[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ RUMPOLE: Not many dreaming spires around Gunster University.

More like a concrete nightmare.

HILDA: Ssh!

Rumpole!

MAN: Honors degrees in the School of English.

Russell Anwar Bannerjee.

[applause] Richard Orenko Jones.

[applause] Audrey's next.

MAN: Audrey Wystan.

[applause] First class degree in English.

You never got a first in anything, Rumpole.

In my experience, chaps that got a first class degree were never the slightest use down Uxbridge Magistrates' Court.

HILDA: Rumpole?

Yes, well, that may be so, Mrs. Rumpole, but nevertheless, they are destroying our universities.

Oh, you should see what they're trying to do to the law, Professor.

We're going to be left with nothing but computer courses and business studies.

Our masters are not interested in literature.

Or trial by jury, or freelance barristers, or the right to silence.

Shh.

You're not down the Bailey now.

The right to what?

RUMPOLE: Silence.

You see, if you're accused, you can stay quiet, make the prosecution prove their case.

That's what they want to abolish.

Bang goes freedom.

The law has to work with business efficiency, just like a bank.

Most of the people reading English are going into banks.

Well, what can you expect, Audrey?

The Vice Chancellor, like Hayden Charles, who writes books about money.

Yes, and spends most of his life licking the boots of our Chancellor, Sir Denis Tolson, the head of that great cultural institution Tolson's Tasty Foods.

Oh, Professor Clinton, they do really rather a good frozen curry in the Gloucester Road.

Oh, don't remind me.

Perhaps they do, Mrs. Rumpole, but they don't do Latin.

They haven't said anything yet.

But I may be the last professor of classics at the University of Gunster will have.

Onus probandi, in flagrante delicto.

Classics to go, yet the right of silence will be next.

I wonder if even Wordsworth is safe.

Wordsworth ended up a Tory.

But yet I know wherever I go, that there hath passed away a glory from the Earth.

He can still bring tears to the eye.

What is the point of tears?

The purpose of literature, my dear sir, is to promote social change.

Your precious Wordsworth ended up portraying the French Revolution.

Oh, well, if you say so.

Excuse me.

Clive Clympton is a wonderful teacher.

What did you think of him, Uncle Horace?

I think-- I think I claim the right to silence.

Come along, Rumpole.

The Vice Chancellor wants us to meet him.

Congratulations.

Have you any plans for the immediate future, Audrey?

Oh, this is my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Rumpole.

How do you do?

I'm Hayden Charles.

How do you do?

Have you met our Chancellor, Sir Denis Tolson?

No, we never met.

How do you do, Mr. Rumpole?

How do you do?

You must be delighted with the results.

HILDA: Well, we are.

We are very proud.

Nice meeting you.

Nice meeting you.

Thank you for this.

Oh, a pleasure.

Bye bye.

Tell me, dear, who is that lady?

She was sitting next to us.

That's Mercy Charles, the Vice Chancellor's wife.

She used to be a model.

A model wife or a model model?

MAN: You're mad.

Totally mad.

[crashing and shouting] [knock on door] Rumpole.

Hello, Ballard.

You're working late.

No, I'm just arranging my famous collection of priceless foreign stamps.

Oh, are you?

Oh, of course, I'm not.

I just called in to put this away in my room.

This what?

This bag.

Oh, that.

[knocking] Um, I wanted to speak to you.

I mean, Rumpole, how do you find marriage?

Ha!

In my experience, you don't.

It finds you.

It comes creeping up unexpectedly and seizes you by the collar.

How's Matey?

My wife was a tremendously popular figure, wasn't she, when she was serving as matron down at the Old Bailey?

Oh, dab hand with the Elastoplast, as far as I can remember.

Yes.

Yes.

Much loved, wasn't she, by all you fellows?

Well, let's say highly respected.

Highly respected?

Yes.

Rumpole?

Yes?

What's your opinion of secrets in married life?

Absolutely essential.

Well, I wanted your opinion, you see, because of a slight, um, well, difference that has arisen between Marguerite and myself.

Who the hell is Marguerite?

Marguerite, Rumpole, is my wife.

She's the person you call Matey.

Oh, Matey.

Why didn't you say so?

Well, you see, she called into Chambers after her refresher course in sprains and fractures.

And Henry told her I'd already left at 5 o'clock.

RUMPOLE: You knocked off early.

And he thoughtlessly added, he imagined I'd gone home because I was carrying my tartan bag.

He meant this very bag, Rumpole.

This one.

Now, it's most unfortunate that Henry should have mentioned this bag at all, because I never take it home.

Oh, no, of course not.

BALLARD: And now, now, Marguerite keeps asking me where am I going with that particular bag?

Now, I've told her there are certain things, even in married life, that a man is entitled to keep to himself.

Now, am I within my rights, Rumpole?

Your right to silence has been yours since Magna Carta.

I'm glad you said that.

I am glad to hear you say that as a married man.

[chuckles] Of course, it doesn't stop the other side thinking the absolute worst.

Ah.

Now, just at the moment, you see, that seems to be exactly what she thinks.

Now, really?

She needs something to take her mind off it.

I mean, it would make a tremendous difference to Marguerite's happiness if she saw more of you fellas in Chambers.

Oh, well, she can see us at any time.

Not that we're much to look at.

BALLARD: No, no no, no.

It would be a terrific help if you and Hilda were to invite her to dinner at your place.

Let me understand.

You are telling me in confidence that Matey would like to be asked to dinner at Gloucester Road.

Yes, yes, she would.

Don't worry.

I shan't say a word to Hilda about it.

Rumpole.

Oh, yes.

All right, I suppose.

Dinner with she who must?

Matey has a curious sense of fun.

What have you got in that bag?

HILDA: Is that you, Rumpole?

Yes, bad news.

HILDA: Yes?

Ballard's invited himself and Matey to dinner.

I begin to fear for that man's sanity, Hilda.

He's creeping around with a sort of tartan holdall, the contents of which he refuses to divulge.

Makes him look like a Scottish pox doctor.

She's got no one else to turn to, Rumpole.

Her mother left home, and her father didn't even bother to show up at her graduation.

And she has heard about some of your wins.

What are you talking about?

What are you talking about?

BOTH: Well, I-- Well, you better come in.

Let her tell you herself.

Uncle Horace, thank God you've come.

They've arrested Clive.

Clive?

Professor Clympton, you remember?

Oh, yes.

The academic revolutionary.

He wants you at his trial.

Oh, very wise choice.

What's the crime?

Driving while tiddly?

I say it's murder.

He thinks you'll understand.

Well, yes, I do understand a bit about murder.

No.

He says he thinks you understand about keeping silent.

You can rest assured Mr. Rumpole has a fine record when it comes to murder.

I've won more murders than you've had degrees, Professor.

And some of your clients, they kept silent?

Yes, when I thought it was right.

Yes.

Well, it's right now.

I will decide that when I know a bit more about it.

I've decided already.

Professor Clympton, you have one hour of my time.

What shall we do, discuss Wordsworth?

If you like.

No, we shan't agree about Wordsworth.

Let us discuss the late Vice Chancellor, Mr. Hayden Charles, a slightly built man who crashed through some worm eaten banisters to his death on a marble floor below, pushed, no doubt, by a stronger opponent.

You didn't like him?

No, I didn't like his money mad politics, nor the way he ran the University.

And Mrs. Charles?

A very dear friend.

As a matter of fact, she reads a lot of poetry.

She's quite bright for an ex-model.

Yes, I'm quite bright for an Old Bailey hack.

I think I see a motive rearing its ugly head.

I don't understand.

Oh, do you not, Professor?

Husband finds out about his beautiful wife's infidelity.

Has it out with the lover in his study on the first floor of his house.

A row develops and moves out onto the staircase.

It grows violent.

And the lover is a stronger man than the husband.

He takes him by the throat-- that's where they found some bruising-- and pushes him against some banisters.

Unlike the rest of Gunster University, they are not made of reinforced concrete, and they collapse.

End of outraged husband.

Lover runs down the stairs and out into the night.

And that, my Lord, is the case for the prosecution.

Yes.

Well, the prosecution can believe that if they like.

RUMPOLE: And if the jury believe it?

How can they?

They have no evidence.

Miss Probert, will you read Mrs. O'Leary's statement to this fellow?

"I have been housekeeper at the vice-chancellor's house for 10 years.

And before that, I worked for Mr. and Mrs. Charles in Oxford."

Blah, blah, blah, blah.

"I have observed an intimate friendship developed between Mrs. Charles and Professor Clympton."

Blah, blah, blah.

"I heard quarreling on the stairs shortly before 10:00 PM.

I heard Mr. Charles's voice and another man's.

All I heard the other man say clearly was something about licking the Chancellor's boots.

I am quite sure I recognize Professor Clympton's voice."

And do you believe that I'm the man she's talking about?

Well, it seems probable, doesn't it?

They're the exact words that I heard you use in the presence of at least half a dozen other people at tea and sandwiches that afternoon.

Mrs. O'Leary says she heard the doorbell ring at 20 minutes to 10.

Mr. Charles called out that he would answer it so she did not see whoever it was that arrived.

Was it you?

No.

Then, Professor, you will have to tell us exactly where you were and what you were doing between 9:30 and just after 10:00 that evening, when Mrs. O'Leary discovered the Vice Chancellor dead.

Where were you that evening, Professor?

Oh, very well.

Keep quiet.

You are entitled to.

But there is just one line of Wordsworth that it might pay you to remember.

"All silent and all damned."

[knock on door] Rumpole, I must have your advice.

Oh, you too Erskine-Brown.

I ought to start charging.

Phylli's back from doing that corrupt policemen in Hong Kong.

Oh, splendid.

She can buy us a bottle of Pomeroy's bubbly on the Oriental constabulary.

We shall celebrate.

Absolutely nothing to celebrate in view of what she found when she got back.

I'm afraid I had left carelessly on the kitchen table-- Yes?

Two programs for "Tristan and Isolde" at Covent Garden.

Pretty scurrilous reading.

Was our Portia shocked?

Well, she asked who I'd taken to the opera.

RUMPOLE: Ah.

Well, of course I'd been with Liz Probert, as you remember.

We had a talk about the future of Chambers in the Crush Bar at the interval.

Well, of course, when your wife heard that, she decided not to press charges.

Oh, well, now, that's exactly the trouble, Rumpole.

She didn't hear that.

In fact, to be perfectly honest with you, I didn't tell her that.

I told her I took Uncle Tom.

Uncle Tom?

Exactly.

To five hours of unmitigated Wagner.

I'm afraid so.

You must have eaten of the insane root what takes the reason prisoner.

Well, now, look, this is the point, Rumpole.

I knew that Phyllida wouldn't have taken kindly to the idea of Lizzie and me drinking champagne in the Crush Bar, although absolutely nothing happened.

I mean, Lizzie bolted off down the underground almost as soon as the curtain fell.

She even left me with her program, which is why I had two.

But on our way from Chambers earlier, we met Uncle Tom.

And he said it was his birthday.

So when Phyllida asked me for an explanation, Uncle Tom just sprang to mind.

Oh, Erskine-Brown, have your long years at the criminal bar taught you nothing?

If you must invent a story, at least make it credible.

The point is, if Phylli asks, Uncle Tom has got to back me up.

Someone has got to explain the whole thing to him.

Who has?

Someone he respects.

Who has some influence over him?

- Yes.

- You, Rumpole.

No.

Persuade Uncle Tom to commit perjury?

Certainly not.

ERSKINE-BROWN: He won't do it.

Do your own dirty work, Erskine-Brown.

I suppose I'll have to.

RUMPOLE: You should never have thought up such a ridiculous defense.

She asked me to explain the two programs.

What else could I possibly have done?

Claim your right to silence.

Everyone else seems to be doing it.

You don't care for baked jam roll, Mrs. Ballard?

Baked jam roll is on the naughty list, I'm afraid.

We've all got to watch our tummies, haven't we?

Yeah.

Marguerite is very keen on keeping fit.

And I must say, I'm with her, 100%.

I've already lost a lot of weight.

My trousers hang loose.

Look.

No, thank you, Ballard.

Sam's a new boy, of course.

But we're old hands at marriage, aren't we, Hilda?

When I was married to poor Henry Plumbstead who passed away, we told each other every little thing.

We just knew all there was to know about each other.

I'm sure old Horace would agree with that.

Now, old Horace isn't so sure.

As regards our nearest and dearest, a profound ignorance is probably the best recipe for a happy marriage.

You have quite finished, haven't you, Rumpole?

Sam leaves his chambers early, carrying a zipper bag full of something.

- He doesn't come home?

- Later.

When he does, the bag doesn't come with him.

Well, I hardly think this has anything to do with me, Mrs. Ballard.

Oh, don't you?

When I ask Sam what he's up to and he tells me, old Rumpole takes the view that married people are entitled to a little privacy.

Rumpole says we all have the right to silence.

Well, you heard him.

Even in married life, it seems he takes sides with husbands who are up to tricks.

Do you approve of that, Hilda?

Approve?

Well, now you come to ask me, no.

I'm glad you said that.

My old uncle used to live in Gunster, funnily enough.

[laughs] How amusing.

Yes, yes.

He used to be an estate agent up there, but he had to give it up.

He said you couldn't get anywhere in Gunster unless you were an ostler.

A what?

An ostler.

The ancient order of ostlers.

It's rather like the Freemasons, only more so.

Well, my uncle didn't hold with it, so they squeezed him out.

Well, did he tell you what they did, these ostlers, or whatever they call themselves?

All sorts of secret ceremonies, I believe.

Mumbo jumbo, Uncle Marcus said.

They also had a very peculiar handshake.

He showed me.

Like that?

Yes.

Yes, I rather think it was.

I might go up north and investigate the scene of the crime.

Oh, is that the coffee, Hilda?

Do you take sugar, Marguerite?

Just one tiny spoonful.

I shall be going up to Gunster tomorrow, Hilda.

HILDA: No, thank you.

Gunster, Hilda, it's in the north of England.

I shall probably be taking my junior with me.

Do you take sugar, Mr. Ballard?

Yes, please, Hilda.

No, thank you, Hilda.

Miss Liz Probert, you won't mind that, will you?

My solicitor will chaperone her.

And are they still keeping you busy, Mr. Ballard, in daddy's old chambers?

So I won't be here tomorrow night, Hilda.

You won't be lonely, will you?

The rest is silence.

You spend your life licking the Chancellor's boots!

Well, did you hear that?

Clearly.

Could you tell it was me?

Oh, it was you, all right.

Just the sort of thing you would say.

Oh, that's interesting.

Well, go back.

I'll do it again.

This time I'll run down the stairs and across the hall.

Did you say run, Rumpole?

Ha, ha!

Move fairly rapidly.

I'll slam the front door behind me.

See if you can hear that.

- All right.

Come on, Mr. Beazley.

You're still here?

Ah.

You were kind enough to say we might inspect a scene of the crime.

Rather a long inspection.

Oh, well, crimes take such a short time to commit and so terribly long to investigate.

Do you think Professor Clympton killed your husband?

Do you think you'll get him off?

The professor refuses to tell us where he was on the night in question.

At the moment, he's not being very helpful to me.

What do you want me to do about it?

Well, he could be keeping quiet to protect a woman.

Rather an old-fashioned idea, I suppose.

But it's possible, isn't it?

That Clive was with me and doesn't want to tell anyone?

Is that what you want me to say?

Then I'll say it if that's what you want.

Is it true?

What's it matter to you if it's true or not?

You're a lawyer, aren't you?

It's your job to get Clive off.

I said I'll help you.

Isn't that a fair offer?

You spend your life licking the Chancellor's boots.

Crash!

Good afternoon.

We are engaged in a history of the fair city of Gunster.

Do you have anything on the ancient order of ostlers?

Order of what?

Ostlers.

People who look after horses.

Although I doubt that there'd be many blacksmiths left among them now.

No more like a chairmen of committees, planners, property developers, chief constables, even dare it be said, heads of universities, but important people in the long history of Gunster.

I'm quite sure we haven't got anything like that.

What?

Your library is silent on this important subject?

Nothing about it at all.

Indeed, I haven't even heard of these rooms or whatever it is you're talking about.

Mr. Rumpole, you're asking me about the ostlers?

Ah, the classics prof. Ave Magister, or words to that effect.

This is Miss Liz Probert, my junior on the Clympton case.

Martin Wayfield.

We met at the degree ceremony.

No, in my humble opinion, it's a load of nonsense.

The degree ceremony?

No, the ancient order of horse keepers.

I tell you, I was once coming out of the gents in the Gunster-- LIBRARIAN: Professor Wayfield, silence, please.

What did you say?

I mean, no talking.

You know the rules of the library.

Come over by the window.

The students won't hear us there.

Well, carry on, old darling.

You interest me strangely.

You were just coming out of the gents' loo.

One of these fellows in a leather apron and gauntlets and a bloody great gilded horseshoe hung round his neck, was just about to slink into the private dining room to swear some terrible oath of secrecy, or to offer to have his throat cut if ever he let on what they get up to.

They do that, apparently.

Well, this chap used to be the university registrar.

So I called out, hello, Simpkins.

Your old lady cast a shoe, has she?

He bolted like a rabbit.

[laughs] Tell me, the late Vice Chancellor Hayden Charles, was he a member of the brotherhood?

Hayden always laughed about them.

No, I'm sure he wasn't.

I wanted to ask about Clive Clympton.

Is he popular in the university?

The leftie students love him.

And there's plenty of those.

Nelson Mandela and Clive Clympton.

They're top of the pops.

You've probably heard stories about his private life.

Yes.

Are they true?

Why not?

Mercy Charles is a very attractive woman.

Yes, everyone says that.

Do you think she finds him a very attractive man?

[speaking latin] Not everyone says that.

What does it mean?

That what a woman says to her lusting lover, it is best to write in wind and swift flowing water.

It's all there in the Latin.

And it's going to be forgotten when they abolish the classics.

I ought to get back to my Catullus.

Yes, give him my regards.

Well, thank you, Professor.

You've been most helpful.

You've hurt your hand.

What?

Oh, no, no.

Nothing wrong with it at all.

Ah, Rumpole, are you back from the scene of your crime?

Yes, sir.

I imagine you're just on your way to yours.

Please, Rumpole.

All right, old darling.

Not a word to Matey.

RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Mr. Justice Ollie Oliphant.

Comes from up north somewhere near Gunster.

Specializes in down-to-earth common sense.

Always prepared to call a spade a bloody shovel long before anyone is sure whether or not it's a toothpick.

Now, when you were in the dining room on the night of this murder-- Oh, My Lord, I must object.

No one has proved it was murder.

It might have been anything from manslaughter to an accident.

Oh, come, come, Mr. Rumpole.

The jury and I will use our common sense.

Mr. Mordaunt Bissett is simply using the word on the indictment.

To use the word before it is proved, My Lord, is not common sense.

It is uncommon nonsense.

If the defense is going nit picking, Mr. Rumpole, we'll call it an incident.

Will that satisfy you?

It is not I that have to be satisfied, My Lord.

It is the interest of justice.

Oh, come along, Mr. Mordaunt Bissett.

Let's get back to work, shall we?

Now, Mr. Rumpole has had his say.

Mrs. O'Leary, you've told us that you could distinguish some of the words the man on the stairs was shouting and that you heard him say something about licking the Chancellor's boots.

I heard that, yes.

Could you recognize the man's voice?

I was sure I could.

MORDAUNT BISSETT: Whose was it?

It was his voice.

MORDAUNT BISSETT: You mean it was the voice of Professor Clympton.

MRS. O'LEARY: I'm sure it was.

"I'm sure it was."

Have you any questions you want to put to this witness, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: That is what I am here for, My Lord.

Yes.

And, Mrs. O'Leary, did you hear any other words you could distinguish from Mr. Charles's assailant?

I heard him say, "oh," loudly.

RUMPOLE: "Oh."

Yes, and then what?

Well, it sounded like temporary.

And then there was another "oh."

And then I think I heard "more is."

Does this make any sense to you, Mr. Rumpole?

RUMPOLE: No, not at the moment, My Lord.

So this evidence is brought out merely to puzzle the jury, is it?

Well, perhaps to test their powers of deduction.

Now, Mrs. O'Leary, you said you heard a man shout something about licking the Chancellor's boots.

She's told us that.

Yes, My Lord.

But I would like to suggest when Mrs. O'Leary heard it.

You heard it in afternoon tea, didn't you?

When you were helping, passing round sandwiches to the graduates and their families?

You heard Professor Clympton say that the Vice Chancellor licked the Chancellor's boots.

It was said quite clearly.

Oh, come, come, Mr. Rumpole, how do you know it was said quite clearly.

You weren't there, were you?

As a matter of fact, My Lord, yes, I was.

But I am not here to give evidence.

This lady is.

You heard it at tea time, didn't you?

Yes, I did.

I thought it was a disgusting thing to say about Mr. Charles.

So when you heard those same words again at 10:00 PM, coming from the hallway, you naturally thought that it was Professor Clympton shouting.

MRS. O'LEARY: I thought so, yes.

Because it was something you'd already heard him say.

I heard.

Yes.

If you heard those same words again at night from a man you never saw, you would naturally assume it was Professor Clympton.

I suppose so.

Even though you couldn't really recognize the voice.

I think I recognized it.

You think you recognized it?

Thank you very much, Mrs. O'Leary.

Mrs. O'Leary, let's use our common sense about this, shall we?

You told Mr. Mordaunt Bissett that you were sure it was Professor Clympton's voice.

Yes.

And you told Mr. Rumpole that you think it was.

That's right.

So does it come to this.

You think you're sure?

Yes, I suppose so.

Common sense, members of the jury.

It always does it, you know.

MORDAUNT BISSETT: No further questions, My Lord.

RUMPOLE: Mordaunt, old darling, a word in your pink and shell-like.

Why did the prosecution start this case in London?

Well, we've got to a north country judge.

Oh, yes.

Thank you very much.

Now, what I mean is the defense sometimes asks for a case to be moved because of local prejudice against the accused.

But this time the prosecution has done it.

Did you think that a Gunster jury might be prejudiced in favor of Professor Clympton?

Now, why should that be in Gunster?

No comment.

Are you Christopher Perkins?

Yes.

MORDAUNT BISSETT: Did you graduate with first class honors in business studies last July?

Yes, I did.

- Speak up, lad.

- Sorry, sir.

Yes, I did.

On the night of the incident when the Vice Chancellor died, were you crossing the quadrangle past Tolson buildings?

CHRISTOPHER: Yes.

What did you see?

Well, I looked at my watch as I was due to meet a friend at the JCR, and it was just 9:15.

Then I saw Professor Clympton coming out of his rooms, and he seemed to be in rather a hurry.

Oh, and he carrying a bag, I remember.

There's no need to shout.

Thank you, Mr. Perkins.

Oh, we haven't heard about the bag.

What was it like?

CHRISTOPHER: Oh, just an ordinary zipper holdall.

I thought he was on his way to play squash or something.

On his way to play squash.

Of course, I didn't know what was in it.

3, 6, 2.

Ah, Rumpole, note for Henry.

Excuse me.

Late.

Hello?

Gunster University.

I want to speak, please, to miss Audrey Wystan.

Wystan with a W. She's a postgraduate.

Oh, the English department?

Yes, I'll wait.

Thank you.

Are you going down the pan in R versus Clympton, Mr. Rumpole?

No.

Sinking with old hands, Henry, unless I can pull off a miracle.

Oh, hello.

- Excuse me.

- Audrey?

Henry.

Audrey.

It's your Uncle Horace.

Yes.

How are you?

Fine.

Look, do you want to help the professor?

Good.

I want you to get into his room.

Of course, you can.

Well, say that his lawyer needs something for the trial.

[disco music] ♪ ♪ [disco music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ One, two, three, four.

♪ ♪ RUMPOLE: My Lord, I have given notice to my learned friend of my intention to call an alibi witness.

And you don't object, Mr. Mordaunt Bissett?

No, My Lord, I have no objection.

Very well then.

USHER: Denis Tolson.

What?

What's happening?

I forbid this!

I absolutely forbid it!

Miss Probert, go and hold his hand, will you?

No, I won't have it.

I tell you, I won't!

Quiet!

I swear to almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Are you Sir Dennis Tolson?

- I am.

- Stop it!

What does he think he's doing?

JUDGE: Mr. Rumpole.

Control your client.

Mr. Rumpole does know best.

No!

Mr. Rumpole, your client's creating a disturbance!

Oh, is he really, My Lord?

I'm so sorry.

It's these literary fellows.

They have a very excitable nature.

Well, he's not getting excitable in my court.

Do you understand that, Clympton?

Any more of this nonsense, you'll be taken down to the cells.

Now, did you say Sir Denis Tolson?

Yes, My Lord.

Well, well, some of us do our weekly shop up at Tolson's Tasty Foods, don't we, members of the jury?

And it may interest you to know, Sir Denis, I come from your part of England.

Is that so, My Lord?

Oh, yes, sir.

Used to practice often at the old Gunster assizes, you know.

I never dreamed I'd find myself sitting down here at the Old Bailey.

Yes.

It came as a bit of a shock to us, too, old love.

Sir Denis, do you attend here by summons?

It was served on me last night.

It was most inconvenient.

Yes, I'm very sorry, but it would be most inconvenient if my client had to go to jail for a crime he did not commit.

Are you an ostler?

Is he a what, Mr. Rumpole?

A member of the ancient order of ostlers, My Lord, an organization with considerable power and influence in the city of Gunster.

By the great blacksmith and forger of the universe-- RUMPOLE: That means you are.

He does not permit us to reveal our secrets.

Oh, well, don't bother about the great blacksmith for the moment.

His lordship is in control here, and he will direct you to answer my questions.

Provided they're relevant.

Have you anything to say, Mr. Mordaunt Bissett?

I think the defense should be allowed to put its case, My Lord.

We have to consider the Court of Appeal.

The Court of Appeal?

Well, of course, we have to.

Get on with it, Mr. Rumpole.

The jury don't want to be kept here all night, you know.

Are most of the important people in Gunster members of the ostlers?

Our ostlers are men of talent and ambition.

Yes.

And is membership a path to promotion in local government, say, or perhaps the university?

DENIS TOLSON: An ostler will do his best to help another ostler.

Yes.

All things being equal.

And all things being equal, a professor of English might do well to join you if he had his eye on a Vice Chancellorship, say, in the fullness of time.

Professor Clympton is one of our members, if that's what you're getting at.

RUMPOLE: That's exactly what I'm getting at, Sir Denis.

Thank you very much.

Now, tell me, did the ostlers have a meeting on the night that Hayden Charles met his death?

As a matter of fact, we did.

At what time did the meeting begin?

Our normal time, 9:30.

Where was it?

The Gunster Arms Hotel.

RUMPOLE: And what time did Professor Clympton arrive?

About 10 minutes before the meeting was due to begin.

That's 9:20, when Hayden Charles was still alive.

What time did he leave?

We broke up around midnight.

We had a few drinks when the meeting was over.

And by 11 o'clock, the police had arrived and found Hayden Charles dead.

So Professor Clympton was with you all that time from 9:20 until midnight?

DENIS TOLSON: Yes.

He initiated a couple of-- Yes, thank you, Sir Dennis.

You may keep all the rest of your secrets intact.

JUDGE: Yes, Mr. Mordaunt Bissett?

Sir Denis, can you be sure Professor Clympton was with you the whole time from 9:20 until midnight?

DENIS TOLSON: Of course, I'm sure.

What on earth was a decent left wing professor doing with a load of old businessmen in April?

Well, well, well, Ms. Probert, I see that he is no longer fit to be mentioned in the same breath as Nelson Mandela.

Perhaps that's why he'll never forgive me for getting him off.

He's lost the young.

Oh, Phylli, darling.

There you are.

Yes, here I am.

I saw Uncle Tom.

Oh, did you, darling?

How was he?

I asked him if he'd been to the opera with you.

Oh?

Did you?

Why did you do that?

I wanted to find out.

But I told you I went to the opera with Uncle Tom, darling.

Surely my word was good enough for you.

No, Claude, your word was not enough.

I had to find out.

I thought you'd given that up.

Given up finding out?

No, given up smoking.

Oh, well, I had, yes, until this happened.

Until what happened?

Until I talked to Uncle Tom.

He didn't tell you that he went to Covent Garden with me?

Oh, yes, he did.

He said, you've been very kind and taken him to a show.

Well, then that's all right then, isn't it?

Is it?

Isn't it?

Of course, it is.

You can always trust me, Phylli.

Good old Uncle Tom.

He told you we saw "Tristan and Isolde" together?

In a way.

What do you mean, in a way?

He said it was a show about Tristan and some other chap whose name he couldn't remember.

I said I'd hardly call Isolde a chap.

Well, perhaps his memory's gone a bit.

His memory seemed perfectly clear.

He said he'd had an absolutely splendid evening.

There now, I'm delighted he enjoyed it.

Oh, yes, he did.

He said, what a wonderfully happy show it was.

Would you call "Tristan and Isolde" a happy show, Claude?

Is that the word that would spring immediately to mind?

Happy bits, of course.

Perhaps not entirely happy.

Perhaps bloody miserable.

Oh, and Uncle Tom told me he was whistling the tunes all the way home.

He actually sang one of them to me.

♪ If you were the only boy in the world ♪ ♪ And I were the only girl ♪ ♪ Nothing else would matter in the world today ♪ ♪ We would go on loving in this ♪ Well, we wouldn't, Claude.

I'll tell you that for nothing.

We certainly would not.

Phylli.

Please, come back.

Please.

Marguerite was insistent that I keep down what she calls my naughty tummy.

I mean, she talked of practically nothing else.

Oh, don't I know?

Well, in the end, I could stand it no more.

I saw an advertisement for this studio.

It seemed very jolly, the music and, you know-- Young ladies.

Yes, well, that's why I kept it from Marguerite.

I thought she might not appreciate that aspect of it.

Oh, I don't know.

I think she might admire your heroism.

Tell her you got into that purple jumpsuit just for her.

You've lost, have you?

A couple of inches.

My trousers hang loose.

Superb!

Well, tell her of it, boast of it to her, Ballard.

That's really your advice to me, Rumpole?

Of course.

Yes, the time for secrets is past, old darling.

Let it all come out into the open.

Hmm.

And the professor's entitled to keep silent, members of the jury.

But you have had Sir Denis Tolson's evidence.

Some of you have brought your sandwiches in Tolson's bags, didn't you?

And Sir Denis is quite sure that the professor was at the meeting when the deceased man fell from the staircase.

Now, has he any reason for inventing that?

Use your common sense, members of the jury.

Now, take all the time you need to consider your verdict.

You're taking a great deal of interest in this case, Professor.

Oh, why not?

Clive Clympton's a valued colleague.

Yes.

And Hayden Charles was not such a valued colleague, was he?

What do you mean?

I've been thinking about those odd words Mrs. O'Leary heard.

Oh, temporary, she said, if you remember.

Oh, more is.

As I said, I have very little Latin.

But didn't Cicero express his disgust with the age he lived in?

Oh, tempora!

Oh, mores!

Oh, how horrible times and our dreadful customs.

Or words to that effect.

Yes, Cicero said that.

Yes.

And did a Latin professor shout them on the stairs?

Furious with the man who was going to kill off the classics at Gunster University?

I don't understand what you're saying, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, do you not, Professor?

Licking the Chancellor's boots, turning Gunster into a training ground for accountants and bankers.

You heard Professor Clympton say that.

You thought it was a pretty good description of Charles' activities.

So good, in fact, it was worth shouting at him again on the stairs.

Mr Rumpole, you argued Clive's case very well.

Vice chancellor was taken by the throat with a very strong grasp.

I felt your hand shake, Professor.

He was pushed against the banisters by a man who thought that all of his life, everything he believed in was threatened.

Isn't that possible?

And who is suggesting this?

I am.

Only me.

If anyone else does, I'll be glad to be the first to make them prove it.

Because there's really no evidence, is there?

Look, if you-- Just a rough translation from the Latin.

If you're ever in Gunster again, do give me a ring.

We may have dinner together.

I'll give you my number.

Well, thank you all the same, Professor, but I think I'll give Gunster a wide berth from now on.

Well, here's my number anyway.

The jury's back, Mr. Rumpole.

I think they've got a verdict.

Oh, thank you.

Yes.

All hail Henry Erskine-Brown.

It was a famous victory.

I thought you were sinking with all hands, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, we were, but we managed to make port safely, thanks to my impeccable navigation.

He gets pretty intolerable when he wins.

Oh, dear.

Claude, you look as dejected as my ungrateful client.

You know what happened, Rumpole?

Phyllida spoke to Uncle Tom.

I hope he cooperated.

Enthusiastically.

He said he enjoyed "Tristan," and especially the bit in it about if you were the only girl in the world.

That defense was always impossible.

I told you that.

However, it may be all right.

Are you going to teach Uncle Tom the love duet?

Oh, not that.

I told Phylli it was all down to you, Rumpole.

All down to me?

Yes, I said that you wanted me to meet Lizzie at the opera house to discuss the future of Chambers, and suggested I should tell Phyllida I'd gone with Uncle Tom in case she was annoyed about me taking Liz.

Well, it may just have worked.

She said it was typical of your underhand methods, Rumpole, but she's thinking it over.

It's your wife, Mr. Erskine-Brown.

Oh, thank you, Claude.

Thank you very much indeed.

Phylli.

Well.

Yes, darling.

Of course, I love you.

You know what gave me the idea in the first place?

The prosecution bringing the case to London.

They were afraid that the ostlers on a Gunster jury would let their fellow ostler off.

See what I mean?

Secret?

It's extraordinary.

Hilda, the secrets that people think are so important.

Take my professor, for example.

He would rather go to jail than lose the respect of his students by admitting he was a secret member of the ostlers.

You do follow me, don't you?

Oh, yes, of course, he wanted it.

Always.

He wanted it to be a hero to the young.

And at the same time, he wanted the secret help of the ancient order.

You see what I mean?

Ah.

The other professor.

The Latin scholar.

Yes, well, he didn't have much to say, but I could see he found it very difficult to keep quiet.

Exceedingly difficult.

He gave me his card.

Yes.

And put his number on it.

And he wrote some sort of quotation.

Latin, of course.

[reading latin] I've got my old school dictionary somewhere.

[phone rings] I bet it still stinks of ink and gobstoppers.

There we are.

Hello?

Yes, speaking.

Oh, Marguerite.

Oh, not struck dumb after all.

Rumpole told Sam to tell you?

He said that?

Oh, oh, gymnastics!

Silver and wood.

Yes, that must be a relief, dear.

Yes.

Well, yes, Rumpole can be quite sensible at times.

Quaere, to seek.

I'm glad to hear that your Sam has come to his senses, too.

Well, goodbye.

Well, Rumpole, I hear you've given your Head of Chambers some sound advice.

She speaks.

Miracle of miracles.

And you told him that you didn't believe in secrets between married people.

Oh, secrets between married couples?

No perish the thought.

Now, [latin].

Well, that's pretty obvious.

Sam's trousers hang loose.

Your trousers don't hang loose, do they, Rumpole?

Take up gymnastics.

Lose 4 inches around the waist.

Like Sam Ballard.

What?

Prance around in a purple jumpsuit to the sound of disco music?

Oh, heaven forfend!

Now, what does it mean?

Oh, Lord, of course.

This is quite well known.

It's Horace.

Horace?

That's a coincidence.

"And seek for truth in the groves of academe."

Yes.

There you see, Hilda.

Even the Latin professor could not keep silent.

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