[orchestral music] ♪ ♪ [theme music] ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ It's coming.

Ah.

Nearly there.

It's coming!

No, it's coming!

[yells] Ain't that beautiful?

[clicking] One for me, one for you.

One for me, one for you.

One for-- Shh!

[clattering] Someone coming?

MAN: It's the bill.

Let's go.

Come on, then.

Ow!

Oh, god!

[shouts] [muttering] - No, sir.

I'll get it.

Get out of here!

[shot] [groans] [clatters] CYRIL: What the hell?

What have you done, Ted?

Nothing.

What have you done, Cyril?

You've come tooled up!

Never.

You know I never.

[sirens blaring] The bill!

Go back down the tunnel.

Come on.

Let's go this way!

You ought never to have done it, Cyril.

What do you mean, I ought never have done it?

Oh, god!

Oh, god.

Timson carrying a shooter, it's the end of civilization as we know it.

I can't put up with that hearthrug one moment longer.

HORACE RUMPOLE: It's like music and lifts and wine in cardboard boxes.

We'll be having Star Wars and Pomeroy's wine bar, next thing you know.

That old thing is not a hearthrug anymore.

It's a target for the butt ends of your dreadful little cigars.

Oh, crime was ridiculously ambitious.

They're not bank robbers!

They should have stuck to thieving frozen fish from the cash and carry.

It's like the two ends of a pantomime horse, getting together to play Hamlet.

Rumpole?

Really, you've done it again.

Oh, a bit of cigar ash never did a carpet any harm.

It improves the texture.

There's a perfectly decent little hearthrug going in Debenhams for 100 pounds.

Oh, going to someone who isn't balanced precariously on the rim of his overdraft, I trust?

I mean, what is the use of all these bank robberies and the rising crime rate that everyone talks about, if we can't even get a decent little hearthrug out of it?

Yes, well, it's what they're paying for legal aid cases these days, scarcely enough to pay the fare to Temple Station.

And, of course, there's Henry's 10% and the cost of a new briefcase.

You're never buying a new briefcase.

No, no, of course not.

I can't afford it.

And, of course, a small glass of claret at Pomeroy's to recover from the terrors of the day.

Yes, that's your trouble, isn't it, Rumpole?

If it wasn't for the small claret at Pomeroy's, we'd have no trouble in buying a nice new hearthrug.

And if it wasn't for those awful little cheroots of yours, we wouldn't need one, anyway.

I warn you, I shall call in at Debenhams tomorrow.

And it's up to you to deal with the bank, Rumpole.

What do you expect me to do, tunnel in through the drains?

No, no, no, wait a minute!

You're asking me to shop, then, are you?

I'm asking you, Cyril, to tell the truth.

That's a bit steep, isn't it, Phylli?

I mean, Dennis Timson is his cousin.

As your leading counsel, Cyril, I think you'd better listen to my advice.

Now, you say, you weren't carrying the gun.

CYRIL: Straight up, I never do.

And there was no one else in your party?

Of course not.

So your cousin Dennis must have been carrying it.

Well, that does seem to follow.

Of course, it follows.

Tell the judge that.

That's all I'm asking you to do.

Just tell the judge.

We come first on the indictment.

We've simply got to make the decision.

I wonder how Rumpole is advising Dennis.

Hmm?

Oh, I know how Rumpole is advising Dennis.

Don't let's cut each other's throats, old darling.

Honor among thieves, all that sort of nonsense.

What are you saying?

Well, you are a thief, Mr. Timson.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: That is very true.

But you are not a gunman.

On my baby's head, I'm not.

How old is your baby?

31, in window cleaning.

What does it matter?

Not in the least.

Let's just stick to the important points in this case, shall we?

Now, our case is, you are not a gunman.

But your cousin Dennis is.

I say, looks like it.

I can't believe it of the lad.

That is what you have got to tell the judge.

Are you clear about that?

If you say so.

Rumpole's not going to like it.

Oh, do have a bit of courage, Claude.

We can't always be thinking of what Rumpole's going to like.

[typing] Morning, Horace.

Morning, Uncle Tom.

HENRY: Mr. Rumpole.

Henry!

Congratulations are in order.

Oh?

What did they offer me?

Macebearer extraordinary, to the master of the royal handkerchief.

No, no, no, I turned it down.

The barrister's clerks' sweepstake on the Derby, Mr. Rumpole.

You remember investing?

I remember you twisting my arm, Henry.

And I remember parting with two quid that would have been far better spent over the bar at Pomeroy's.

You drew that Diogenes.

What did I do?

Diogenes, Horace.

Do you know nothing about the turf?

It came in at a canter.

I said to myself, trust old Horace.

He gets all the luck.

Have a little win, did I?

100 of the best, Mr. Rumpole.

Do you want to count it?

No, no, Henry.

I trust you implicitly.

70, 80, 90, yes!

They do say, lucky on the GGs, unlucky in love.

You've never been tremendously lucky in love, have you, Horace?

- I don't know, Uncle Tom.

I have had my moments.

100 smackers!

I must say, it's a great day when you get your actual folding money from your clerk.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): As I sat in the café, I said to myself, they may talk as they please about what they call, pelf.

They may sneer as they like about eating and drinking.

But I cannot help it.

I cannot help thinking how pleasant it is to have money.

Aye, hoe, how pleasant it is to have money.

So pleasant it is to have money.

You and I have known each other a great number of years, Dennis.

Are you a sporting man, Mr. Rumpole?

And I've never known a Timson carry a shooter before.

Oh, I do take an interest in the turf, yes.

Bloke in here, cleared a quarter of a million on a four-horse accumulator.

Quarter of a million?

Look, see, boarded an aeroplane for the Seychelles.

Seychelles, far away from Judge Bullingham and the Old Bailey.

I could make more than that on a four-horse accumulator, if I had a ton.

A ton of what?

100 pound stake.

100 pounds?

Yeah.

Reckon, I could top 300 grand, the next few days.

Do you know what's going to happen when you and Cyril get into the witness box and start blaming each other?

It is called a cut throat defense.

And the prosecutor will be chortling in his joy in handing out the razors.

And you will both be found guilty.

Did you say, 300,000 pounds?

Yeah, a four-hourse accumulator.

Four-horse, what?

Accumulator.

I could get 9 to 1 on Pretty Balloon at Goodwood this afternoon.

You want me to take a note of any of this?

No, Ms. Probert.

Thank you.

I will.

Pretty Balloon.

That'll be a grand.

And that could go on a Mother's Ruin at Redcar, 5 to 1, I should think.

Really?

Right, that's six now.

And that could go on to Ever So Grateful.

And that should get you four at Yarmouth.

Ever So Grateful.

DENNIS TIMSON: That's 30,000.

Sounds a polite little horse.

What we need now is a nice little 10 to 1 for a bit of a gamble.

[laughs] Gamble?

What's it been up to now, pray?

A doddle.

Oh, yes, as easy as breaking into a bank vault?

Do me a favor, Mr. Rumpole.

Don't bring that up again.

Kissogram, Newmarket, Wednesday.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Kissogram.

At the post price, that should bring you in, let's say, 330,000 grand, give or take a little.

In round figures?

Oh, yes, round figures, yes.

Tell me something, Dennis.

I know, about the shooter.

Oh, we'll come back to the shooter in a minute.

But you have been in custody since that fateful night.

Six months now, Mr. Rumpole.

Well, we should get that off the sentence.

Well, being in Brixton and now here, I suppose it's been a bit difficult to put on a little bet or two.

I mean, not to mention a four-horse accumulator.

Bless your heart, Mr. Rumpole.

No, there's always screws who'll do it for you, even here, down the Old Bailey cells.

What?

Screws put on bets?

You know Gerald?

You know, he's the fat one at the gate, the one that's always got his face in a bacon sarnie.

Gerald.

Well, I think that's all on the legal aspects of the case.

Just remember one thing, Dennis.

The Timsons do not carry shooters.

And they do not grass on each other.

That's true, Mr. Rumpole.

That has always been our point of honor.

So you won't grass on Cyril?

Not unless I have to.

What is honor, a word.

What is that word, honor?

Air.

Well, we'd better get upstairs.

I think I might try a few passes with the legal cape at the mad bull.

[non-english speech] Thank you.

Gerald, is it?

Oh, that's right, Mr. Rumpole.

Aren't you coming with us?

You two go on up.

I'll be there in a minute.

Gerald.

Mr. Rumpole?

A busy day, have you?

Too busy, in fact, to get to my usual bookmaker.

Want me to put something on for you?

100 pounds, four-horse accumulator.

What are they?

Well, we'll start at-- at Goodwood, with Pretty Balloon.

We should be able to get nines about it.

Will do, Mr. Rumpole.

I'll be nipping out soon for a bit of dinner.

Yes, I'm sure you will need it.

Hurry up.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): He either fears his fate too much or his deserts are small.

That puts it not unto the touch to win or lose it all.

Mr. Rumpole!

HORACE RUMPOLE: Well, what have we here?

The Timson clan assembled all my old clients.

Mr. Rumpole, you've got to do something about it.

You're Fred, aren't you, the head of the family?

Yeah, well, they do look to me whenever there's a point of family honor, like.

Oh, this is Den's Doris.

Doris.

And I'm Cyril's Maureen.

Yes, of course.

Unfortunately, we're being made a laughingstock.

The Molloys is making a joke of this all over Southland.

The Molloys, yes, the rival firm.

I've been called out to in the street by Molloy women.

Maureen has been called out at Tesco's on several occasions!

They're laughing at our husbands.

They say they'll grass on each other!

Is that what they're laughing at?

Oh, the Molloys is doing very nicely.

That's why we're here.

They've pulled off something spectacular.

They got away with something terrific, they reckon.

And they cause out that all the Timsons can do is get nicked, and then grass on each other.

The Molloys is never going to let us hear the end of it.

Young Peanuts Molloy, he called out that all the Timsons is good for is to use as ferrets.

- What?

- Ferrets.

Ferrets?

Why would you say a thing like that?

Well, you know the way they talk.

Look, Mr. Rumpole, we want you to go in there and save our name.

I'll do what I can for the honor of the Timsons, Fred.

After all, your clan has done more to keep the Old Bailey in business than a thousand lawyers.

My application, My Lord, is for a separate trial for my client, Mr. Dennis Timson.

Any particular reason, Mr. Rumpole, apart from a natural desire to spin out these proceedings as long as possible?

I assume your client is on legal aid?

My natural desire, My Lord, is to see that justice is done to my client.

Provided it is all paid for by the unfortunate ratepayers of the City of London.

I understand that my co-defendant, Mr. Cyril Timson, will be giving evidence, accusing my client, Mr. Dennis Timson, of carrying the gun.

And no doubt, you intend to return the complement.

I'm not prepared to say at this moment what my defense will be, My Lord.

But it might be a cut throat.

That is possible, My Lord.

Mrs. Erskine-Brown, do you support Mr. Rumpole's application?

- My Lord, I do not.

- Oh, thank you.

Thank you very much.

I'm sure that, under your Lordship's wise guidance, justice will be done to both the defendants.

When it comes to buttering up the bull, she lays it on with a trowel.

You may well warn the jury of the danger of convicting Mr. Dennis Timson on the evidence of an accomplice.

But, of course, they can do so if they think it right.

I shall certainly tell them that, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

And the court is very grateful for your valuable contribution.

Have you anything further to say that might make me change my mind, Mr. Rumpole?

Nothing could change that mass of bone.

Did you say something?

What did you say?

Did you say something?

- Nothing.

I'll leave the point alone, My Lord.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): I might say, I'm about to board an aeroplane for the Seychelles, if I won the four-horse accumulator.

MAN: Some of you may know the Pennywise, a small bank of impeccable reputation.

It is situated at the corner of Abraham Avenue-- The ice cold cheek of it.

--who's just five yards from that corner.

I would like to draw the court's attention to the agreed plan.

You will see there that there is an underground passageway used for telephone cables and a drain, so that all these highly sophisticated robbers had to do was to crawl along the existing tunnel, and then break through the wall into the L-shaped strong room.

One of these two men, members of the jury, carried a gun, as a result of which a Mr. Huggins, a bank guard, a family man, a man of impeccable character, a man who, as you will hear tell, has sat on his local church council, was wounded-- DENNIS TIMSON: [whistles] --albeit in the foot.

My Lord, perhaps your client could manage to keep silent during the prosecutor's speech, Mr. Rumpole.

It's not a football stadium.

Oh, I think my client wishes to tell me something, my Lord.

JUDGE ROGER BULLINGHAM: About this case, I hope.

Oh, yes, my Lord.

Yes, indeed, about this case.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): The screws tell me, Mr. Rumpole, Pretty Balloon romped home in a canter, at Goodwood.

MAN: May I be allowed to proceed the case for the prosecution?

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): One up, and three to go.

She's a very attractive advocate, Mrs. Erskine-Brown, a really most attractive advocate.

Yes, Judge.

I always listen to her with great pleasure.

Well, where do you think Mr. Erskine-Brown is?

Sitting behind her.

He's her junior.

Oh, yes, yes.

I'll overlook that.

Hadn't opened his mouth much during this case, has he?

Seems rather a poor specimen, in many ways.

Shrimpton?

Yes, sir?

Do you think it would be entirely inappropriate if I was to send Mrs. Erskine-Brown a box of chocolates?

Yes, Judge.

And yes, I can?

No, I mean, yes, it would be entirely inappropriate.

Why?

Hasn't she got a sweet tooth?

The Lord Chancellor wouldn't like it.

I wasn't thinking of sending chocolates to the Lord Chancellor.

Yes, I know what you mean.

All right, all right.

Still, there's no reason why I shouldn't get the sheriff to ask her to come and have lunch with the judges, is there?

Were you thinking of asking Mr. Erskine-Brown, too?

No, I wasn't thinking of asking Mr. Erskine-Brown, too.

Either, she comes alone, or I send a box of chocolate.

Just a few facts that might be useful about Den Timson, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

Phyllida, please.

Phyllida.

There's a conviction for possessing a firearm without a license.

Pistol?

CHARLES HEARTHSTOKE: No, shotgun, I'm afraid.

But I don't suppose our Den goes out after the pheasants with the Devonshires?

No, I don't suppose he does.

Thank you.

Cheers.

Hmm, malicious damage with an air gun.

Yes, well, he was only 14 then.

Yes, but you are a superb technician, Phyllida.

Do you honestly think so?

The way you handled Judge Bullingham was superb.

He's dottie about you, naturally.

Please don't be silly, Hearthstoke.

Well, I can't blame him.

I suppose everybody is.

And by the way, it's Charles.

Charles.

Actually, I thought your opening was a pretty good job.

Well, one tries to set out the facts without emotion-- not always possible.

Now, why did you ask me for a drink, exactly?

When I was in your chambers-- Such a fleeting visit.

Yes, well, you were always away, doing such important cases.

And we never got to know each other.

No.

No, we never did.

Of course, you're very much married.

Not all that much married, I sometimes think.

Really, Phyllida?

Can I top you up?

Yes.

Champagne, how delicious!

And I know exactly what you're celebrating.

Do you, Rumpole?

Yes, indeed I do, Hearthstoke.

Oh, yes, thank you.

We'd love a glass.

Set yourself down, Ms. Probert.

I don't want anything.

Thank you.

Oh, do you not?

I do.

I want some answers to a couple of simple questions.

I can't think what those could be.

Jack, a couple of extra glasses, please.

Come off it, Portia!

You are celebrating the unholy alliance between your client, Mr. Cyril Timson, and the prosecution, with a full exchange of information designed to send my poor old Dennis away for at least 14 years.

- Oh, come on, Rumpole.

That isn't fair.

No, indeed, Portia.

It is not fair.

But it's true, isn't it?

Ah, thank you, Jack.

Oh, dear, méthode champenoise.

You disappoint me, Hearthstoke.

Actually, Charles, it's quite delicious.

What, grape juice and gas?

Wait for the headache!

You do know Ms. Probert, don't you?

Yes, of course.

There's one thing I've always wanted to ask you.

I mean, now you're a QC and all that.

But when you started at the bar, wasn't it terribly difficult, being a woman?

No, no, it comes quite naturally to some of us, not that I have much choice in the matter.

But didn't you come up against a load of fixed male attitudes?

Well, that's what made it all such tremendous fun.

If you really want to know, I didn't get a particularly good law degree.

I never had the slightest difficulty in getting on with men.

No, clearly not.

One thing I wanted to ask you.

About the exploitation of women at the bar?

No, just, seen any good operas lately?

You must have learned a great lesson from our Portia today, Ms. Probert, how to succeed at the bar by reducing Judge Bullingham to a trembling blob of sexual excitement.

I've never been able to manage it myself.

Oh, there's your husband!

Has he lost you?

Rumpo, lay off.

Are you going to lay off Dennis?

He wandered lonely as a cloud that floats.

Why don't you sit next to Ms.-- I'll squeeze in here, next to Phylli.

Well, there we are, then, all nice and cozy.

Oh, can I borrow your standard, old darling?

Thank you.

I went back to chambers, Phylli.

They said you hadn't been in.

No, I came straight here.

I've been discussing the case with prosecuting counsel.

Oh, yes.

Yes, of course.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): Stop press, late result from Red Car.

Mother's Ruin!

Two down, and two to go.

Thank you very much, old darling.

I am almost inclined to order a bottle of the real stuff.

Why?

What are you celebrating?

Well, I don't know about you fellows.

But I've made a couple of small investments, which seem to be turning out rather well.

What would you say if this should turn out to be Rumpole's positively last case, hmm?

HILDA RUMPOLE: Rumpole!

Hilda!

HILDA RUMPOLE: I've got it, Rumpole.

What?

HILDA RUMPOLE: It's arrived, Rumpole!

What has arrived, Hilda?

What I've been wanting for a very long time.

It looks rather smart, doesn't it?

If that's what you always wanted, Hilda, I think you could have been a little more ambitious.

Just don't you dare throw your cigar ends at it.

Oh, don't worry, Hilda.

I shall be chucking my cigar ends, my Havana cigar ends, my Romeo and Julietta cigar ends, into the sparkling ocean, as I walk along the beach, clad in a pair of old soiled white ducks, knocking the sweet oysters off the rocks.

It's not real Persian, of course.

But I think it's a traditional pattern.

Courage, she said, and pointed toward the land.

This mounting wave will roll ashore soon.

In the afternoon, they came unto a land in which it seemed, always, afternoon.

All around the Coast, the languid air did swoon, breathing like one that hath a weary dream.

I've absolutely no idea what you mean.

It's not the meaning, Hilda.

It's the sound, the screech of bats, the chattering of monkeys, the hum of dragonflies, the rattle of grasshoppers rubbing their sweet little legs together, while you and I sit on the hotel veranda, sipping planter's punch, listening to the boom of the surf on the coral reef, and never having to wear a bloody wing collar ever again!

You have got 100 pounds for our new hearthrug, haven't you, Rumpole?

Fear not, Hilda.

I do expect return of thrice, three times, the value of the bond.

That's all very well.

But have you got 100 pounds?

He said, his positively last case.

I'm not sure.

One thing Rumpole's taught me, never take anything he says at face value.

He's playing some sort of game in this case, for instance.

Yes, but without Rumpole there, I don't see why I shouldn't find my way back into your chambers at Equity Court.

You might come back into the fold?

And try and streamline your operation.

Well, it can't go on the same way forever, can it?

No.

No, of course not.

We must drag the bar, kicking and screaming, into the 21st century.

Do you know, sometimes, I envy my clients, getting into trouble and leaving home and doing extraordinary things.

Dreadful things, sometimes.

But their lives aren't dull.

Everything happens to them.

Honestly, Charles, nothing happens to us, nothing adventurous, really.

Well, perhaps it will.

Claude, we're here.

If this is Rumpole's last case, almost anything can happen.

Almost anything.

Oh, yes.

Claude, Charles Hearthstoke may join us.

Join us?

Yes, come back into Chambers again, if Rumpole's really leaving.

Oh, well, you don't want to do that, do you?

Don't I?

Well, a fellow like you who understands about computers, you don't really want to hang around in Equity Court, do you?

I can't think of any better chambers in the temple than one that boasts Mrs. Phyllida Erskine-Brown, QC.

Oh, I say, Charles, don't talk rubbish.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Detective Inspector Bellman, I understand that no fingerprints were found on the gun.

Mr. Rumpole, I imagine these gentry are too-- HORACE RUMPOLE: Yes, My Lord.

Too, what?

Too intelligent to leave fingerprints behind.

Your Lordship?

Yes, Mr. Rumpole?

My Lord, the prosecution in this case is in the hands of my learned friend, Mr. Hearthrug.

Hearthstoke.

Oh, beg his pardon, Hearthstone.

I am sure he needs no assistance from your Lordship.

Mr. Rumpole, was an outrageous remark, and one that I may have to consider reporting for professional misconduct.

HORACE RUMPOLE (VOICEOVER): By that time, old darling, I may have boarded a plane for the Seychelles.

I'm sorry if anything I said could possibly be construed as discourtesy to your Lordship.

Very well.

Let's get on with it.

Thank you, my Lord.

Inspector Bellman, was the interior of the strongroom, and in particular, the safe, examined for fingerprints?

Yes, it was.

And, again, no fingerprints of either Mr. Cyril or Mr. Dennis Timson were found?

That is true, My Lord.

But no doubt, there were other fingerprints to be found on the safe?

Of course.

And no doubt, many of them came from bank employees.

No doubt about that, My Lord.

But did you take the trouble to check any of those fingerprints with criminal records?

INSPECTOR BELLMAN: Why should we have done that?

Why, to see if any of them corresponded to fingerprints of known criminals, other than the two Mr. Timsons!

No, we didn't.

Well, why not?

The two Mr. Timsons were the only men we found at the scene of the crime.

And we had established that they were wearing gloves.

Because they had gloves on when they caught them.

Oh, we are so much obliged to the learned judge for his most helpful interjections, aren't we, Inspector?

Otherwise, you might have to think of some of the answers for yourself.

[chatter] Inspector Bellman!

Oh, it's you, Mr. Rumpole.

Inspector Bellman, I have always regarded you as a thoroughly dependable and straightforward officer.

What do you want to get out of me, Mr. Rumpole?

It's all right, a little favor.

Why should I do you a favor?

Yes, why, indeed?

You've been a bit of a thorn in my flesh over the years, if I have to be honest.

Well, if I were to promise never to be a thorn in your flesh again?

You mean not making me and my officers look Charlies in front of the jury?

Never again.

Not letting the Timsons get away with murder?

Oh, never murder, Inspector, a little stolen fish occasionally.

And not getting my young DCs tied up in their own notebooks?

If I were to swear on my old wig never to do such a thing again, in fact, if I were to tell you, this would be my positively last case?

Then I suppose I might be more inclined to help.

Nothing illegal, of course?

Illegal?

Perish the thought, no.

This is guaranteed to serve the interests of justice!

Cyril Timson, did you take this pistol with you when you tunneled into the Pennywise Savings Bank?

No, I never.

That's all, Portia.

That's all you need to ask.

Did you have any idea, Mr. Timson, that your cousin Dennis was armed with a pistol?

My Lord, I must object.

There is absolutely no evidence to show that Dennis Timson was armed with anything.

The pistol was at the scene of the crime, Mr. Rumpole.

Somebody must have brought it.

Somebody, perhaps, My Lord.

But the question assumes that it was my client.

Mrs. Erskine-Brown, carry on.

You may ask your question.

If your Lordship pleases.

You don't have to.

Remember the quality of mercy.

Did you have any idea that Dennis was armed?

You forgot it.

No idea at all.

And what would you have said if you had known?

My Lord, how can this be evidence?

It is pure speculation!

Please, Mrs. Erskine-Brown, do ask your question.

Your Lordship.

What would you have said?

Leave that thing at home, Den.

That is not the way we carry on our business.

Thank you very much, Mr. Timson.

Just stay there, will you?

Done your worst, have you?

Mr. Cyril Timson, when you were removing part of the contents of the safe, you suddenly ran out into the corridor.

Why was that?

We thought we heard a noise behind us.

Coming from where?

He said, from behind us, Mr. Rumpole.

Oh, thank you, My Lord, so much.

It was that noise which made you retreat?

Well, we thought we was being caught, like.

Then why didn't you retreat back into the tunnel where you came from?

Well-- Was it because the noise you heard was coming from that direction?

Well, it might've been.

What did he say?

What did you say?

He said, it might have been, My Lord.

Thank you very much, Mrs. Erskine-Brown.

When you ran out into the corridor, you were carrying a box containing cash and other valuables.

Yes, I was.

HORACE RUMPOLE: And so was your cousin, Dennis.

- Yeah.

- Now, you saw that?

Yeah.

But you never saw him with a gun in his hand?

Well, I never actually saw it.

But-- well, I knew I didn't have it.

Mr. Cyril Timson, may I say at once that I accept the truth of that statement?

Rumpole, have you gone soft in your old age?

No.

I just thought I'd like to win my last case.

I agree that you didn't have it.

And Mr. Dennis Timson certainly did not.

So where did it come from, Mr. Rumpole?

[laughs] Did it drop out of the sky?

Yes, my Lord, in a manner of speaking.

It did.

[church bell tolls] Grab the Punters Guide, love, first edition.

It's just come in, dear.

I haven't got them undone yet.

I want the first race at Yarmouth.

Oh, here, let me help.

WOMAN: I shall manage, dear, eventually.

Eventually is no good, love.

Excuse me!

Yarmouth, Yarmouth, Yarmouth, first, Ever So Grateful!

Oh, I say, ta.

[chatter] MAN: Are you Peter Molloy?

So what if I am?

I must ask you to accompany me to the station, where my inspector would like to ask you some questions.

Oh, yeah?

What about, then?

I believe it's about a fingerprint.

[overlapping speech] ANNOUNCER: --making good on the outside, Persiflage go through to take up the running from Kissogram.

Zoot Suit back in third.

Tickling Stick is beaten.

And we're just over a-- [overlapping speech] ANNOUNCER: It's Persiflage, from Kissogram and Tickling Stick and Zoot Suit.

We're inside the final furlong.

Persiflage, Kissogram, Persiflage, and Kissogram.

Rumpole!

Where on Earth have you been?

Here's your lunch.

At last, at long last, Ms. Probert, the day has arrived when I can open my defense to the jury and say exactly what I think, exactly!

Well, why today, especially?

Because, Miss Probert, Kissogram absolutely romped it!

Members of the jury, you have doubtless heard of the presumption of innocence, that golden thread which runs through British justice.

Everyone in this fair land of ours is presumed to be innocent until they are proved to be guilty.

And against this presumption, there is another mighty legal doctrine.

It is known as the Bullingham factor.

Every person who appears in that dock before this learned judge is naturally assumed to have done it.

Otherwise, they wouldn't be there.

And not only are those in the dock assumed to be guilty.

Defending barristers are also assumed to be only interested in wasting time, so that they may share in the rich pickings provided by the legal aid system, an organization which allows criminal advocates to live almost as high on the hog as highly qualified shorthand typists!

And for this princely remuneration, members of the jury, we are asked to defend the liberty of the subject, and to knock our heads, day in and day out, against the rock solid wall of the Bullingham factor.

For this, we are asked to contend with the judge, who invariably briefs himself for the prosecution.

Mr. Rumpole!

CHARLES HEARTHSTOKE: My Lord, I wonder if I may intervene.

JUDGE ROGER BULLINGHAM: Certainly.

Certainly, you may, Mr. Hearthstoke.

Perhaps you might suggest a way in which I best deal with this outrageous contempt!

I was only going to say, My Lord, that what I am about to tell you may indeed make the rest of Mr. Rumpole's opening speech unnecessary.

I'm sure all of his opening speech is unnecessary.

I am informed by Detective Inspector Bellman, My Lord, that, after further inquiries, we can no longer proceed on the allegation that either Cyril or Dennis Timson used, or indeed carried, the automatic pistol which wounded Mr. Huggins, the bank guard.

Neither of them?

CHARLES HEARTHSTOKE: No.

It seems that further charges will be brought, with regard to that offense, against another firm, if I may be allowed to use that expression.

In those circumstances, the only charge is one of burglary.

To which my client has always been prepared to plead guilty.

Thank you very much, Mrs. Erskine.

Mr. Rumpole!

Oh, yes, My Lord.

For the very first time, and with the greatest respect, guilty, My Lord.

There we are.

But what put you onto the Molloys?

Something your Doris said, ferrets.

The Molloys called the Timsons, ferrets.

They called it out after your wives in the street, in the supermarket.

Ferrets, little animals they put down holes in the ground.

The Molloys found out what you were up to and simply followed you down the burrow.

And what were they going to do after you'd broken into the vaults?

Use the gun to lift the loot off you after you'd opened the safe.

Anyway, the whole thing ended in chaos and confusion, as most crimes do, I'm afraid, Dennis.

You heard the Molloys in the tunnel.

You thought it was the old bill.

You ran out into the corridor.

And then Mr. Huggins, the bank guard, appeared.

One of the Molloys shot him, dropped the gun, and left you and Cyril in hopeless ignorance, blaming each other.

But who cleared the safe?

Well, the Molloys, of course, probably while Dennis and Cyril were being nicked.

But you had no evidence?

No.

There were no fingerprints?

No.

But Inspector Bellman, at my suggestion, told Peanuts that they'd found his.

That scared him enough to start him talking.

And he grassed on the lot of them.

He grassed on his own family, did he?

Yep.

Bastard.

Things aren't what they were in our world, Dennis.

And after you've got this little stretch under your belt, you'd do better to give the whole thing up.

Never.

I'd miss the excitement.

Yeah, you're all right, though, aren't you?

I said, you're all right, with your four-horse accumulator.

Yes, I think I shall be all right, Dennis, due entirely to you.

And I shan't forget it.

You were my last case.

Give me a ring when you get out, all right, if you happen to be passing through Lotus Land.

Thanks.

Thank you, Ken.

Oh, Dennis Timson happy with the four years you got him then, Mr. Rumpole?

Oh, yes, highly gratified, I believe.

I don't know how you do it, Mr. Rumpole.

I really don't.

Is Gerald about, you know?

Or has he just slipped out for a four-course snack?

No, no, no, no, no.

It's Gerald's day off, Mr. Rumpole.

He'll be back tomorrow, though.

Oh, tomorrow!

You don't happen to know the name of his bookmaker, do you?

Oh, Gerald-- Gerald don't take us into his confidence, Mr. Rumpole, not as far as that's concerned, anyway.

Oh, well.

I'll pop in and see him tomorrow.

My dear Mrs. Erskine-Brown, Phyllis.

Phyllida.

Yes, no need for you to stay.

The case is over.

You've got a train to catch.

Please, do sit down.

Thank you, Judge.

Your opening speech for the defense had me absolutely lost in admiration.

[mumbling] Would you care for a glass of sherry?

Yes, yes.

It was a tragedy about Rumpole.

Tragedy, yes.

Afraid I shall have to report him for professional misconduct.

Thank you.

No, Judge.

I meant, it was a tragedy he was interrupted.

What?

I read the second half of that speech, Judge.

Rumpole was extremely flattering.

But then, I think the things he said about you were no less than the truth.

Flattering?

One of the fairest and most compassionate judges ever to have sat at the Old Bailey, who combines the wisdom of Solomon with the humanity of Florence Nightingale.

Those were just a couple of quotations.

That's not exactly how the speech started out, was it, Phyllida?

- Oh, no.

No, Judge, no.

Rumpole was describing the sort of mistaken view that a jury might have of an Old Bailey judge.

Then he was about to put them right.

But, of course, the case collapsed.

And he never gave the rest of that marvelous speech.

Can you remember anything else he was about to say?

Yes.

With Judge Bullingham, the quality of mercy is not strained.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.

Rather well-put, I thought.

[coughs] Will you still be reporting Rumpole to his inn?

Well, I shall have to think it over, in the light of what you've just told me.

I-- Uh, Phyllida, can I ask you a question?

Yes, Judge, of course.

Do you like hard or cream centers, when it comes to a box of chocolates, and-- [mumbles] It's the end.

Mr. Rumpole?

My positively last case, Henry.

No more shall I be putting my head around your door and asking you, perhaps you had some spare committal before the Uxbridge magistrates.

I'll catch you up, Diane.

Good night then, Mr. Rumpole.

Indeed it is, Diane, a very good night, indeed.

It was all very well, Mr. Rumpole.

But if you leave-- - Not if, Henry.

When.

Courage, he said, and pointed toward the land.

This mounting wave will roll us shore-ward soon.

In the afternoon, they came unto a land in which it seemed always afternoon.

If you leave, Mr. Rumpole, we're going to get that Mr. Hearthstoke back again.

He's going to get to your room, sir.

Mr. Ballard's already keen on the idea.

It would be a disaster for Chambers, sir.

And my 10%, and Diane threatened to hand in her notice.

I delivered you from the Hearthrug once before.

You did, Mr. Rumpole.

I shall always thank you for it.

A little matter of massage parlors, if I remember.

If I could stave off the attack again?

Mr. Rumpole, if only you could.

It might be my last good deed, before I board an aeroplane for Lotus Land.

It isn't only the 10%, Mr. Rumpole.

It's the relationship with Diane.

Ah.

I had an appointment with Mr. Ballard at 6:15.

Is his conference over?

I think so, sir, if you'd like to go up.

I'm a little early, yet.

I just wanted to check your old room, Rumpole, before I get the decorators in.

Well, I'll be getting along, then.

All right, Henry.

I'll hold the fort.

Excellent win, Hearthrug.

Well, who won?

Well, you did.

I mean, you were prosecuting.

We pleaded guilty.

You got a conviction.

Yes, brilliant work.

Excellent.

Well, you'll be taking over my old room in Chambers.

Well, you are leaving, aren't you?

Oh, yes, indeed, I'm leaving, yes.

Well, old darling, it looks as though your life is going to undergo a few changes.

Well, it's a good thing, establishing new relationships.

Do you have much experience as a father?

As a father?

No, none at all.

Oh, dear.

Oh, well, never mind.

I expect, you'll pick it up pretty quickly.

Rumpole, what on Earth are you talking about?

The Erskine-Brown brood.

Well, it's pretty obvious, now, darling.

You've fallen for our Portia, hook, line, and, probably, sinker.

And when you move into Chambers, surely, she'll be expecting to move into your little bachelor pad in Battersea, and, of course, bringing the children with her.

Bringing the children?

HORACE RUMPOLE: You're a brave man, to be taking on that little lot.

They're quite a handful, I understand, already in the top form at primary school, and still expecting to be fed on demand.

Children?

HORACE RUMPOLE: Well, young Tristan and Isolde.

Oh, never mind.

Claude will probably be popping in fairly often to take them to the ring.

They'll come home, whistling all the tunes.

You know, I wonder if my room might be a bit cramped for you.

Yes, funny you should say that.

I had been wondering, all things considered, whether these chambers are just what I'm looking for.

Portia!

Rumpole, have a choc.

Oh, I say.

Oh, absolutely yummy.

Thank you!

Bullingham gave them to me.

Ick.

The mad Bull's in love.

You are a femme fatale, Portia.

Don't ask me to explain yet.

I'm not sure how it will turn out.

But I went to see him entirely in your interests.

That's very nice of you.

What a coincidence.

A matter of fact, I have just seen somebody entirely in yours.

What are you doing here, anyway, alone and palely loitering?

I was just waiting for someone.

He's not coming.

What?

Hearthrug is not coming.

And he is not coming into Chambers, either.

Why not?

Sorry, Portia.

I told him that you wanted to move into his little garconniere in Battersea and bring the children with you.

Rumpole, I would never have done that!

I'm very glad to hear it.

Anyway, he turned deathly pale and decided to cancel his subscription.

The rat!

Well, it was Henry and Diane I was thinking of, as much as you.

They don't deserve Hearthrug any more than you do.

None of you deserve him.

I was only considering a small adventure.

Cheer up, Portia.

In the circumstances, I think the time has come for me to order the Dom Pérignon.

Good heavens!

Méthode champenoise is a thing of the past.

Yes.

Jack, a bottle of your best bubbles, if you please, nothing less than the dear old Dom to answer the occasion.

Very good, Mr. Rumpole.

Aye, Claudius!

Oh, Rumpole, there you are.

I'm in the chair.

Care for a glass of the vintage bubbly?

Extremely well, thank you.

I just took a telephone message for you in the clerk's room.

Oh, really?

Well, if it's a murder tomorrow morning, I'm not really interested.

No, this was a rather strange-sounding fellow.

I wouldn't have thought he was completely sober, to be quite honest.

He said his name was Gerald.

Gerald?

Of course.

Gerald, yes.

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Said he was calling from London Airport, where he said, would I give his thanks to Mr. Rumpole for the excellent tips.

And he was just boarding a plane for a warmer climate.

Gerald said that?

CLAUDE ERSKINE-BROWN: Words to that effect, yes.

And then he said he had to go.

They were calling his flight.

Jack?

Yes, Mr. Rumpole.

Forget the Dom Pérignon.

And just pour us three glasses of Chateau Thames Embankment, small glasses, Jack.

Claude, I've just had an idea.

This is something you should do urgently.

What's that, Rumpole?

For God's sake, take your wife to the opera!

Hello, darling.

No, nothing, not even a betting slip.

I trusted him, see?

Ha!

So innocent.

We look after our clients.

But we're such bloody fools about ourselves.

You mean, you lost my 100 pounds?

Oh, it's not lost, Hilda.

I know exactly where it is.

It's on its way to a warmer climate, with about 300,000 friends.

The 100 pounds I spent on the new hearthrug?

Oh, that 100 pounds?

It's still in the account at the Caring Bank, Hilda, Colored Red.

You know, I'm not sure that I ever wanted to sit with you on a hotel veranda all day, drinking planter's punch.

Oh.

Well, perhaps not.

We might have run out of conversation.

Yes.

Indeed, we might.

So, things could be worse.

HORACE RUMPOLE: Oh, they are.

- What?

Oh, they are worse, Hilda.

What else have you done?

Well, I promised Detective Inspector Bellman that I had done my last case.

And I told a jury exactly what I thought of the Mad Bull in open court.

Rumpole!

Daddy would be ashamed of you.

There's one comfort.

What did you say?

Your dear Daddy, Hilda, has long since been called to account before the great benches in the sky.

I only hope he could explain his abysmal ignorance of blood stains.

HILDA RUMPOLE: Rumpole!

Yes, Hilda.

What are you going to be doing tomorrow?

Tomorrow?

Yes.

Well, I mean, I hope you're not really going to retire or anything.

I hope you're not going to be hanging around the flat all day.

You will be taking your usual tube, won't you, at 8:45?

To hear is to obey.

Courage, he said, and pointed toward Temple Tube Station.

Ah, Henry!

Mr. Rumpole!

Any chance of a small brief at the Uxbridge Magistrate's Court?

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