting?

SEBASTIAN PILGRIM: Well, yeah, something like that.

When you get to my age-- SEBASTIAN PILGRIM: Now, the young lads over there are coming out with all their crimes.

They talk them through.

And then Fred Bry tells them where that sort of thing leads.

Your driver?

And Fred should know.

He'd just done six years for robbery when I found a job for him.

So you believe confession's good for the soul, do you?

Don't you?

Oh, perhaps.

It's not much good at keeping you out of the nick.

If you could just get him to admit what he's done, if only to himself, you could get him to face up to it, not to tell any silly lies.

It could be the beginning of his way back to reality.

It could be the beginning of about five years in chokey.

He's come here often over the last two years.

He's had his talking sessions in the pit with Fred and the other fellows.

And I just don't want to write him off as one of my failures.

I'm sure we both want to do what's best for him.

I'm sure.

Well, tell me.

What can I do to help?

Well, I could call you as a character witness, a bit more impressive than a shrink or the local vicar.

I call, Sir Sebastian Pilgrim, who carried his bat for England.

[laughs] You can count on me, Mr. Rumpole.

I tell you.

You can count on me.

You were talking about Joby, Mr. Rumpole, you and Seb?

Oh, yes, we were, yes.

Big disappointment to us, Joby, a terrible disappointment.

We did our best with Joby, certainly.

We both tried hard.

So it's over to you now, Mr. Rumpole.

Get the boy to own up to what he's done.

It's the only way.

Certain standards of civilization have to have to be maintained at Equity Court.

I mean, we couldn't have people turning up in war paint, could we?

No, Sam.

You're absolutely right, of course.

Well, thank you very much, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

I don't see why not.

What did you say, Rumpole?

I said, I don't see why not.

I'm all for anything that adds a bit of drama to the surroundings.

Now, if you'd come into the clerk's room this morning, Ballard, wearing full war paint, waving an assegai on your way to a particularly bloody summons under the red-- Rumpole, Rumpole, we are at something of a crisis in Equity Court.

I mean, if this sort of thing goes unchecked, we could be off down the slippery slope towards-- What?

Suede shoes.

What?

They tell me, there are men in Miles Crudgington's set who go into Chambers wearing suede shoes.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Shock, horror.

- Yes.

So you see what this sort of thing can lead to.

Oh, you're so right, Sam.

That is the most terrible warning.

I agree with you, Ballard, 100%.

Dot was making an unacceptable statement of female submission.

It was nothing but a kind of harem signal, to any would-be sheik foolish enough to take her up on the offer.

Dot knows not to put too fine a point on it.

It's politically incorrect.

Erskine-Brown, do you not have an opinion on this matter?

Oh, I don't imagine I've got enough bottom to express an opinion.

Enough what?

Gravitas.

Ballard doesn't think I've got enough of it.

Gravitas?

Sounds like a breakfast food.

Well, sorry.

I must be off on the pressure of business, can't spend any more time on this discussion.

Fascinating, though it may be.

Just before you go, Rumpole, I suggest we leave all further action in this matter to our Head of Chambers.

I'm sure Sam Ballard will deal with it with his usual wisdom.

Are you feeling quite well, Portia?

Oh, perfectly well.

Thank you, Rumpole, yes.

I am positive that Sam can be trusted to have a tactful word in the appropriate quarter.

Can't you, Sam?

Oh, Inchcape.

You-- you didn't say what you thought about the rich ornament in Dorothea Clapton's nostril.

To be quite honest, Rumpole, I never even noticed it was there.

Oh, did you not?

No.

How very interesting.

Hello, Dot.

I just popped in to see what's on for tomorrow.

Mr. Rumpole, I wanted your advice.

Now, well, I don't have any opinion one way or the other.

I suppose it does add a touch of color to the Chambers.

What adds a touch of color?

Oh, nothing in particular.

About my dad, he lives not far from here, actually.

Oh, I thought you and Henry hailed from Bexleyheath.

That's where my mom lives.

They split up when I was about seven.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

Don't worry.

It wasn't a great tragedy.

My dad's an awkward sort of customer.

Call him bloody-minded, and you'd be paying him a compliment.

The thing is, they want to do some new development down his street.

But he won't sell them his house, tells them he's too old to move now, anyway, and tells them to sod off, if you pardon my French.

Oh, well, now, that's a property law, Dot.

It's hardly my speciality [french].

Now, if your dad had committed a murder-- Perhaps he will, if they go on asking him to sell up.

They send people round with letters now, telling him, he's got to move.

And what a lot of good it'll do him.

He's got them ringing on his doorbell, all hours.

That must be highly irritating.

Well, where does he live, exactly?

McGlinty Terrace.

Oh, yeah?

Round behind Euston Station.

Do you know the area?

I think I might do, yes.

You were superb today, Sam.

Well, thank you for your support, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Phyllida.

Yes, of course, Phyllida.

Think nothing of it.

What I admired was the way that you managed to dominate the proceedings.

And yet, everything was, well, fun.

Well, I do try to make our Chambers meetings enjoyable occasions.

And you succeed, Sam.

You really do.

I suppose, it's just your personality.

Really?

Do you know something?

All these years that you and I have been the only two silks in Chambers, do you know, we've never had lunch together?

Doesn't that strike you as rather strange?

No, not really.

No, I mean, you're a member of Inner Temple.

And I'm at Gray's Inn.

And we've just never had lunch in the same place.

Sam, why don't you invite me?

All right, then, Phyllida.

I will.

There's a very nice little health food bar in Fetter Lane.

Oh, that doesn't sound terribly romantic to me.

What about the Savoy Grill?

Savoy Grill?

That's the one.

I thought you'd never ask.

There's a profile of one of your friends here, Rumpole.

You ought to be proud of him.

Well, what friend is that?

Well, not one of your criminal classes, certainly, not one of your beloved burglars who enters by way of the fire escape to rob us.

No, no, this is someone you ought to be proud of.

You might invite him round to dinner one night.

Invite who round to dinner, Hilda?

Sir Sebastian Pilgrim, one-time all-rounder for England.

Seems he spends much of his time trying to reform young criminals.

You don't spend much of your time trying to do that, do you, Rumpole?

That wouldn't be your sort of thing at all.

Neither is cricket.

He's also a brilliant businessman, Chairman of Maiden Over Holdings.

Seb told his shareholders recently, "I believe in England."

Oh, good for him.

I suppose the rest of us think it's a figment of our imagination, do we?

He was in partnership with Tom Mottram, MP, until Mr. Mottram joined the government and resigned all his directorships.

They're planning to build a multi-story hotel and shopping center.

Tom Mottram, so that's the connection.

Did they say where this monstrous carbuncle is going to be dumped?

Why?

Are you thinking of investing?

Oh, perhaps a little of my time.

Behind Euston Station.

I've been away such a lot, doing these boring big cases all over the world.

I didn't realize what I was missing.

Didn't you?

And what were you missing, exactly?

Well, to be honest, Sam, my Head of Chambers.

Head?

Well, in a word, you.

I do think about you quite a lot, you know, when I'm all alone in places like Hong Kong.

You think about me in Hong Kong?

You don't mind, do you?

Well, no, of course not, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Phyllida.

I mean, I can't stop you thinking about whoever you like, Phyllida.

But I've never been to Hong Kong.

Oh, yes, you have, in my thoughts.

Really?

I didn't know!

Oh, Sam.

I can see you've had lots of practice chatting up women over lunch.

Well, not really, no.

I quite often send Miss Clapton out for sandwiches, which reminds me.

I've asked Henry to have a tactful word with her about the subject we were discussing.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Her nose?

Yes, exactly.

Splendid, takes a real man to act as decisively as that.

You know, the odd thing is that Claude believes that he might do better with the Lord Chancellor if he were a woman.

What do you think of that?

I think that's very silly.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: So do I. I mean, Claude Erskine-Brown couldn't possibly be a woman, could he?

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: I think he'd find it extremely difficult.

- Yes.

So he might just as well forget the idea and settle down to being himself.

I think that's what he's afraid of.

He said you'd had a little chat about his application with dear old Keith from the Lord Chancellor's Office.

Yes.

Erskine-Brown doesn't seem too pleased about that.

In fact, he used an expression, which I couldn't possibly repeat, well, not in a public place.

Oh, that's right, yes.

He called you a pomp-- Phyllida, Phyllida, [french] the waiter.

Is this champagne?

- Of course it is.

Did I order this?

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Of course, you did.

I think you wanted to celebrate the fact that we're going out together at long, long last.

It causes a rather curious sensation in the nose.

You've got to forgive Claude.

He had a deprived childhood, that sort of language chaps pick up at Winchester.

You-- you didn't think he ought to take silk?

In his own best interests, Phyllida.

Oh, you're fibbing, Sam.

You were thinking entirely of me.

Was I?

You thought that I'd get less leading briefs with Claude competing, hmm?

Well, look.

I want to be entirely honest with you, now that we've become real friends.

Do you?

Of course, I do.

And I want you to be the first to know.

I shan't be looking for leading briefs in the future.

You shan't?

I'm leaving the bar.

SAM BALLARD: Phyllida!

For good.

I've made up my mind.

Oh, don't look so sad, Sam.

I'm not leaving the country or anything.

We'll still be able to meet.

And you know what might make it really easy for me?

Easy?

If Claude were away in, let's say, Hong Kong, doing leading briefs for long periods of time, you and I could have lunch together.

You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Yes, Phyllida.

I believe I would.

Well, look, do me a small favor.

Help us both.

How?

Just pick up the phone to dear old Keith in the Lord Chancellor's Office.

Tell him, there can be no possible objection to Claude being entirely wrapped in silk, even though he is a man.

And that would make it easier for you, and help you and Claude?

It would help you and me, Sam, considerably.

Here's to us both!

MR. BERNARD: Regina versus Jonson coming up next, Mr. Rumpole.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes, indeed.

MR. BERNARD: It doesn't look like a winner.

No.

And be warned, Mr. Bernard.

We are up against one of the most subtle tacticians, the artfullest dodger down the Old Bailey.

Oh?

Who's that, Mr. Rumpole?

Mrs. Phyllida Erskine-Brown, QC, and a Portia about Chambers.

Yes.

A silk to prosecute?

- Yes.

You're putting us up before the judge?

I heard a whisper in the list office, our boy was getting the star treatment.

Oh, well, mugging is the flavor of the month, isn't it?

The powers that be want to show that they're all terribly concerned.

Still, never despair, Bernard!

There are still a few things we can do.

Oh.

Such as?

Oh, just routine inquiries.

Here you are.

There.

Get in touch with a Mr. Clapton of McGlinty Terrace.

That's around near Euston Station.

See how far that is from Pondicherry Road, would you?

Oh, and discover everything you can about these people.

What, Maiden Over Holding?

Maiden Over Holding, yes, and any estate agents that they might employ.

Oh, and while we're still on the subject of young Dawkins-- Dawkins.

Dawkins, who's Dawkins, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, John Dawkins, the original Artful Dodger.

Let us not forget that he was only part of a much wider organization, being run from old Fagin's thieves' kitchen.

I don't know if you've had much experience with this judge, have you, Portia?

Graves?

No, never been before him.

You?

To my deep regret.

JUSTICE GRAVES: Silence in court.

All stand.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Mr. Justice Graves is an absolute four-letter man.

He's humorless, tedious, unsympathetic, and unjust.

In a word, Portia, our judge is a complete pain in the fundament.

Mr. Rumpole, it may come as a surprise to you to know that the acoustics in this court are absolutely perfect.

And my hearing is exceptionally keen.

And I can hear absolutely every word that is spoken, on counsel's benches.

See what I mean?

Henry, it's still there.

I saw it this morning, the undesirable ornament.

I thought you were going to speak to Miss Clapton.

Didn't the Chamber's meeting decide as you were going to do that, Mr. Ballard, as head?

Yes, yes, yes, they most certainly did.

And I deputed the task to you, Henry.

I'm sorry, sir, but no.

That is well outside normal clerking duties.

It's not for me to make personal and provocative remarks to valued staff.

Very well, very well.

I shall have to do it myself, but not now.

I'm due before the recorder in 10 minutes.

Is Mrs. Erskine-Brown in this court?

She is indeed, sir, prosecuting Mr. Rumpole.

Yes.

Well, I expect she'd appreciate it if I just popped my head in and said good morning.

We say that Jonson viciously attacked this lady, old enough to be his grandmother, and robbed her of what were, no doubt, her small lifetime savings.

5 pounds, 79 pence.

Did you say something, Mr. Rumpole?

I was just reminding my learned friend, My Lord, that the amount concerned in this case is exactly 5 pounds and 79 pence.

Mr. Rumpole, I have no doubt we shall be hearing from you later.

Now, I think we might let Mrs. Erskine-Brown open her case without any more frivolous interruptions.

Yes, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Yes, Mrs. Erskine-Brown?

It remains to be seen, members of the jury, what sort of defense, if any, will be put forward for Jonson.

It is alleged that, while this appalling attack was taking place, Jonson was dancing with some girls from Manchester outside the Super Loo at Euston Station.

What is a Super Loo, exactly?

It is, I believe, my Lord, a kind of superior lavatory.

Kind of superior lavatory, mm-hmm.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): McGlinty Terrace, there we are, turning off Pondicherry Road.

Right behind Euston Station!

Did you say something, Mr Rumpole?

Oh, nothing more at the moment, my Lord, no.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: Some weeks later, Mrs. Parsons, did you attend an identification parade?

I did.

And the police officers, they were very kind to me.

They made me a cup of tea, and-- And did you identify the youth who visited you twice on the 19th, and attacked you on the second occasion?

There he is.

PHYLLIDA ERSKINE-BROWN: You are pointing to the defendant, Joby Jonson.

Thank you very much, Mrs. Parsons.

Mr. Rumpole, I managed to get copies of the letters to your friend, Mr. Clapton.

Not a friend, just the father of a friend.

Thank you, Bonnie Bernard.

I suppose you have questions, Mr. Rumpole?

Mrs. Parsons, do you own your little house in Pondicherry Road?

My husband saved for it, worked all his life, the booking clerk at the station.

Yes.

Were you not offered a considerable sum of money for that little house?

I wasn't going to move, no matter how often they asked me.

Now, Mrs. Parsons, you say that, on that morning, a young man rang at your front door and said, are you still living here, Mrs. Parsons?

Yes, he did.

Did you think that there was any connection with that question, with the repeated requests to you to sell your house?

Not at the time, no.

My Lord, this witness can't be invited to speculate.

We should leave such flights of fancy to my learned friend.

My sentiments entirely, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Move on to the next matter, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, nice one, Portia.

You've got old death head eating out of your hand.

Mr. Rumpole.

I didn't hear that.

Oh, did you not, My Lord?

It must be the acoustics.

And, Mrs. Parsons, later that day, a young man rang at your front door.

When you went to answer it, he attacked and robbed you.

I heard the bell.

I thought, he's back again.

So I'll give him a piece of my mind.

So you weren't frightened when you went to answer the door the second time?

Not then, no.

I was when I saw him, though.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, why?

Well, he had this, what do they call it, a balaclava.

A balaclava, yes.

Yes, you say in your statement that the caller's face was hidden at that time.

It was hidden a bit, yes.

Well, Mrs. Parsons, how do you know it was the same boy?

Right, Joby, confession time.

Confession is good for the soul, they say.

Come on.

Admit it.

Somebody told you to go to Mrs. Parsons' house and say, you're still living here, Mrs. Parsons?

And then scarper, didn't they?

That was in the morning.

What did you do in the afternoon?

- I told you.

- Yes.

And for once, I believe you, dropping an E you'd bought from some girls down from Manchester, which led to an unseemly display of folk dancing outside the Super Loo in Euston Station, and, doubtless, a horrible reaction of shivering thirst and a certain loss of memory.

How comes you know so much about doing an E, Mr. Rumpole?

How come Mr. Rumpole knows about everything?

I know you went to that house in the morning because your palm print was on the door.

And Mrs. Parsons saw you.

That's why she picked you out at the ID parade.

I know you did not go there in the afternoon, because the group you work for were so desperate to find out our defense, they burgled my flat.

They're dead scared, you're going to tell the truth, Joby.

They're scared you're going to tell them that another lad came after you and did the serious business.

You're going to have to tell the truth before this case is over.

What's this, this group you're on about?

Oh, don't you play games with me, sunshine.

You know perfectly well who I mean.

You are Sir Sebastian Pilgrim?

I am.

And needing no introduction to us, I'm sure, at least not to those of us who witnessed your century against Pakistan at Lord's in your final test.

I have no doubt, the jury remember.

And do you run an organization called the Youth Enterprise and Reform Trust, allegedly to help young men who have fallen into criminal ways?

Once again, Sir Sebastian, your wonderful work with youth is well known to many of us.

I do run that organization to help delinquent boys, yes.

I don't know why Mr. Rumpole uses the word, allegedly.

No doubt, a slip of the tongue.

Wasn't it, Mr. Rumpole?

Not exactly, my Lord, no.

If I may go on a little, my meaning will become clear.

Are you also the Chairman of Maiden Over Holdings, which plans a development behind Euston Station of a large hotel and a tourist shopping center?

I am.

And weren't you having trouble with certain householders who refused to sell their homes to you to make way for this magnificent and palatial development?

No particular trouble.

Were you not?

Usher.

Do you employ, among others, a firm of estate agents called Jebber and Jonas?

SEBASTIAN PILGRIM: The name is familiar.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, please answer the question.

Do you employ them or not?

From time to time.

Is that a letter from Jebber and Jonas to a Mr. Peter Clapton of McGlinty Terrace, asking him to sell his home to make way for a new development?

It would appear to be, sir.

Was that your hotel development?

I don't know anyone else with similar plans.

Perhaps no one else is so anxious to invest in the future of this great city, Mr. Rumpole.

And was a Mrs. Parsons of Pondicherry Road another householder who refused to sell her house to your company?

I really don't remember.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, do try.

In any event, I'm sure she was made a very fair offer.

Sir Sebastian, do you hold the view that delinquents should admit what they have done and tell the truth about it?

Oh, yes.

I believe that is the start of reform.

Do you really want Joby Jonson to tell the truth about this case?

Yes.

Very well.

He came to your club after having been in trouble over some minor matters.

Yes.

My Lord, I thought there was some good in the lad.

I hoped I might make rather a useful spin bowler out of him.

Not so useful as you, Sir Sebastian, if we remember the Australian wickets in 1975.

They went down like ninepins, members of the jury.

And quite a useful messenger to send around about your company's business.

Of course not.

Oh, why not, Sir Sebastian?

I don't wish to be unkind.

But Joby is not exactly the brightest of lads.

He's not the sort of boy you could trust with any sort of business.

Well, no.

What sort of boy would you trust?

I don't know what you mean.

Who did you choose, then, to terrorize Mrs. Parsons into selling her house to you?

What?

Isn't that the sort of job you offer to enterprising young men, Sir Sebastian Pilgrim?

That is an absolutely ridiculous suggestion.

There is no truth in it at all.

Mr. Rumpole, you will confine yourself to questions about your client's character.

Delighted, my Lord, always anxious to please.

Well, Sir Sebastian, I'm glad we can agree about some things.

Joby Jonson's talents are strictly limited, and good enough, perhaps, to send round before lunch with a final warning.

But the afternoon terrorist attack had to be done by another of your proteges, partly shrouded in a balaclava helmet.

Mr. Rumpole, this is quite intolerable.

You persist in attempting to involve this most distinguished gentleman in the terrible crime of which your client stands accused.

That is not the way in which we play the game in these courts.

I'm so sorry, My Lord.

I have never entirely understood the rules of cricket.

Oh, Dot!

Give my regards to your dad.

Tell him, he's been a great help.

Are you going to win, Mr. Rumpole?

I have hopes.

Dare I say, great hopes.

Oh, tell him to watch out for young men in balaclava helmets.

I reckon, Dad can look after himself.

He's an old terror, Dad is.

Good, good.

Oh, by the way, Dot.

DOT CLAPTON: Yes, Mr. Rumpole?

About that precious ornament in your nose, we had a Chambers meeting about that.

You never!

Yes, we did.

Oh, nothing much was decided.

But young Dave Inchcape-- Yes, Mr. Rumpole?

He said, he'd never even noticed it.

Oh, Phyllida!

I did it a couple of weeks ago.

Congratulations.

Did what, exactly?

Spoke to old Keith from the Lord Chancellor's Office.

I told him, I'd been quite wrong about Claude, and that, recently, he'd been showing a good deal of gravitas.

How about bottom?

Yes, quite a lot of that, too.

Oh, good.

Good, well, I'm glad you put that right.

So, Phyllida-- Phyllida!

So, how about lunch?

Honestly, it really is very nice in the health food bar.

And there's a little corner table.

And I wouldn't have to send a taxi back to Chambers like last time for an extra sum from petty cash.

Sorry, Ballard, I'm going to be rather too busy for lunches out in the foreseeable future.

Thank you.

Could I just a glance at The Times?

Oh, I say, fabulous day!

Absolutely fabulous!

Keep the change.

Buy yourself a drink, old chap.

Two drinks, if necessary, with the compliments of one of her Majesty's counsel, learned in the law.

♪ It's a hap, hap, happy day ♪ ♪ Toodle, oodle, doodle, doodle, doodle, day ♪ Jonson, the jury reached a verdict, with which I entirely agree.

You chose, through your representative, Mr. Rumpole, to make an entirely unwarranted attack on a Great British sportsman and public figure, a man who has devoted his life to the reform of youths such as yourself.

Unhappily, you have proved to be quite unreformable.

You will be detained for five years.

Take him down.

Bowled out, Bonnie Bernard, by the bloody umpire.

Excuse me, sir.

Thank you.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Rumpole!

Hello there, dear, old Rumpole.

You've read The Times today, of course?

No, not much of it.

I've had other things on my mind.

The silk list, I shall be leading you, my dear old fellow.

I shall be sitting in front of you.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Well, after today's result, I probably deserve it.

It's gone.

Thank you, Henry.

I said nothing, Mr Ballard, it not being my place to advise staff on such matters.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Well, no doubt, she understood my feelings on the matter.

And now we have Ms. Clapton's nose in a state of decency.

Well, that's another rather difficult problem in Chambers, solved.

My sole success.

Oh, Erskine-Brown, by the way, congratulations.

Oh, thank you, Ballard.

Seems that gravitas is no longer called for.

No, no, no, no, no, I meant your wife, Phyllida.

You must be very, very proud.

What about Phylli?

Well, haven't you seen the front page with the photograph?

No, I was only looking for the silk list.

Good heavens.

She never told me.

Mrs. Erskine-Brown never told anyone, not even her clerk.

Oh, Portia, how thou art translated.

So that's what she meant when she said, she was leaving the bar.

[sighs] MAN: Silence in court.

All stand.

If your ladyship pleases.

Yes, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

Your ladyship has, of course, with your ladyship's usual firm judgment, put your finger upon the heart, the very nub of this case.

Mr. Erskine-Brown, if you have a point, please get to it.

[phone ringing] Yes.

Yes, Rumpole speaking.

Oh, Detective Sergeant Appleby.

No, no, I don't mind you ringing late.

Hilda!

Rumpole, I'm meant to be asleep.

I thought you'd like to know.

You were right about the fingerprints.

They found one!

Hilda, are you awake?

I am now.

The thumbprint of someone sent down for robbery with violence many years ago, the old con who drives for the great cricketer and reforms the young, Fred Bry.

It was Fred Bry who entered our premises by night.

You know what this means, don't you?

It means that the case of Joby Jonson is not entirely over.

Well, in which case, I'm very glad I had that burglar alarm installed.

Good night, Rumpole.

Hilda?

Yes.

You're still awake?

Yes, unfortunately.

Thank you for insisting about chasing up those fingerprints, Hilda.

Well, it just goes to show how important it is to have a woman on the case.

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