[theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Bail, Mr. Rumpole?

You're applying to me for bail?

That is the purpose of my visit to your Lordship's chambers.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Does he think I just dropped in for a chat?

Bail having already been refused in the Magistrates' Court and by my brother judge, Mr. Justice Entwistle.

Is this a frivolous application?

Only if it is frivolous to allow the innocent their freedom, my Lord.

JUDGE JUSTICE GRAVES: Mr. Rumpole, I am not a jury.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Worse luck.

JUDGE JUSTICE GRAVES: Emotional appeals will carry very little weight with me.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): You can say that again.

When you use the word "innocent," I assume you are referring to your client.

I am referring, my Lord, to all of us.

We are all innocent until proved guilty by a jury of our peers, or has the golden thread of British justice become a little tarnished of late?

Mr. Rumpole, I see that your client's name is Timson.

So it is, my Lord.

But I would use precisely the same argument, were it Horace Rumpole, or indeed, Mr. Justice Graves.

Mr. Rumpole, it's intolerable.

Oh, quite intolerable, my Lord.

Conditions for prisoners on remand were far better 100 years ago.

I mean, it's intolerable that you should address me in such a manner.

I don't imagine I'll ever need you to defend me.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): You just never know, old darling.

No doubt, bail is opposed by the prosecution.

Do you oppose bail, Mr. Harvey Wimple?

I do indeed, my Lord.

There you are, Mr. Rumpole.

Bail is opposed by the prosecution.

On what precise grounds, Mr. Harvey Wimple?

On the grounds, my Lord, that if he has left at liberty, Mr. Timson might commit an offense.

Do you hear that, Mr. Rumpole?

If set at liberty, your client might commit an offense.

Of course he might, my Lord.

Every man, woman, and child in England might commit an offense.

Is your Lordship suggesting we keep them all permanently banged up on the off chance?

It's just not on, that's all.

Mr. Rumpole, what is not on, as you so curiously put it?

Backing up the innocent, my Lord, with their own chamber pot and a couple of psychopaths, for an indefinite period, while the wheels of justice grind slowly to a halt in a traffic jam of cases.

Do try to control yourself, Mr. Rumpole.

Conditions in prisons are a matter for the home office.

Oh, of course, my Lord.

I'm sorry.

I forgot.

They are of no interest to a judge who refuses bail, and who has not spent one single night locked up without the benefit of a water closet.

The application is refused.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Surprise, surprise.

I should only add that I find the way in which this matter has been argued before me quite lamentable, and very far from being in the best traditions of the Bar.

I may have to report the personal and improper nature of Mr. Rumpole's argument to the proper authorities.

Thank you for your able assistance, Mr. Harvey Wimple.

HILDA RUMPOLE: Had a good day, Rumpole?

Thank God, Hilda, for your wonderful sense of humor.

Oh, Rumple, look at your face.

Thank you.

I prefer not to.

I have no doubt it is deeply marked with tragedy.

HILDA RUMPOLE: Whatever's happened?

I could a tale unfold, Hilda, whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular hair to stand on end, like quills upon the fretful porpentine.

HILDA RUMPOLE: Oh, go on.

I bet they wouldn't.

What do you need, Rumpole, is a change.

I do, a change from Mr Justice Graves.

What a contradiction in terms.

Mr. Injustice Graves, it should be.

For two pins, I'd jump on a banana boat and sail into the sunset.

Oh, Rumpole, I'm so glad that's what you'd do, for two pins.

What's the matter?

You're strangely sympathetic.

Do you know what I've been thinking, Rumpole?

What?

We need a second honeymoon.

The first one was bad enough, Hilda.

Well, it wouldn't have been if you hadn't thought we could manage two weeks in the south of France on the fees of one short robbery.

Well, it was all I had about me at the time.

Anyway, you should not have ordered lobster.

What's the point of going on honeymoon and not ordering lobster?

Oh, well, of course you can order lobster.

I mean, nobody's stopping you from ordering it.

You just shouldn't complain when we have to leave three days early and sit up all night on the train from Marseilles with two drunken matelots asleep on top of us.

On our second honeymoon.

I shall order lobster when we're on the cruise.

On the what?

There's still a bit of Aunt Tilda's money left, and I've booked up for it.

No, Hilda.

Certainly not.

I know exactly what it would be like.

Bingo on the boat deck.

We fly to Venice and we join the boat there.

We need to get away, Rumpole, to look at ourselves.

Do you think that's altogether wise?

The soft Mediterranean, the sound of music across the water, the stars, and you and I by the rail, finding each other, Rumpole.

Well, you can find me at any time.

Just yell out, "Rumpole."

There I am.

You said you'd fly away into the sunset for two pins.

You know, a figure of speech, Hilda, a pure figure of speech.

Now, let us get one thing absolutely clear.

No power on Earth will get me on a cruise.

[ship horn] I don't know why you're wearing that, Hilda.

Do you expect to steer this thing?

Isn't that San Marco?

It must be.

Oh, Rumpole, isn't that the most beautiful sight in the world?

Oh, no.

It can't be.

HILDA RUMPOLE: I'm sure it is San Marco.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us.

It's him.

[ship horn] Courage, I remember you telling me, Rumpole, it's the first essential in an advocate.

Courage, yes, but not total lunacy.

Life at the Bar may have its risks, Hilda, but no legal duty compels me to spend two weeks shut up in a floating hotel with Mr. Injustice Gravestone.

But I don't see what you think you can do about it.

Oh, it's perfectly simple, Hilda.

I shall abandon ship.

Excuse me.

I've just discovered that I am allergic to Graves.

I mean, allergic to ships.

It would be most unwise of me to travel.

The slightest dose of seasickness could prove fatal.

But, sir, we're only just out of port.

Well, exactly.

I could probably just wade ashore, couldn't I?

I've just had the most terrible news!

Yes, yes.

Well, you're welcome to telephone, sir.

I'm afraid that wouldn't help.

And if it's really serious, we can fly you back from our next port.

Next port?

Yes, sir.

Greece in three days.

OK, sir?

[knocking] Oh, I say, what tremendous fun, Rumpole.

Do listen to this.

Happy Hour in the Old Salts Bar.

Fancy dress ball.

Live it up in an evening of ocean fantasy.

Lecture by Howard Swainton, world bestselling mystery writer on how I think up my plots.

Three days.

Oh, you cheer up, Rumpole.

5:30, Captain's Welcome Folks Cocktail Party.

8:45, Dinner Dance.

I shall wear the long black dress from Debenhams.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Captain's cocktail party?

Exchanging small talk and twiglets with Mr. Injustice Death's Head?

No, thank you very much.

I shall lie doggo in the bedroom.

- Cabin.

- Cabin.

You can't possibly do that.

What am I going to tell everyone?

Tell them I've come down with mumps.

Oh, no.

He may take it into his head to visit the sick.

He may want to come and gloat over me with grapes.

Tell him I'm dead.

No.

Tell them a last minute case kept me in England.

Rumpole, don't you think you're being just the tiniest bit silly about all this?

If anyone should ask, you are here entirely on your own.

Now, remember.

Please, Hilda.

What is your line of business, Mr. Swainton?

Are you retired?

You mean you don't know what, Howard does?

You ought to walk into the shop.

The shelves are just groaning with his bestsellers.

Rows and rows of them, aren't there, Howard?

I seem to know what goes with the public.

My motto is, keep 'em guessing, and give 'em a spot of sex and a bit of mayhem every half a dozen pages.

Howard has won two Golden Daggers, and Time Magazine called him, "The Genius of Evil."

Let's just say I'm a writer with a taste for mystery.

Well, I suppose since I've been concerned with the greatest mystery of all, I've rather lost interest in detective stories.

I-- I do apologize.

And what is the greatest mystery?

I think Bill means since he's gone into the church.

Yes.

It's what I've always wanted after a lifetime in insurance.

So you've joined the awkward squad, have you?

Sorry?

The army of Reverent Pinkos, always preaching morality to the government.

I can't think why you chaps don't mind your own business.

Well, I suppose, sir, morality is my business now.

Of course, it used to be insurance.

I came to the best things late in life, the church and, um, and Mavis.

We're on our honeymoon.

Pleasure combined with business.

We're only going as far as Athens, where I'm going to be Padre, to the Anglican community.

I don't suppose you are a honeymoon couple?

As a matter of fact, I'm Howard's personal assistant, Linda Milson.

Oh, well.

Perhaps we're the only honeymoon couple on board.

Well, what do you think about that?

Well, actually, I-- um, that is, we are on honeymoon too in a sort of way.

Really?

Oh, jolly good.

What sort of a way is that, Mrs.?

Rumpole, Hilda Rumpole.

Well, second honeymoon actually.

Of course we were married years ago, just after the war, when Rumpole was a young man at the Bar.

And, you know, we were really quite poor then.

We had to come home early when I ordered lobster.

It's a killing to think of it now.

You know, I can't remember a time when I couldn't afford lobster.

Which is your husband, Mrs. Rumpole?

He's not here.

Not here?

No.

You see, something rather unexpected turned up.

You mean you're on honeymoon on your own?

Excuse me.

Strange woman.

Fantasy, no doubt.

Come again?

Pure fantasy.

Probably hasn't got a husband.

I say, you don't really think that, do you?

Howard has the most extraordinary insight into the human mind.

Rumpole, will you tell me, are you in hiding or are you not?

I can't get a drink in the cabin.

All the stewards seem to be at the captain's cocktail party.

Why don't you come in?

You could meet a famous author.

Are you mad?

He is in there.

Probably getting a few laughs about the number of my clients he's got locked up.

Really, Rumpole, this is no way to spend a second honeymoon.

Just bring me out a couple of glasses of the bubbles please, Hilda.

What's on this funny little bits of toast?

It's not the criminals one minds dealing with.

On the whole, they'll perfectly well mannered, and respectful.

I needed a complete rest from a certain barrister.

Oh, yes.

We get the same thing in our job.

It's the young chaps who think they know everything.

Well as a matter of fact, it's the old one who knows he knows everything.

Excuse me, Captain.

Letters to write.

Research is the key to my success.

I spend at least six months researching each of my books.

You'll want to come to Howard's lecture.

He is quite fascinating on the subject of research.

I'm working on a new one at the moment.

I call it, Absence of Body.

Someone disappears from a cruise ship.

Corpus delicti, yes.

Isn't that where they can't find the body?

Exactly.

Pretty neat title, don't you think?

What's that extraordinary woman up to now?

Out in the rain, enjoying a drink with her imaginary husband.

I don't know why you're so frightened of him.

Quite honestly, you don't exactly cower before him in court from all you tell me.

Cower?

Of course I don't cower.

I can treat the old death's head with lofty disdain in front of a jury.

I can thunder my disapproval of him at a bail application.

I have no fear of the man in the exercise of my profession, Hilda.

It's just the threat of that awful, phony friendliness that I can't stand.

I really think, Rumpole, you're just being silly about this.

That's it, Hilda.

It's that dreadful half ability.

And that is why, Hilda, I have fled Mr. Injustice down the nights and down the days I fled him down the arches of the years.

I fled him down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind.

And in the midst of tears, I hid from him and under running laughter.

Yes, well, there's not much running laughter for me, going on a second honeymoon without a husband.

And don't wait up for me.

Oh, Mrs. Rumpole.

We are neighbors.

Yes, so it seems.

Isn't that nice.

Our cabin's really lovely.

Would you like to see it?

Well, I-- Oh, do, Mrs. Rumpole.

Come on, pay us a visit.

Oh.

It's all so very tastefully done, isn't it?

We've even got a telephone.

Oh, I don't suppose we'll use it.

You don't want to keep phoning people up all the time, do you?

Not on a honeymoon.

Oh, what a pretty girl.

Your daughter?

Well, not exactly.

[grumbling, gnashing] Oh, excuse me.

You go on to dinner.

I'll catch you up later.

I've just wanted to warn you.

If you see Graves at dinner, lie low.

But he'll know me from the Ballard wedding.

That's the terrible danger.

Just don't encourage the blighter, that's all.

Don't you dream of dancing with him.

You never know what I might dream of.

[slow waltz music] ♪ ♪ They dance frightfully well.

Don't you think he dances rather too well for a vicar?

I don't know what you mean by that, exactly, Mr. Swainton.

Howard looks below the surface of things.

That's his great talent.

♪ ♪ [applause] My husband's danced me off my feet.

Mine was on my feet when we used to dance.

We were just saying, you do that unusually well for a vicar.

Ah, well.

Don't forget, I was in insurance.

No, I hadn't forgotten.

Are you a dancer, Mrs. Rumpole?

Oh-- oh, well, no thank you, no.

No.

No, not this evening.

Are you looking for someone?

Yes, a judge, actually, that I've met before.

I'm sure he was at the captain's cocktail party, but I-- I don't seem to see him now.

A judge?

Yes.

He used to be just down the bailey, but now he's been put up to the high court.

The scarlet and ermine, a red judge.

Sir Gerald Graves.

Oh.

Terribly sorry.

How-- how very careless of me.

I'm so sorry.

Graves.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Like one that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread, and having once turned round, walks on and turns no more his head, because he knows a frightful judge doth close behind him tread.

Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, yet she sailed softly too.

Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze.

On me alone it-- Ah!

There he is.

Who?

Mr. Justice Graves.

He's gone.

He must be an early bird.

Good morning.

Good morning to you.

- Good morning.

Good morning.

Well, Bill, how's Mavis this morning?

Oh, not too good, I'm afraid.

She's not, uh, not quite the ticket.

The what?

She's not quite up to scratch.

You mean she's sick.

What, on her honeymoon?

Oh, do tell her.

We're all so sorry for her.

Oh, thank you.

That's very kind.

Hilda, might I have a sugar, please?

- Oh.

- Thank you.

Yes, of course.

And how's your husband, Hilda?

Have you heard from him lately?

Well, yes I have.

Still busy, is he?

He's on the move all the time.

Gee, I hope your wife gets better.

If it's nausea, I've got these great homeopathic capsules.

I could drop them into your cabin.

Oh, that's very kind.

I'm not sure.

I think she'd like to be left alone for the moment.

Such a shame.

She was so full of life last night.

Yes, that's exactly what I thought, so full of life.

ANNOUNCER 1: [speaking non-english] Judge!

ANNOUNCER 2: [speaking non-english] It is Gerald Graves, isn't it?

Hilda Rumpole?

We met at Sam Bernard's wedding, when he married the matron from the Old Bailey and surprised us all.

Mrs. Rumpole, of course.

You're here on your own?

On my own, in a sort of way.

Oh, I see.

Your husband's not about?

Not about?

No, no, definitely not about.

You see, Rumpole has a very busy practice.

I believe you had him before you recently.

I don't know if you remember.

Your husband's appearances before me, Mrs. Rumpole, are quite unforgettable.

How sweet of you to say so.

In fact, we judges are all agreed.

There is simply no advocate of the criminal bar in the least like Horace Rumpole.

A one off, is that what you'd say about it?

Without a doubt, a one off.

Yes, we're all agreed on that.

Yes, I'm sure you're right.

That's maybe why I married him.

He's a bit of a one off as a husband.

Well, forgive me, Mrs. Rumpole, I have absolutely no idea what Rumpole is like as a husband.

No, of course not.

How silly of me.

You don't know what it's like to go on one honeymoon with him, let alone two.

No idea at all, I'm delighted to say.

But I will tell him all the nice things that you've said about him.

You'll tell him?

When I next see him.

Oh, I see, back in England.

Or wherever.

It may encourage him to break cover.

To do what, Mrs. Rumpole?

Well, to come out into the open a little bit more.

Would it surprise you to know that Rumpole is really a very shy and retiring sort of person?

Hilda!

Yes, Rumpole.

Here I am.

Rumpole, my dear old fellow.

Your good lady told me you weren't about.

Ah, not about.

No, I wasn't, no.

Not got your sea legs yet?

The judge was sweet enough to say that your appearances before him were unforgettable.

Oh, yes.

How terribly sweet.

HILDA RUMPOLE: And like no one else.

And I honestly meant it, my dear old fellow.

You are absolutely sui generis.

Yes, to mention but a few.

Even though you have so very little Latin.

What was the last case you did before me?

It was a bail application, my Lord.

Of course it was.

You should have been there, Mrs. Rumpole.

We had a good deal of fun over that, didn't we?

Oh, yes.

A riot, yes.

Yes.

Timson was laughing so much in Brixton prison he could hardly empty his slop bucket.

He will have his little joke, Mrs. Rumpole.

Your Horace is a great one for his little joke.

Well, now that I've met you both, there's reason why we shouldn't have a drink together.

Shall we say, after dinner in the Old Salts Bar?

Five past 9:00 exactly.

If your Lordship pleases.

Old Salts Bar.

Look what you've done now.

I had to flush you out somehow, Rumpole.

I had to get you to take part in your own honeymoon.

BILL BRITWELL: Who is it?

It's Hilda Rumpole.

Is Mavis still poorly?

BILL BRITWELL: Um.

I'll be with you in a moment.

Oh, don't let us disturb you.

BILL BRITWELL: No.

No, no.

It's absolutely no trouble.

Excuse me.

Yes.

- Oh.

- Oh.

Visiting the sick?

We all seem to have the same idea.

Yes.

This is my husband.

Ah, is it really?

I am surprised.

Mr. Howard Swainton, the Howard Swainton.

- How do you do?

- How do you do?

I'm the Horus Rumpole.

Yes.

Your wife's been telling us you're a barrister.

An Old Bailey hack.

And we've all been wondering when you'd turn up.

Oh, why?

Are you in some sort of trouble?

I'm afraid Mavis is still a little groggy.

She just needs to rest quietly.

Yes, of course.

Give her our love.

But I came bearing gifts.

I do hope they'll cheer her up.

Well, that's very kind.

I'm not sure that she feels like-- Mavis!

A few ocean-going roses and my latest in paperback.

Oh.

I'm awfully sorry.

How terribly clumsy of me.

I think you should go now.

Mavis does want to be perfectly quiet.

Yes, of course.

I do understand.

Come along, Rumpoles.

Shall we see you later?

Oh, yes, yes.

Of course.

I do hope she'll be better tomorrow.

♪ ♪ [music playing] ♪ They say someday you'll find ♪ ♪ All who love are blind ♪ ♪ When your heart's on fire ♪ ♪ You will realize ♪ ♪ Smoke gets in your eyes ♪ Is this judge someone you cross swords with at the Old Bailey?

Swords?

Oh, nothing so gentlemanly.

Let's say, chemical weapons.

The old darling summings up a pure poison gas.

Oh, come on, Rumpole.

He was absolutely charming about you on the boat deck.

What's the matter with the claret, Hilda?

Is it glued to the table?

Are you sure you have enough, Rumpole?

Oh, you're remarkably punctual, Rumpole.

Oh, Judge.

Sir Gerald Graves.

This is Howard Swainton, the Howard Swainton.

How do you do?

A glass of champagne.

And Linda, his personal assistant.

Good evening.

HILDA RUMPOLE: And Bill Britwell, the Reverend Bill.

Yeah.

How do you do?

HILDA RUMPOLE: Everyone, Sir Gerald Graves.

Oh.

Five past 9:00 exactly.

Silence!

Court's in session.

Second night at sea.

I'm sure we're all enjoying it.

Oh, best time we've had since the Luton ax killings, my Lord.

And what was that, you said, Rumpole?

I said, absolutely thrilling, my Lord.

I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me.

Oh.

So soon?

Can't you relax, Bill?

Forget your troubles.

Have a drink with a real live judge.

I have to get back to Mavis.

It's his wife, Judge.

She's not been well.

- No.

- She's not quite the ticket.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear it.

Well, I do hope she's well enough to join us tomorrow.

I'm sure she hopes so too.

Give her all our best wishes, Bill.

Tell her the judge is thinking of her.

Oh, yes.

Yes, I will.

That's very kind of you.

Um, please, don't let me break up the party.

Horace Rumpole was just telling us about your little set to in court.

Oh, yes.

We do have a bit of fun from time to time, don't we, Rumpole?

It wasn't quite how he put it.

Of course I do understand.

Barristers are the natural enemy of judges.

Judges and, well, my lot, detective story writers.

We all want answers.

We all want to ferret out the truth.

In the end, we all want to tell the world who's guilty.

Well put, if I may say so, Mr. Swainton.

In your tales, the mysteries are always solved and the criminal pays.

Enormous royalties, I have no doubt.

Tell me, Swainton, are you working on some wonderful new mystery to delight us?

Well, yes.

As a matter of fact I am.

Oh, do tell us.

Hilda, don't encourage him.

Would you like to write a request for Gloria, sir?

She'll sing anything reasonable.

Oh.

Gloria de la Haye.

That wasn't the name.

You want to write the name of a song, sir?

Oh.

Yes.

Yes.

HOWARD SWAINTON: Yeah.

I'm afraid crime is never far away in this wicked world, Mrs. Rumpole.

There you are.

LINDA MILSON: I'm sure they'd all like to hear about your new mystery, Howard.

A woman on a ship, on a cruise with her new husband.

She is supposed to be ill.

But in fact, she's lying tucked up in bed, fully dressed.

I see.

The plot thickens.

Well it's the truth, you see, Judge.

It's so much stranger than fiction.

Horace Rumpole was a witness to the fact when we visited Mrs. Mavis Britwell in her cabin.

You mean, she wanted you to believe she was ill. Or someone wanted us to believe she was ill. Of course, one doesn't want to make any rash accusations.

Oh, doesn't one?

One sounds as if one was positively longing to.

No doubt you have some sort of explanation to offer, Rumpole.

Oh, I don't know.

Perhaps the Reverend Bill's got a thing about sleeping with women in twin sets.

Please.

LINDA MILSON: That is the great thing about Howard, his wonderful gift of observation.

HORACE RUMPOLE: You mean he can see a bestseller coming at 200 yards.

HOWARD SWAINTON: Oh, I'm not thinking about bestsellers here.

I'm away from agents and publishers.

LINDA MILSON: Interviews.

Of course, every newspaper in the world wants to speak to Howard.

HOWARD SWAINTON: It's quite embarrassing, really.

[band playing] ♪ Who's that kicking up a noise?

♪ ♪ My little sister ♪ ♪ Who's that giggling with the boys?

♪ ♪ My little sister ♪ ♪ Whose lemonade is laced with gin?

♪ ♪ Who taught the vicar how to sin?

♪ ♪ Knock on the door ♪ ♪ And she'll let you in ♪ ♪ My little sister ♪ Extraordinary song.

Yes.

It takes you back, doesn't it?

♪ Always being the teacher's pet ♪ I mean, it takes me back.

♪ --to the vet ♪ ♪ That was last night ♪ ♪ And she's not home yet ♪ ♪ My little sister ♪ [distant live music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ A soft night, the stars, and the sound of music, and you and I by the rail, finding each other.

Tell me, Rumpole, what do you think the Mediterranean is trying to say to us?

It's probably trying to tell you it's the Adriatic.

Isn't there anything that you feel romantic about?

Of course there is.

Ah, there you are.

I knew it.

What exactly?

Steak, kidney pudding jury system presumption of innocence.

Anything else?

Of course.

Yes, I almost forgot.

What?

Wordsworth.

It seems like only yesterday that I was a young girl and you proposed to me.

No.

It was longer than that.

And you asked Daddy for my hand in marriage.

And he gave it to me.

Daddy was always so generous.

Tell me, Rumpole, now that we're alone-- Oh, I'm afraid we're not.

- Not what?

- Alone.

Look, down there.

What an extraordinary thing to do.

Perhaps a little eccentric.

- photographs into the sea with the frames still on?

Yes, that does indicate a certain urgency.

Sleep well, Hilda.

When I was in their cabin, I saw that the photographs were gone.

Oh.

Very observant.

You see, I'd seen them before, when I first visited, and one of them was their wedding photograph.

But can you imagine anyone throwing their wedding photograph overboard?

Perish the thought.

Good night, Hilda.

And on their honeymoon, too.

Can you imagine anyone doing a thing like that?

Only if she'd ordered lobster.

What is that?

Uh, I said, only if he thought he'd lost her.

Oh, do you think so?

Do you really think so, Rumpole?

I don't think it's any of our business.

The other photograph was of a young girl.

Really rather pretty.

And she seemed somehow familiar, as though she might have been famous.

Rumpole?

Yes.

Can you imagine why a clergyman should do a thing like that?

I can't imagine why anyone should ask me to imagine anything.

It's quite extraordinary.

Unless other people start imagining something.

Ah.

The photographs, you see, in silver frames.

That's what it appeared to be.

Why would a man do such a thing?

Ask yourself that, members of the jury.

Oh, Rumpole.

There you are.

Now, why would a man throw photographs into the sea?

That is indeed the question we have to ask.

Is the court in some sort of secret session, or can anyone join in?

Oh, do.

Perhaps with your long experience of the criminal classes, you may be able to suggest a solution.

I'm on holiday.

I have a suggestion.

Suppose he wanted to-- "He" being the Reverend Bill?

Yes.

If he is a reverend.

Lots of con men, I believe, go on these cruises.

That is an entirely unacceptable suggestion by the prosecution.

My Lord, there is not a shred of evidence.

Please, Mr. Rumpole.

Let Mr. Swainton complete his submissions.

- Oh, is that soup?

- Bouillon.

Thank you very much.

Suppose Bill Britwell wanted to remove all trace of the person in the photographs.

Uh, two persons.

Hilda told me there were two photographs, two different women, his wife and a young girl.

Are you suggesting that he wanted to remove all traces of two people?

Is that the prosecution's case?

Oh, please, Mr. Rumpole.

It hasn't come to a prosecution, yet.

His wife?

This is most interesting.

One photograph was of his wife?

Now, why would he want to throw that into the sea?

Oh, God knows.

Perhaps it didn't do her justice.

Or was it a symbolic act?

A what?

He got rid of the photograph because he means to get rid of her.

Now that is a most serious suggestion.

Balderdash, product of a mind addled with detective stories.

All right.

Then tell me this.

Where do you think Mavis Britwell is?

Still in bed with her clothes on?

Well why don't you go down and take a peek through the keyhole?

No, I wasn't thinking of that exactly.

I was just thinking, the steward does the cabin along our corridor at about this time.

If we happen to be passing, we might just see something.

We shouldn't have long to wait.

They'll do the Britwells.

next.

Oh.

Good morning, Judge.

My dear Britwell.

And how's your wife this morning?

Well?

I'm afraid no better, no better at all.

She, uh, she needs to stay in bed, very quietly.

Yes.

If you'll excuse me.

There you are, You see?

She's in bed, quietly.

Well, I don't think we can accept that evidence, can we, with no sort of corroboration?

Ah, Mrs. Rumpole.

Perhaps you'd allow us to be your guests for a moment.

Don't help the prosecution, Hilda.

It's the most terrible mess.

I'm sure we can put up with that, Mrs. Rumpole, in our quest for the truth.

- Can I help you, sir?

- Oh, sorry.

I must have got the wrong cabin.

They all look so alike.

Particularly those with a single occupant.

[non-english] ♪ Keep smiling through ♪ ♪ Just like you always do ♪ ♪ Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds away ♪ He told us a deliberate lie.

He distinctly said she was in the cabin.

Well, in my view, Britwell's evidence must be accepted with extreme caution, on any subject.

I don't see why.

Ah, the perpetual defender.

A large glass of red, please.

And, Nicky, the chateau bilge water.

Well, we all tell the odd lie when the occasion demands.

Speak for yourself, Rumpole.

Oh, didn't you tell my wife that you had no idea that she was on board when you met her on deck the other morning?

I may have said that.

Yes, well, I distinctly saw you at the captain's cocktail party as soon as you caught sight of Mrs. Hilda Rumpole.

You went beetling out of the room.

Rumpole, that is grossly improper.

Oh, yes, an improper argument, yes.

No doubt you will report it to the relevant authorities.

Gentlemen, gentlemen.

Uh, yes.

Oh, thank you, Nicky.

We may tell the odd white lie occasionally, but we have to face the facts.

Mrs. Mavis Britwell has apparently disappeared.

In the midst of the word she was trying to say, in the midst of her laughter and glee, she slowly and silently vanished away, for the snark was a boojum, you see.

The question is, what action should we take?

But who exactly is the boojum or the snark, come to that?

If we were sure, of course, we could inform the police at the next port of call.

It might be a case for Interpol.

I have a suggestion to make, Gerald, if it's all right with you.

Tomorrow night I'm giving my lecture on how I get my plots.

I presume you're all coming.

- Oh.

I wouldn't bet on it.

I may add something.

Keep your eyes on Bill Britwell when I say it.

You mean, observe his demeanor.

Well, that's what you do in court, isn't it, Gerald?

I mean, you've had lots of practice.

Let's see if Britwell looks guilty.

Do you think that's an idea?

Well, it's not entirely original.

It's a bit dated.

Shakespeare used it in Hamlet.

Did he really?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, yes.

Maybe even more effective than a Howard Swainton.

Oh, Lord.

Excuse me.

A bottle of my usual to take away, Nicky, the Old and Tawny.

Oh, and a couple of glasses could you let us have?

They keep getting broken.

Ms. Gloria de la Haye.

Hello.

Oh, aren't you the gentleman who requested the old song?

I haven't heard you sing that for a long time.

Music halls don't exist anymore, do they?

Worse luck.

Oh, it's a drag this is, doing an act afloat.

It turns your stomach when the sea gets choppy.

And there's not much life in here, is there?

I am prepared to scream if one more person requests, "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes."

I want to say, it soon will dear at the crematorium.

Just after the war I used to go to the Metropolitan in the Edgware Road.

Oh, you went to the old Met?

♪ Who's that kicking up the noise?

♪ ♪ My little sister ♪ ♪ Who's that giggling with the boys?

♪ ♪ My little sister ♪ Oh, that was my act, the long and the short of it.

Betty Dee and Buttercup.

Yes.

Were Buttercup's straight man, weren't you?

Or should I say straight person these days?

That's right.

Wasn't there an alleged comic on the same bill?

He had a rather embarrassing drunk act, if I remember.

Was there?

I don't recall exactly.

And Buttercup, such a pretty girl.

Whatever happened to her?

I can't help you there, I'm afraid.

We never kept in touch.

Is that my Old and Tawny?

Thanks, Nicky.

Oh, allow me.

Good night.

Two glasses.

HOWARD SWAINTON: It is a common mistake to believe that no conviction for murder-- Oh, excuse me.

HOWARD SWAINTON: --can take place unless a body has been found.

The old idea of the corpus delicti as a defense has been laid, like the presumably missing corpse, to rest.

The defense is dead and buried, if not the body.

Some years ago, a steward on an ocean-going liner was tried for the murder of a female passenger.

It was alleged that he had made love to her, either with or without her consent, and then pushed her through a porthole out into the darkness of the sea.

Her body was never recovered.

The defense relied heavily on the corpus delicti, without a body.

The ingenious barrister paid to defend, the steward said, there could be no conviction.

The judge and the jury would have none of it, and the steward was condemned to death.

Although luckily for him, the death sentence was then abolished.

This case gave me the germ of an idea for a new tale, which I'm about to preview to you tonight.

I call it, Absence of Body.

"Would you like to come on a cruise, darling?

Magnus had seemed his old charming self when he asked her."

You saw that, Rumpole?

HOWARD SWAINTON: "And they had been so happy"-- Yes.

Evidence of guilt.

Or terminal boredom.

HOWARD SWAINTON: "--holding hands."

Shh!

HOWARD SWAINTON: "--dancing and watching the waves dance in the moonlight."

HILDA RUMPOLE: Rumpole, you look quite romantic.

Oh, do you think so?

Jolly Roger, Rumpole of the Bailey.

There he is.

You wouldn't think he'd have the nerve to come out dancing tonight, would you?

Hilda, there's something I think you should remember.

What's that?

When I went temporarily missing, no one accused you of murder, did they?

Ahoy there.

Oh.

I suppose you must be getting sick of it.

- Oh, - What?

Well, people asking, how's your wife?

They're very kind, uh, very-- very considerate.

Oh, but it must be spoiling your trip, - Mavis being ill?

- Yes.

Oh.

Yes, it is rather.

A Mr., uh, Mr. Justice Graves.

The judge?

Yes, the judge.

He's very worried about your wife.

Oh, why?

Why-- why-- why should he be worried?

Well, because of her illness, I suppose.

He-- he wants to see her.

Why?

Why should he want to do that?

Well, you know what judges are like.

They're always poking their nose into things that don't really concern them.

Shall we see your wife tonight at the fancy dress?

Oh, no, I'm afraid not.

Mavis won't quite be up to that.

Oh, what a pity.

I would have thought she'd find that sort of thing irresistible.

Rumpole.

Is it going too far?

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Rule, Britannia Hilda rules the waves.

[upbeat live music] We've sent a signal to the harbor police, just to be on the safe side.

A wise precaution, if I may say so.

And before there's any question of passengers disembarking, we ask him to produce his good lady.

Is that the form?

That's more or less the form, yes.

It might be an idea, Judge, if you were present when we confront him.

Of course.

I'd be delighted.

I'll bet you would.

[chatter] ♪ ♪ The Reverend Bill, he's dressed as Bluebeard.

How appropriate.

Oh, please, Hilda.

Don't start imagining things.

You're beginning to sound like a judge.

Oh, Judge, you look magnificent!

Mrs. Rumpole.

Might I have the honor of this dance?

Hilda.

Thank you, Judge.

What tremendous fun.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Betty Dee and Buttercup.

Some people seem to enjoy looking ridiculous.

That's Gloria de la Haye.

The oldest schoolgirl in captivity.

LINDA MILSON: Who's the little one?

HOWARD SWAINTON: Oh, it must be her accompanist, the little man who plays the piano.

An alleged vicar dancing with an alleged accompanist in drag.

How absolutely disgusting.

No, it's not the accompanist.

Do you want an answer to your little mystery?

You know what he did with his wife?

Yes, I think so.

Could I borrow your associate?

Yes.

Please, would you mind engaging the vicar for this dance for about 10 minutes.

Well I-- Please, please.

♪ ♪ I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer.

Let's get a breath of fresh air, Buttercup.

Betty Dee and Buttercup.

You were Buttercup, weren't you, when you were a young girl?

As in that photograph Bill Britwell threw into the sea.

Now, there wasn't really any need for that, was there?

I don't know what you're talking about.

I'm talking about me, being the only one who remembers that you were once half of a music hall act.

Nobody else knows.

Bill can preach his sermons to the Anglicans of Athens.

Not one of them will give a toss about Betty Dee and Buttercup.

What do you want?

I want to set your mind at rest.

What about?

About the other part you played down the Old Bailey, oh, a long, long time ago, when we were all very young, even before I did the Penge bungalow murders.

A lovely young girl married to a drunken brute of a husband who beat her, Happy Harry Harman.

He used to do a drunk act on the halls, didn't he?

Drunk acts are really very amusing.

I remember reading about that case in the News of the World because I desperately wanted that brief.

He beat you.

You stabbed him in the throat with a pair of scissors, in the dressing room.

But you should never have got five years for manslaughter.

Had I defended you, I would have got you off and not a dry eye in the jury box.

Even though the efficient young counsel for the prosecution was an icy cold fish called Gerald Graves.

No, it's all right.

He's not going to remember you.

Isn't he?

No.

Lawyers and judges hardly ever remember faces they sent to prison.

(TREMBLING) Are you sure?

Of course I'm sure.

You can come out of hiding now.

Oh, come on.

There.

Oh, isn't it pleasant to see Mrs. Britwell up and about again?

But, she'd completely disappeared.

No, not at all.

She merely went to stay with her old friend Gloria de la Haye for a while.

That's all.

Mrs. Britwell didn't-- didn't look familiar to you?

No.

No, I can't say she did.

Why?

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Old men forget.

Yet all shall be forgotten.

What did you say?

Oh, I said, what trouble you've got.

Trouble?

You're not making yourself clear.

Well, you practically accused the Reverend Bill of shoving his dear wife through the porthole, then you reported that story to the captain, who no doubt wired it to the police on shore.

Now that's a pretty good basis for an action for defamation, wouldn't you say?

Defamation?

Remember, I offered to defend you.

Just call on my services at any time.

Rumpole, you don't honestly think-- My dear judge, I believe you're innocent, of course, until you're proved guilty.

Such an important principle to keep in mind on all occasions.

Rumpole!

Ah, there's my wife.

Well, Hilda, what do you say?

Shall we split a bottle of Chateau Hellespont and smash a few plates together?

Yes, of course.

Sorry to leave you, Judge, but we're on our second honeymoon.

Isn't that Rumpole all over?

He's incurably romantic.

And there's absolutely no danger of my wife disappearing.

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