Rumpole's Return (1980) - full transcript

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- Hello, Henry.
- Good afternoon, Mr Cracknell.

- Any messages?
- Just a cheque come through, sir.



Oh, great. Where is everybody?

They're at the Chambers meeting
in Mr Featherstone's room.

Oh.

We have these get-togethers regularly
to discuss major policy decisions.

Very democratic.

Oh, and I've put your application
to join us on the agenda.

- Featherstone will put it to them.
- Oh, much obliged, I'm sure.

(Featherstone) Well, all assembled?

This will be...

Oh, I'm sorry.

This will be our first Chambers meeting
in the absence of a once familiar figure.

He's referring to Rumpole,
who's at last retired from the Bar.

Oh, yes?

This set became known as Rumpole's
Chambers, very galling for us.



For the benefit of newcomers,
I'll explain.

Rumpole's no longer with us.
He's given up the law.

His son has been trying to get him
to live in America.

It seems he's succeeded.

He has a son at
the University of Miami.

We thought we'd never get rid of him,
kept giving him farewell dinners!

All the same, Chambers isn't Chambers,
not without Rumpole.

I quite agree. We've at last got rid of
the stink of cheap cigars in the passage.

There do seem to be fewer villains
loitering about Chambers.

Do you know, I recall once,
one of Rumpole's clients

rolled up the waiting room carpet
and took it away in a holdall.

I shall no longer have
the embarrassment

of judges raising the question
of Rumpole's hat

as a disgrace to the legal profession.

However, l-|-l digress.

Er, Rumpole's final retirement, much
delayed as Uncle Tom reminds us...

He kept making his positively
last farewell appearance.

Like a bloody opera singer.

Rumpole's final departure has left
a considerable gap in our ranks.

You might say the loss of one
Rumpole has made room

for at least two other
members of the Bar.

We are fortunate indeed Owen Glendour
Owen has joined us from Cardiff,

with his useful connections
in car insurance.

Hear, hear.

They call me 'Knock for knock Owen'
in the valleys.

(Laughs)

Er, yes, I-I'd like to take this
opportunity to raise the question

of the other candidate who might
share Rumpole's room with you,

(Handout Owen.

Now, Cracknell has been with us for
the past few months as a squatter.

I must say it doesn't do a great deal
for the reputation of Chambers

having a man turning up at the London
Sessions on a motor bicycle.

Cracknell? Is that the fellow who looks
as if he's just dropped in from Mars?

I saw him in the Clerk's room.

I assumed he'd come
to deliver a telegram.

Oh, yes, yes,
I know you're all against Ken.

Well, erm, young Henry tells me that
Cracknell gets a fair amount of work.

That is absolutely right.

He's doing a long fraud with your wife,
then a dirty books case in the north.

Do we want dirty books in Chambers?

Probably more amusing
than the Law Reports, eh?

And Cracknell tells me he's keen to do
cases connected with Civil Rights.

- Exactly.
- What's wrong with Civil Rights?

Better than Civil wrongs,
wouldn't you say?

Of course, Ken is a radical lawyer.

I know that's the sort you don't
want to have the key to the lavatory,

like women and blacks.

Darling, what's come over you?

Oh, blacks! They tried to wish
a Hindu on us once.

I voted for you, old fella,
even though you're Welsh.

I've had the chance of seeing Ken
in action once or twice at Bow Street,

and believe it or not, Ken Cracknell
is a very attractive advocate.

Hello, Ken.

- Oh, aren't squatters invited?
- Yes, of course. Help yourself to tea.

You won't be a squatter for ever.

We've been discussing the position
of accommodation in Chambers,

now Rumpole's left.

Everyone's always talking about
Rumpole. I've never met the man.

(Rumpole) "Kentish Town mystery.
The Honourable Rory Canter,

"younger brother of Lord Freith
and wealthy Hampshire landowner,

"stabbed to death in Tube station."

My God, that is a mystery!

What's an Honourable doing down
the Tube like a common barrister?

Good Lord!

(Girl squeals)

- That's nice, Rumpole.
- Mmm.

- Rumpole!
- What's nice, Hilda?

Her Majesty the Queen

honours Mrs Whitehouse
and Mrs Thatcher's milkman.

Oh, to be in England now
that Maggie's there.

Mmm.

"Mr Canter had abandoned
his Volvo estate car

"and gone down the Underground."

The honourable gentleman
must have been a Tube spotter.

I'd wish you'd stop worrying
about things like that, Rumpole,

now I've persuaded you to retire.

Hilda, you did not
persuade me to retire.

His Honour, Judge Bullingham,
persuaded me to retire.

I lost ten cases in a row
before the Mad Bull.

I'm sick of leaving the Bailey

with the screams
of outraged relatives in my ears.

I couldn't have shovelled more
customers into Wandsworth

if I'd joined the Old Bill.

I think Nick and I rescued you
just in time, Rumpole.

You were looking distinctly seedy.

Huh, not half as seedy as my clients.

I used to sneak down
the Temple Station every night

like Napoleon retreating from Moscow.

But, Rumpole, we're here
in this marvellous climate.

We shall have Christmas
in the sunshine.

Yes, excellent climate I'm sure,
if you happen to be an orange.

Nick's inviting university friends
over for a barbecue, poolside.

He's asked the Professor of Law,
so you'll have someone to talk to.

Oh, what can I say to him?
I'm not a lawyer any more.

Why would a man abandon his car
and dive down the Tube?

Oh, well, never mind.

Can't possibly be my business now.

'Farewell the ancient court.

'Farewell the wigged troupe and
old judge that made oppression virtue.

'O farewell, pride, pomp
and circumstance

'of glorious London Sessions.

'Rumpole's occupation's gone.'

(Horns blaring)

Take me to Coral Gables, please.

- It's a sunshine day.
- Come again?

It's a sunshine day for you and me.

Praise to the Eternal Sun,
our sunshine message.

- You selling something?
- Sunlight!

I have no need of double-glazing,
patio doors or picture windows.

We might open a few windows
on your soul at Meet and Talk.

What?

We shall meet and talk as surely as
seeds grow in sunlight.

- We shall meet and talk.
- Excuse me.

I've got to get home,
my son's giving a party poolside.

Sunlight to the Children of the Sun.
Blood to the Children of the Dark.

A very happy Christmas to you, too.

(Knocking)

(Woman) Mr Simpson!

Come on, Mr Simpson.
You've got to get up sometime.

How are they going to do without you
down the Inland Revenue?

Let me in, dear,
if you're feeling poorly.

Go away, will you? Please go away.

This total stranger comes
up to me in the street

and hands me a sunburnt daisy
and suggests we meet and talk.

Meet and talk about what?

Well, it may seem crazy to you, Dad,

but people here like to rap
about garden life and such like.

Mmm, I thought of charging him
my usual conference fee.

You're going to have to learn how
to communicate with strangers

now you've given up the rat race.

- Oh, I'm not sure I like that.
- What?

The world I used to inhabit.
Cloud-capped assize courts.

The solemn temple,
great globe of the Old Bailey itself.

Penge Bungalow Murders and
the great Grimsby Fish Fraud.

Is that all it was, a rat race?

Erica!

Excuse me, Dad.

- Nick, what is this fluid?
- That's claret, Dad.

- Californian claret.
- Claret, is it?

It's not bad.
Chateau de Menthe Gulch.

Ah, it reminds me of the old days
to see you cooking on a camp fire.

- Remember the beach at Lowestoft?
- I must have been nine.

Good God!

- Nick.
- Thanks.

Don't you think Dad will be able
to make a space here?

I think he'll be able
to find himself.

Oh, I don't know. I might not like
myself once I've found me.

Anybody home?

(Erica) Hi. Come on in.

Dad, this is Professor Nathan Blowfield
of the Law Faculty.

Honoured to meet you, honoured
to welcome a trial lawyer from England.

Oh, am I a trial lawyer?
I always thought I'd passed the test.

This is my mother.

- Delighted meeting you.
- How do you do.

Oh, I'll get you some drinks.

Mum, Dad, this is Tiffany.
Tiffany Jones and Paul.

Paul Hayes, from the Department
of English and European literature.

- Nick tells us you're retired now.
- Oh, yes, I've dropped out.

I've bought a couple
of sunshine shirts and...

Hilda and I spend our days
bumming round the beach.

(Laughter)

You've found time to breathe a little?

Oh, strangely enough I used
to breathe down the Old Bailey.

Drinks, everyone.

- Miss Jones, is it?
- Oh, please, Tiffany.

Ah. What department are you in?

Statistics. I cover the economic side
of Nick's Department of Sociology.

Ah, yeah.

(US accent) How many one parent
families in non-supportive situations,

in inter-city areas
take to pinching milk bottles?

It's a lot of crap, isn't it?

Wherever we come from, we can always
choose between God and the Devil.

Can we? Fate dealt me an old devil
called Judge Bullingham

for ten cases running.

Anyone can choose between them,
as sure as seed grows in sunshine.

We must meet and talk
on this subject, meet and talk.

You Americans are so hospitable, Erica.

Well, erm, you and Dad are welcome
here for as long as you like.

For ever.

(Hilda) Do you hear that, Rumpole?

- She Who Must Be Obeyed.
- Are you listening, Rumpole?

- Er, what's that, Hilda?
- Erica says we're welcome for ever.

What do you say to that?

Have you anything to say
why sentence of death

should not be passed upon you?

- I'll tell you a bit of law.
- I wish my students could hear it.

Mrs Rumpole, I'm getting your husband
to give a seminar in the Law Faculty.

That's very thoughtful,
Professor Blowfield,

but I really do want Rumpole to rest.

There was this old Lord Chief Justice...

...an enormously unlovable character.

Used to order muffins in his club
after passing death sentences.

Well, on this occasion he was about
to pass sentence in the usual manner,

the Clerk said to the murderer,
"Have you anything to say

"why sentence of death
should not be passed upon you?"

The murderer said,
"Bugger all, me Lord."

The Chief turned
to the murderer's counsel,

a nervous fellow called Bleaks,

"Mr Bleaks, did your client
say something?"

"Er, er, 'Bugger all, my Lord'."

"How extraordinary, I could've
sworn I saw his lips move."

Poor Nick.
He was brought up on that story.

It was Winnie the Pooh to him.

Er, Mr Rumpole,

what would you say was the most
important case during your career?

The most important was undoubtedly
the Penge Bungalow Murders.

The Penge Bungalow?

Well, what did that decide, exactly?

It decided that Rumpole could win
a murder alone and without a leader.

Did it turn on a nice point of law?

Oh, no, Professor.
It turned on a nice drop of blood.

I - I just thought I'd slip round
to the cleaners.

All right then, Mr Simpson.

I know. I've sinned.

You're saying you're guilty,
aren't you?

How long you known this man, Hubert?

How long have you known Honourable
Rory Canter, the one you cut?

- I didn't know him.
- Don't lie to us, lad.

It's true. I'd never seen him before.

Course, I knew he'd come, sometime.

- So, you went after him?
- No!

Oh, what's the use?
They'll never let me escape now.

This in your handwriting, Hubert?

- Pretty strange sort of letter.
- Perhaps. To you.

It's written in blood, isn't it, Hubert?

Look, we've had the forensic
on this document.

You wrote this in the blood
of the gentleman you knifed.

His blood? No. It's not his blood!

Hubert...

Unless, something miraculous...

You're lying to us again, lad.
That's no use, you know.

Of course.

Nothing's any use.

They've got the power.

I can't fight it.

He can't fight it.

He tells the police he's guilty.
The knife's in his dustbin.

He's identified by at least
three witnesses,

and he writes some spooky letter
in his victim's blood.

The defence is as dead as mutton.

- A defence Rumpole would've enjoyed.
- Just my bloody luck!

This solicitor mate picks up
a fabulous legal aid case for me

at Hampstead Magistrate's Court.

I thought I'm going to do
my first murder on my own

and score a triumphant victory.

Now, no way.

In fact, I'm going to be
a triumphant loser.

- That letter in blood...
- The jury's going to love that.

You don't only knife a member
of the aristocracy,

but you use him as an ink-well
to write your correspondence.

It's a case that's going to do
my career at the Bar no good at all.

I must say, Ken, you're frightfully
ambitious for a radical lawyer.

Even radical lawyers are meant
to win their cases.

Erm, do you fancy a hamburger
or something, then we can talk about it.

I can't, Ken. Honestly.
My husband will have dinner ready.

French traditional
from the "Observer" supplement.

Ring him, tell him you've been
kept late in Chambers.

- A late con.
- No, I can't.

- Another time.
- Another time.

- You promise?
- All right. I promise.

Er, look, Ken,
about that defence of yours,

there is somebody who really
knows about blood stains.

Professor Ackerman. He's giving
evidence for the Prosecution.

No. Someone as good as Ackerman.
I could write to him, if you like.

(Grating noise)

(Woman) Good morning, Mr Rumpole.

- A letter from London, England.
- Oh, really?

- Have a nice day now.
- Yeah.

Rumpole?

- Something in the post?
- No, Hilda.

Just a little gossip from Chambers.

- You look happier today, Dad.
- Do I?

Where you going to?

Erica's taking me down
to the drug store.

Oh, what's the matter?
Feeling seedy, are you?

Don't be ridiculous, Rumpole,
to get ice-cream and candy.

She Who Must Be Obeyed
is beginning to learn American.

Now then.

(Muttering)

Ah!

"The Importance Of Blood Stains
In Forensic Evidence".

"Professor Andrew Ackerman,
MRCP, FC Path".

Lovely.

I wonder if the Professor's
ever received a letter

written in the victim's blood?

There we are.

Blood stains on clothing, on floors,

on innocent bystanders.

No. Oh, come on, Ackerman,
me old darling,

you must have considered this problem.

Vanished?
She couldn't have just vanished.

She spent yesterday selling her car.

How the hell do you disappear
without a car?

- Nick!
- Dad. What are you doing here?

I've just taken your name in vain,
borrowed a library book.

- Morning.
- Morning.

You're looking incredibly serious.

- We have a mystery on our hands.
- Mystery?

Fate's been rather generous
with mysteries lately.

Tiffany Jones seems to have
disappeared.

My girlfriend.

Oh, yes, of course, the statistician?

Do statisticians ever disappear?

She'll be back, I guess.
I don't suppose it's anything.

Maybe she melted away
in the sunshine.

Yes, erm, if you'll excuse me,
I have a class to get to.

- Be seeing you, Counsellor.
- Yes, probably.

Nick, I've got to talk to you.
I can buy you lunch.

Not in the canteen though, somebody
keeps dropping nuts into the salad.

What manner of stimulant is that?

It's the Pilot's Paradise Punch.
Try it.

There's no way of drinking it
without getting a nose full of umbrella.

- Listen, Dad...
- Where's the straw?

Dad, if it's about money,
look, just forget it.

There's absolutely no hurry.
I know you'll chip in when you can.

It's not about money.

Listen, Nick,
when I finally gave match point

to his Honour Judge Bullingham
and hung up my wig,

if I'm not mistaken, a great sigh
of relief went up in Chambers,

but now they've discovered
they can't do without me.

- They want me back.
- Dad, what are you cooking up?

I've received a letter
from Miss Phyllida Trant.

It seems they've got a murder which
raises a few nice questions on blood,

so the cry has gone up
from Equity Court in the Temple,

"Bring back Rumpole!"

You're thinking of going back.

- Dad...
- Ah!

What on earth is that?

It's a frozen fork for your salad.
Look, Dad, I wanted...

Good Lord! And this?

Thousand Island dressing.

It takes a thousand islands to make
salad cream and tomato sauce?

Excuse me,
I'll just "chambrer" my fork.

I just thought,
and Erica thought this, too,

I thought now we could really
get to know one another.

Oh, come on, Nick. You've always
known me better than anybody.

Besides, you wouldn't like
to watch an old man

dying of boredom in the sunshine,
would you?

- What do you want to do?
- I want to go home, Nick.

You're in our home, Dad.

Yes, I know, dear old lad.
But it's not mine.

Travelling narrows the mind
extraordinarily.

And what about Mum?

I intend to have every consideration
for your mother's feelings.

(Means) Rumpole?

(Whispers) Goodbye, Hilda.

Er, Gaelic, please.

'Gaelic Airlines, who offer you all
the luxury of the Bakerloo Line...

'...plus the element of fear.'

(Laughter)

Oh, come on!
What about that hamburger?

- Not tonight.
- Why not?

Claude's booked the babysitter.
We're going to Festival Hall.

- Look, Ken, I promise...
- What?

I promise I'll turn you over
in my mind during the Verdi Requiem.

- Thank you very much.
- We will be together tomorrow.

For a hamburger?

For our long firm fraud
down the Old Bailey.

- Who's that?
- What?

Up there, in my room.

- Good Lord!
- What?

I only wrote him a letter.

What have I done?

(Cracknell) Can I help you?

No thanks, I've got what I want.

- Don't think we've met?
- We haven't. I'm Ken Cracknell.

Ah, new in the Clerk's Room,
are you, Ken?

I hope Henry hasn't been caught
in the coffee money.

- Horace Rumpole.
- I'm not a clerk.

I'm a member of the Bar.
I was a squatter.

I hope you're not going
to squat in here.

I was a squatter until they knew
that you were retiring for good.

Featherstone gave me a place
in Chambers, your place, Rumpole.

I share this room
with Glendour Owen...

Guthrie Featherstone, QC, MP,

our head of Chambers,
gave you my place?

With full support
of a Chambers meeting.

By the way, that's my brief
you're covering with cigar ash.

R v Simpson, it's a murder.

Ah, yes!

A case where I gather from Miss Trant,
you're out of your depth.

I've come over to see if I can help
on the question of blood.

Thank you. It's my first murder
and I intend to cope with it on my own.

That's the spirit in which I took
on the Penge Bungalow Murders.

You've got your line of defence
worked out?

We'll talk about it in the morning.
Two heads are always better than one.

Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear.

I would be obliged if you kept
private reading matter at home.

- I get very sensitive criminals.
- That is not my reading matter!

Those are exhibits
in an Obscene Publications case.

Obscenity, murder! You're leading
an exciting life, for one so young.

I'll talk to our Head of Chambers
about you in the morning.

See if we can fix you up
with a little annexe.

I just don't believe it.

If he's back so soon,
I don't know why he left.

He left, because he lost ten cases
in a row before Judge Bullingham.

He got deeply depressed about it.

I only wrote him a letter.

It's probably just a visit,
he won't be staying long.

I gave you full warning.

Always bobbing back,
making his positively last appearance.

Anyway, Mr Featherstone wants
to see him, he'll sort it out, I'm sure.

And now then, how much longer
in your fraud, Mr Cracknell?

Another couple of weeks, Henry.

I'm afraid it will clash
with your Obscenity up north.

We have to return the brief,
then there's the murder coming up...

You'll be getting awfully rich,
for a radical lawyer.

I can't leave the fraud, Henry, so
I may have to give up the dirty books.

(Clears throat)

Horace!

(Laughs) My dear old Horace!

How good of you to look us up
while you're in England.

We've all missed you terribly.

As everyone says, Chambers just isn't
Chambers without old Horace Rumpole.

- Is that what they say?
- Hardly a day goes by.

'Our Head of Chambers
looks like an heroic Macbeth,

'forcing himself to invite Banquds
ghost to take a seat.

"'Would he care for a cigarette?"'

- Would you care for a cigarette?
- No thanks.

And you look so well,
so remarkably well.

I've never seen you looking better.
Hilda enjoying it there? I'm sure she is.

Oh, She Who Must
is perfectly content, thank you.

She was never particularly
interested in blood.

- I'm not quite with you, Horace.
- I've had enough compassionate leave.

I've come to fight it out
down the Old Bailey.

Horace, do you think that's wise?

You-you-you were looking
dreadfully tired, as I remember.

"Oh, for my peace will I go far
as Wanderers do, that still do roam.

"But find my strengths, such as they are
here in my bosom and at home."

- Horace...
- Ben Johnson, if you remember.

- Farewell to the world.
- Rumpole...

This is my home, Featherstone.

These chambers have been
my home for 40 years.

And, as you so aptly put it,

"Chambers just isn't Chambers
without old Horace Rumpole".

Rumpole...

I am glad you said that
about missing me.

Up to now I hadn't noticed
the red carpet,

cut flowers on the desk,
courtesy of the Management.

I poked my nose in the Clerk's Room,
champagne was flowing like cement.

(Laughs) Well, the fact is,
er...you see, my dear Horace,

your coming back would rather
rock the boat of Chambers.

I am back.

Since your departure
we've taken on two new members.

We reckoned you were worth
at least two barristers

so we've put two in your room,
Glendour Owen and Ken Cracknell.

I've met young Cracknell.
He's got himself a nice murder.

I might just be able to help him out,
well lead him perhaps.

- Ken's got your room, Rumpole.
- He was hanging about in my room.

Quite welcome, as long as he doesn't
continue to litter the place

with licentious comics.

How were we to know that
you were ever coming back?

It's a fait accompli.

We've given Ken a seat,

and Glendour Owen, who has a huge
practice in motor insurance.

(Laughs) 'Knock for knock Owen'
they call him on the Welsh circuit.

We've promised them both seats.

Well, can't you find them seats
in some passage?

- We've promised them a room.
- Well, rent more accommodation.

- Think big, Featherstone, expand.
- I'm afraid we can't afford it.

We've got to cut back,
reduce our cash flow.

England is in for four years hard.

Are you trying to tell me,
Featherstone,

in your devious and
political kind of way,

that there is no room
for Rumpole at the inn?

I'm afraid, Horace,
that that is exactly it.

I see.

Well, I know exactly what I shall do.

Go back to Florida?
Of course you should.

Huh, I'm sure we all envy you
the sunshine and-and-and

wish you many long and happy years.

Back to Florida?
No, I don't think so.

I'm going to give up being an orange.

I shall squat.

Hello, hello? Is that
Austin, Swink & Pardoner of Grimble?

Mr Handyside, please.

Did you say Handyside?
Not old Albert!

Ah, Albert!
It's Mr Cracknell's Clerk here...

It's about our Obscenity
in the north.

Mr Cracknell's going to be tied up
down the Old Bailey for two weeks.

- Miss Trant's in the case with him.
- Henry.

Mr Glendour Owen?

- He's doing a long rape in Swansea.
- Henry.

I'm sorry I can't oblige you.
There just isn't anyone in Chambers.

Henry, a moment of your valuable time.

Mr Rumpole, I am on the telephone.

Yes, to Albert Handyside who was
my Clerk when you were in rompers!

I'd like a word with him when
you've finished. Put him through.

- Will you be in Mr Cracknell's room?
- I'll be in Mr Rumpole's room!

Albert, Mr Rumpole
would like a word with you.

(Buzzes)

Hello? Albert Handyside?

(Laughs) Yes, it is.

How are you, Albert?

How are the tomato plants,
flourishing, are they?

Oh, yes, December.

Yes, I am and I'm delighted.

Henry tells me we're doing a case
in Grimble, looking forward to that.

Oh, he didn't tell you? He told me.

Well, I expect it slipped his mind.

Yes, I'll put you back on to him,
you can make sure I'm available.

Oh, yes, quite a lot,
I'm snowed under in fact,

but I'll find time to squeeze
your little Obscenity in.

Yes, so am I looking forward to it.

All right.
Give my love to Lancashire.

Bye.

Henry, Albert wants a word with you.

Quite like old times.

- Isn't that Cracknell's brief?
- Er, yes, yes.

Just erm, just having
a friendly look at it.

You must be Glendour Owen
by the sound of you?

Yes. I share this room
with Cracknell.

Oh, well, always welcome, of course.

But, er, I'm afraid things are
going to be a bit of a crush

until we get things, er, sorted out.

But you can find yourself
a corner...somewhere.

- Rumpole...
- Glendour Owen.

I was given to...

It seems Albert Handyside wants
to instruct you in this Obscenity, sir,

Mr Cracknell being in a difficulty.

Does he really? Good old Albert.

I'll try and squeeze it in of course.

I don't mind doing returns
until things get going again, Henry.

- Things, Mr Rumpole?
- Yes, my practice, Henry.

- Solicitors been asking for me?
- No, sir. Not exactly.

Seems the word's got around, sir,

about you losing all those cases
down the Bailey.

A protracted run of Judge Bullingham,
Glendour Owen.

That won't happen again.

How long will you be staying?

Yes, Rumpole.
How long will you be staying?

Well, I don't really know.

There's nothing the matter
with the ticker, thank God.

And a good intake of claret
keeps me astonishingly regular.

I could be here what,
oh, ten, fifteen years.

Gentlemen in Chambers getting
their own work, Mr Rumpole?

It's not in the best traditions
of the Bar.

"Not in the best traditions
of the Bar."

He sounds like Judge Bullingham.

- Rumpole...
- Glendour Owen.

Let's get one thing clear...

You're not the Glendour Owen,
the one that does the car insurance?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.

I didn't realise. I was a guest
at the Sheridan Club last night.

The Lord Chancellor
was talking about you.

The Lord Chancellor?

"That 'Knock for knock' Owen,
does all the car insurance.

"Make a wonderful circuit judge,
just the type we need in Wales."

- Oh, he couldn't speak too highly.
- A judge?

I've never even considered the idea.

Well, consider it, Owen.

Turn it over in your mind when you're
on the Tube to Uxbridge County Court.

The Lord Chancellor's
got his eye on you.

"The expense of spirit in a waste
of shame is lust in action,

"and till action lust is perjured,
murderous, bloody, full of blame,

"savage, extreme, rude, cruel,
not to trust.

"Enjoyed no sooner
but despised straight.

"Past reason hunted

"and no sooner had,
past reason hated,

"as a swallowed bait on purpose laid
to make the taker mad."

(HHdE) Rumpole?

Yes, Hilda.

- Hilda?
- Rumpole!

Where are you, Rumpole?
I know perfectly well you're here.

I can smell your cigar.

Rumpole!

Ah, Hilda. What a lovely surprise.

Why weren't you at the airport?

Well, I can hardly be expected to hang
around Heathrow every night,

in the vain hope that you're going
to descend from the skies.

- I wired you.
- You what-ed me?

- I sent you a telegram.
- A telegram? You certainly didn't!

Oh, well I must have thought
it was from the Inland Revenue.

This place looks like
a rubbish tip, Rumpole.

I don't suppose you've done
any washing up.

And why has the 'To Let' sign
been taken down?

- Because I'm living here.
- Why are you living here?

- Because it's my home, Hilda.
- Our home was in America.

We were perfectly happy there.

You were perfectly
happy there, Hilda.

Sneaking away like that,
leaving me that ridiculous note,

telling me to stay behind
and be happy.

I hated you, Rumpole.

What is at the bottom
of all this, hmm?

Hmm?

What is at the bottom of your
extraordinary behaviour, hmm?

I shall find out.

You can't hide anything
from me, Rumpole.

I knew it was too good to last.

"School Girl Capers - Number Four".
Where the devil is...?

- Rumpole?
- Ah, Featherstone!

You play golf with old Keith
from the Lord Chancellor's office!

Couldn't you do something with
that Celt that hangs round my room?

(Handout Owen'?

Breaking his heart
to be a Circuit judge.

Couldn't you do something?

There must be vast, lawless stretches
of Wales where he could be useful.

Rumpole...

Can't you see
I'm about to have a conference?

I hope this is a one-off, Rumpole.

Where the hell
is "Schoolgirl Capers - Number Four"?

Henry tells me you've helped yourself
to this Obscenity.

I trust you won't make a habit of it,
we haven't got the accommodation.

I've beet making a habit of it
for over 40 years, Featherstone.

(Buzzing)

Hello, Henry?

Oh, old Albert's here and the client?
Shoot 'em in, will you?

- I'll talk to you later, Rumpole.
- Yeah.

I happen to be sitting on
the Committee on Pornography.

I wonder if I could have a glance
at those, er, magazines later?

Purely as a matter of public duty,
of course.

Oh, dear.

This Alderman Pertwee,
Chairman of the Watch Committee,

Member of the Festival of Light,
President of Clean-up-Grimble Society

comes into my Sowerby Street shop
while I'm out at a Rotary lunch.

Mr Meacher owns Adult Reading Mart

with 20 branches
in the north of England.

'Eldorado, a promise of briefs untold.'

And my damn fool
of an assistant, Dobbs,

only sells him 150 quid's worth of adult
reading matter, films and visual aids.

Of course, Pertwee's round to
the constable with them in five minutes.

Mr Rumpole'll have your defence
worked out, Mr Meacher.

I'd like to go for this Pertwee.
The man's a hypocrite.

There's been nasty rumours
about the Alderman.

Mr Meacher,
this adult reading matter of yours,

is it put forward as something
likely to drive a young man's fancy

wild with unsatisfied desire?

To conjure up for the lonely
and unfulfilled citizens of Grimble

the abandoned delights
of the bed chamber?

Well, to be quite honest
with you, yes.

Let's be really honest,
Mr Meacher, no.

There is only one word
for this rubbish, off-putting.

The Prosecution could have done you
under the Trade Descriptions Act.

I'm not with you, Mr Rumpole.

Mr Meacher, what are the least
aphrodisiac conceptions,

the things most deadening to lust?

Income Tax? Flannel vests?
Fish fingers?

Woollen socks worn with sandals?
Party Political broadcasts?

No, no, in my opinion
they all come a very bad second

to "Schoolgirl Capers" and "Double
Bondage in the Tower of Terror".

Oh, and you can throw in "Manacle Me
Darling" as an additional extra.

- Mr Rumpole!
- "Schoolgirl Capers"?

There isn't a schoolgirl
in there under 40.

However, attractive as it would be
to point out that this material

is merely a boring waste of money,
I shall not take that line.

I'm very glad to hear it.
This is a serious case.

Very serious, Mr Meacher,

far more serious than that tripe
taken away by Alderman Pertwee.

That is stock valued at 150 pounds.

Stock valued above gold, Mr Meacher!

Our priceless heritage.

The birthright of the Briton,
freedom of speech, Mr Meacher.

That is how we are going
to win this one.

- You mind? I'm having a conference.
- This is my room!

Some other time.

I must talk to you about that murder
of yours, I've had a few ideas, bye.

"Words," we shall say to the jury,
"words must be free."

For freedom is indivisible.

Man has the freedom to read
the boldest speculations,

the most dazzling philosophy,
to question God,

to explore the universe,

to follow poetry into the most
exquisite sensuality

or the finest religious ecstasy.

So, must he have the freedom to blunt
his brains on "Schoolgirl Capers"?

I utterly deplore that rubbish you
are selling, Mr Meacher,

but I will defend to the death
anyone's right to read it.

I like it. I mean, I really like it.

As a defence, if I might say,
it has a certain amount of class.

(Chuckles)

Oh dear, oh dear.

What are you reading now, Rumpole?

The obituaries.

Oh, that makes a change, I suppose.

Change? I always read
the obituaries in "The Times".

"His Lordship,
Freddie Foxgrove, is dead."

Judge Jeffries without the laughs.

Is that really lively enough
reading for you, Rumpole?

The obituaries can never be
lively reading.

Are you feeling all right, Hilda?

I'm not sure, Rumpole.

Are you?

What?

Feeling quite all right,
because if you're not for any reason,

I asked Dr MacClintock to call in
this evening for a glass of sherry.

I've never felt better in my life.

Yes, well, he's only dropping in
for a friendly call.

You could discuss with him

any little difficulties
you may be having about anything.

I've got to get an early train
to Grimble tomorrow.

Grimble.

Isn't that where you did the case
with that actress?

Ah, yes.

What are you going to Grimble
for this time?

Sex. Well, some would say sex.

Some would say...freedom.

Oh, my God!

Splendid sherry, Rumpole.

Amontillado?

Pommeroy's Pale Plonk.

Doctor, I hope
you don't mind me asking you,

but why have you dropped in
like this?

I mean, apart from mopping up
the Spanish-style rot gut.

Rumpole, Hilda came to see me.

Oh, she's feeling seedy, is she?

Ah, she should have stayed
planted in the sun.

I told her she should never have
come over to England this time.

She was concerned about you,
Rumpole.

Do you really like that stuff?
I stick to claret myself.

As I explained to Hilda,
it's nothing to be ashamed of.

I don't feel ashamed
about drinking...

Everyone has their little kinks,
their little peculiarities.

You know,
sometimes a doctor wonders

if there's any such thing
as a normal man.

Do you?

Now, I have been married to Marcia,

as you know, for going on 30 years.

Yes, how is the good lady?

And I can't say that I've never been
tempted to throw the whole thing up.

I-I won't say for a gym slip
and a pair of pigtails but...

What you? You, too? Sometimes
I think the whole world's going mad.

But we've got to try and see this
in proportion, Rumpole.

Now, it's nothing to be guilty about.

Good.

Hilda was telling me
you're up north tomorrow.

- Ah, that's right, yes.
- Ah, the best thing.

A bit of a winter break.

Ah, Marcia and I went
to Malta last year.

You're not going with anyone,
are you, Rumpole?

- No, of course not!
- Well, that's what I said to her.

I said I didn't think anyone
would be interested

in going to the north of England,
er, with you, Rumpole.

Oh, thank you very much.

No, no, no. I hope this
has made you feel better.

As a matter of fact,
I feel considerably worse now.

You're not to worry, Rumpole.

You see, we all have
our little guilty secrets.

We all have, problems.

'I dare say. But why does this quack
have to work his out on my sherry?'

What's the use?

I can't fight against them,
not the miracle workers.

Mr Simpson, you've certainly
got a difficult case.

But Mr Cracknell's a barrister
who's had a good deal of success.

I've briefed him in a lot of cases.

They can change the blood.

They can change the blood
on a piece of paper.

How can I fight against that?

He's got a whole lot of acquittals
to his credit.

I have sinned.

L-|-l appreciate...

What can I do?

Mr Simpson, who had the knife?

He gave me the knife.

They wanted me to kill myself.
That's the cunning of them, you see.

So you had the knife, Mr Simpson?
Now, why did you use it?

I'm so tired.

Was it sex, Mr Simpson? Had he come
down there to make sexual advances?

Were you trying to fight him off?

That's the defence that appeals to me.

He was that sort of bloke,
Eton and the Guards.

That sort of character,
your class 'A' gay.

Please, I can't say any more.

Come on, Ken,
you'll pull off something.

You've always done up till now.

You don't want a silk, do you?

Not a silk, no.

But perhaps a very experienced
member of the Junior Bar.

You know, Mike, if you've got
to insult an aristocratic corpse,

grey hair might be a help.

An experienced junior? Who?
You got any ideas?

Alderman Pertwee,

did you visit the Adult Book Mart
in Sowerby Street

on the afternoon of January 10th last?

I did, Your Honour,
and I found books and magazines

of the most flagrant immorality
on open display.

Your Honour, I must object.

Yes, Mr Rumpole?

If the Alderman could restrain
himself from treating us

like a Sunday night gathering
in the Baptist Chapel.

Confine yourself to the evidence,
if you would, Alderman Pertwee.

It will be for members of the jury
to decide on the exact nature

of the articles for sale
in the bookshop.

And, Alderman, did you purchase
at that shop the following articles,

"Schoolgirl Capers",
volume one, numbers one to six,

"Double Bondage
in the Tower of Terror",

"Manacle Me Darling",

and the five films
the jury have already seen?

I did, Your Honour.

Now, just a few questions,
Alderman Lancelot Pertwee.

You say that this shop,
The Adult and Continental Book Mart,

is a source of corruption?

I regard it as a terrible
source of corruption.

Oh, standing, as it does,

between a betting shop and
the off-licence of the Grimble Arms?

Who is more corruptible, Alderman,
the punters or the boozers?

I object. How can this witness
possibly answer such...?

Oh, can you not? I thought you were
here as an expert on corruption.

Does not the Grimble Arms have
Topless A-Go-Go on the bar

as an attraction on Friday?

I believe that it does.
It's regrettable.

Well, don't you think
it's preferable to have sex

neatly packaged
in books and magazines,

rather than knocking over pints
of Newcastle Brown?

" (Laughter)
" (Judge) Silence!

I don't know. I've never been
to the Grimble Arms on a Friday night,

nor to any other bar, either.

I am a total abstainer.

Not from the bookshops, however.

Tell me, there are no convent schools

or kindergartens in Sowerby Street,
are there?

- No, there are not, but...
- Abide me no buts, Alderman.

Does not the Adult Book Mart
have written over the door

in large letters,
"Entry to Minors Prohibited"?

I can think of no sign, Mr Rumpole,

more immediately attractive
to modern youth.

Be that as it may,

there were no kiddiewinks present
when you were in the shop?

Not when I was there, no.

In fact, the clientele consisted
of three middle-aged gentlemen

during their middle-class lunch hour.

Oh, I know, perhaps they were all
Aldermen of the fair city of Grimble.

They were all middle-aged men.

- Of perfectly respectable appearance?
- I suppose so.

No one was actually
slavering at the mouth

or walking around with their knuckles
brushing the linoleum?

I really don't understand
what my learned friend is getting at.

The Prosecution says that
this rubbish depraves and corrupts.

Er, it's not rubbish, Mr Rumpole.

The Defendant will remain silent.

It's adult reading matter
of an exotic nature.

This 'unmitigated rubbish'
which you encouraged, Alderman,

by spending £150
on assorted magazines and films.

- Was that ratepayers' money?
- I took a float, yes.

Er, when I made this investigation
on behalf of my committee.

Oh, and do the ratepayers
of Grimble know

you are spending their hard-earned
pennies on "Schoolgirl Capers"?

Mr Rumpole, no doubt you have more
questions to ask Alderman Pertwee?

- A few, Your Honour. Only a few.
- Then, we might have them tomorrow.

Meanwhile, members of the jury will read
these books and er, magazines.

There's absolutely no need
to bore the jury, Your Honour.

The Defence will rely
on general principles,

our ancient freedoms, above all,
the freedom of speech.

Your Honour, I would like the jury
to read every single word.

There you are, members of the jury,

the Prosecution's always far more
interested in sex than we are.

(Telephone rings)

Hello.

Rumpole, what are you doing?
What are you up to?

Hey...

What?

Nothing special happened last night,
Hilda, we were reading the porn.

PornograPhY-

Well, I don't know how long.
Another night at least.

Hilda. Hilda!

(Man) Oh, very clear.
Thank you very much indeed.

And a very good day to you, too,
Mrs Pertwee.

- What did you call her?
- Albert called her Mrs Pertwee.

That's who she is,
wife of the Alderman!

She came about her divorce,

but wants you to use her statement
to cross-examine her husband.

Go on, you read that.
It'll straighten your hair, it will.

I'm used to a respectable business.

He's been keeping this young girl
up Pond End, been going on for years.

And she had to leave as she failed
to agree to a certain practice.

It's all in there, read it!

No, Mr Meacher.

I told you, we are going
to win this case on liberty,

on the freedom for everyone,
including Alderman Pertwee,

to please themselves,
to do as they like,

providing they don't do it
in the street and frighten the horses.

"It is not to be thought of

"that the flood of British freedom,

"which to the open sea of the world's
praise from dark antiquity

"hath flowed with pomp of waters
unwithstood, should perish."

(Clears throat)

Members of the jury,
freedom is indivisible.

You cannot pick and choose
with freedom.

And if we allow freedom for the opinions
we cherish and hold dear,

so must we allow the same freedom
to opinions we detest,

and even to works
of such unmitigated rubbish

as "Schoolgirl Capers"
volume one, numbers one to six.

Let those who wish
to read them, do so.

They will soon weary of the charms
of elderly schoolgirls.

You and I, members of the jury,

stand, do we not, for tolerance?

We are not intolerant
of Alderman Pertwee.

He has the freedom
to express his opinions.

We do not seek to call him
a hypocrite or have him banned.

Ours is the tolerant approach.

And if we are tolerant
in great matters,

so must we be
in the little trivial matter

of these puerile magazines.

For once we start
in the business of censorship,

and the banning of books,

at that moment we say...

farewell to freedom.

Eighteen bloody months!

Yes, well, try and look
on the cheerful side, Mr Meacher.

You'll be in an open prison,

hobnobbing with bent coppers,
twisted solicitors, all the toffs.

I wouldn't be in prison
if you'd done your job!

- You didn't like the speech?
- I told you to go for that bastard!

- "Go for the jugular," I said.
- It was Mr Rumpole's decision.

Crucifying the Alderman
would not have got you off.

Look, how can he be
on the Council, hey?

Oh.

A lay preacher chairman
of the watch committee

and that judge gives me 18 months
for defacing the fair city of Grimble?

That was a bit steep, yes.

The Station Hotel may have
a certain macabre Gothic charm,

but Grimble's hardly Venice
in the spring time, I grant you.

Well, I'm going to appeal.

That, in my opinion,
would be quite hopeless.

I don't give a damn
about your opinion, all right?

Albert, I want you to get me
a young brief,

somebody with guts who'll tell the truth
about Lancelot bloody Pertwee.

You're just like the old punters
I get in my shops, Mr Rumpole,

blokes what's past it.

(I Radio plays romantic music)

(Door slams)

Rumpole, is that you, darling?

What did you call me, Hilda?

I called you "darling".

Can't I call you "darling", Rumpole?

Oh, I suppose
there's no reason why not.

There's a rather odd smell in here,
isn't there?

Oh, is there?

Yes, a distinctly strange sort of smell.

Like a mixture of RC churches
and old flower vases.

Oh, dear, that's not very romantic,
is it, Rumpole?

It's, er, lavender water.

It's the lavender water
that you give me every Christmas.

I'm sorry, I didn't recognise it.

Since we met, you've given me
40 bottles of lavender water.

Well, I don't know what else
you like the smell of.

Case at Grimble was
an unmitigated disaster.

Very unsatisfied client.

I say, Hilda, have you got a cold
or something, been in bed, have you?

- What do you mean?
- You've got your dressing gown on.

Well, it's really more of a negligee.

Oh, yes, of course.

I made the mistake of appealing to their
ancient British sense of freedom.

Freedom's gone out of fashion
in Grimble.

Oh, God!

That singer appeared
to be in some pain.

Oh! That was "These We Have Loved".

Oh, we're not too old,
are we, Rumpole,

to enjoy something sentimental?

No,no,no.

You don't need
to read those magazines.

After all, you are married.

- What magazines?
- A dreadful thing about schoolgirls.

I found it in the magazine rack.

Number four!

Well, of course I had to read it,
it was evidence in the case.

In the what?

The Obscenity case
I have just lost at Grimble.

Good God, you don't think
I enjoyed reading that rubbish?

- I was never so bored in my life.
- Bored?

Is that what you were?

- Well, naturally.
- What, you didn't read it, did you?

Oh, no, of course not.

It was your work, was it?

- That's all it was?
- Absolutely all!

Well, I've got to get on.

No good hanging around
in the sitting room all night,

chattering away to you.

I've got a meal to prepare.

It'll be something cold, I'm afraid.

' PIN“?
' Hmm'?

Do you think...?

Did Rumpole leave the Bar
because he was losing all his cases?

Only in front of Bullingham.

It was a run of bad luck,
it was bound to end some time.

But he lost his nerve?

Possibly, yes.

I think losing your dirty books case
in Grimble's shaken him a bit.

I wonder what would happen
if he lost a really big one?

Hmm...

Oh, morning.

Ah, Ken.

Do you mind if I call you Cracknell?

I'm afraid I didn't do too well
at Grimble.

Henry told me.

Very dissatisfied client.
He got 18 months.

Oh, well, it wasn't your fault.

It seems Rumpole spouted
Wordsworth at the jury.

It went down like a lead balloon.

Yeah. I must admit, I found
the result a little disappointing.

There'll be other cases.

Meacher's got 20
of those dirty book shops.

They're all coming up for trial,
I doubt if I'll get a brief in any.

As a matter of fact, I was thinking
of asking you to lead me in a murder.

- What, me?
- R v Simpson.

I think you're absolutely right for this.

My dear fellow,
I won't argue with you.

I don't want some smooth silk
who'll make him plead guilty.

- Never plead guilty!
- I don't know what the answer is.

It's not an easy case.

Worry not, old darling,
your days of anxiety are over.

My dear Cracknell,
may I call you Ken?

The answer to this,
as in so many cases...

...lies in the blood.

- It's a miracle.
- I wouldn't say that, Mr Simpson.

It may seem miraculous to you.

A gift from heaven,
is that how it strikes you?

What?

My being here.

Oh, nothing more miraculous
than the Gaelic Airlines

cut-price budget special,

which is a little like being shot
across the Atlantic

in a rather unclean corner
of the Tea Bar at Kings Cross Station.

About the blood. It must be a miracle.

Mr Simpson,
if you have one tiny fault,

could it be that you are a trifle ready
to assume the miraculous?

I can't fight it.

Oh, you can fight it, Mr Simpson,
and you will fight it.

You're going to ask me about
what happened in the station.

Am n

They can work miracles, you see.

- They always told me they could.
- They, who are "they"?

I can't tell you that.

Oh, never mind. Never mind.

I'm sure you will be able to.

No, I was going to ask you
a few questions about yourself.

Now, you work, do you not,

in the office of the Inspector of Taxes,
Clapham Division?

Yeah.

Not a criminal offence, although
it'll hardly endear you to the jury.

I've always been good at figures,
since I was quite a kid.

Figures hold no mystery for me.

Oh, you like your work, do you?

Oh, yeah, I do, very much.

Oh.

Every Thursday after work,

I go to evening classes
in Advanced Accountancy.

Did you travel regularly
to your evening classes by Tube?

- I don't run to a car, Mr Rumpole.
- Yeah.

What about supper, when you went
to your evening classes?

I'd always buy a take-away chicken,

and then take the Tube
on to my bedsit.

Who'll talk about your character,
friends at work?

I haven't got any...
I don't know many people.

They call me The Duchess
in the Inland Revenue.

They what?

It's a bit of a joke on my name,
I suppose.

Mrs Simpson...the Duchess.

Yes.

- I suppose it's a funny joke.
- Yes, richly entertaining.

You've always been
in the tax gathering business?

Since I left school.

I came in as a tea boy
in the Pay-As-You-Earn.

Now, I'm number two accountant
in the Schedule D.

A meteoric rise.

Now, what about your spare time,
holidays, that sort of thing?

- Spare time?
- Mm-hmm.

Well, it's television,
and I bring work home.

Oh, do you?

Well, speaking as a tax payer,
Mr Simpson, Duchess,

couldn't you be a little less dedicated
to your calling?

What about holidays? Hmm?

Holidays...

I used to stay with my mother
in Worthing, until she was gathered.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Only this year,
I managed a holiday abroad.

I went to the sunshine, on a package.

Sunshine?

Not the Sunshine State, Duchess?

- You didn't go "there", did you?
- Yeah. Florida.

You took your annual leave
in Florida?

When did it happen, Mr Simpson?

When and where in Florida
did it happen?

All right. All right.
You can tell me later on.

Later on we'll meet and talk,
friend and brother,

as sure as the seed
grows in the sunlight.

We shall meet and talk.

They sent you!

- They sent you!
- Of course they didn't!

I do wish you'd get
your mind off miracles.

I told you, I came over on
the Gaelic Airlines budget special,

held together with chewing gum
and Welsh harp strings.

The only miracle, Mr Simpson,
is that I got here at all.

- Is he insane?
- Oh, really, Ken. Who's sane?

You, I, the learned Judge?

Or those screws in there who sentence
themselves to life imprisonment?

- All right, is he fit to plead?
- Of course he is.

And he's fit to be acquitted.

I see by your brilliant
cross-examination

in the Magistrates Court,

you're suggesting
that Simpson did it,

protecting his honour
against a homosexual attack.

It seemed about the only line.

The Guardsman's defence?

Isn't that rather old-fashioned
for a bright, young, radical barrister?

You don't think it'll work then?

I don't think the Guardsman defence
works particularly well,

if you have a client
nicknamed "The Duchess".

- Do you want a lift?
- Er, thank you, no.

I had enough excitement
on Gaelic Airlines.

(Engine revs)

You might make
a few tactful enquiries

about the Honourable
Rory Canter, deceased.

- About his sexual habits?
- Oh, dear boy, no.

About his religion.

Rumpole's ringing his son in America.

I'd say he's thinking
of vanishing back into the sunset,

as likely as not.

Handing out flowers?

Well, yes, yes, of course I'll try...

Listen, it's all...

It's all in your letter, is it?

Well, anyway, you sound happy.

Yes.

Yeah. Bye, Dad.

Oh, love to Mum.

He doesn't want to come back,
does he?

No.

No, he wants me to find
Tiffany Jones.

And she left no message, nothing?

Not a thing,
but at least she's alive.

- How do you know?
- Someone came for her things.

- Someone? Who?
- I don't know, I wasn't there.

Sort of crazy, the things they took.

No clothes, no make-up,
none of the things you'd expect.

What things?

Her maths books and calculators,
things she works with.

Meet and talk?
Yes. Why, yes, I'd like to.

Sure thing, you and I have all
the time in the world for each other.

You haven't done much talking lately?

Just exchanged words,
not real talking?

Exchanged words.

- Yes, that's exactly it.
- That's all you do on the outside.

But, never talk, one heart
to another's heart, beating as one.

They never know that,
the Children of the Dark.

It's just I've been feeling lonely...

Come with me, friend and brother.
The lonely days are over.

Call me William.

A family name's the first thing
we give up as Children of the Sun.

- Children of the Sun?
- We shall inherit the Earth.

The Master gives us everything.
He protects us with his power.

- His power for the miraculous.
- Miracles?

Oh, sure. He's not bound
by the laws of Man or Nature.

Well, I must say I'm interested.
I'd like to visit you.

To visit with us, is to stay with us.

Well, I don't know
what I've got to lose.

Only the chains of Darkness,
Nicholas. Where's you car?

Well, let me tell you, if you decide
to stay with us, there is a contract.

Do I have to sign something?

You just write the words of power,
but in rather a special way.

- What sort of way is that, William?
- In your life blood, Nicholas.

Everyone does it.

The Master, Nicholas.

A new friend and brother.

- The name's Nicholas.
- Be very welcome, Nicholas.

Be very welcome, Nicholas.

I'll go find the Parents in Love
to greet you.

Tiffany...

Tiffany!

- Nick, have you come inside?
- What are you doing?

- Paul's gone crazy looking for you.
- I'm working for the Master.

We're not supposed to talk
to outside people.

What the hell at?

On books, using my skill in figures.

- Tiffany, now tell me...
- I can't tell you anything.

The last guy they had for accounting,
he was a traitor.

He betrayed them,
that's why they needed me.

- Who was he, Tiffany?
- Some guy from England.

Nick, I can't stop.

Hey, you, friend, you own that \/\N?

Yes. Tiffany...

- Be welcome, Nick. Be very welcome.
- Tiffany, let me take you hone.

Don't be ridiculous, Nick. I am home.

Drive it round to the car port
with the other gifts.

(Shouting)

"'Nor for my peace shall I go far
as travellers do, that still do roam

"'But make my strengths,
such as they are

"'Here in my bosom and at home."'

'Huh, it's quite ridiculous,
of course.

'Home is Ludgate Circus,
usually in the rain.

'Home is breakfast in Rex's caff.

'And the friends and relations
of various villains,

'reading the lists
of forthcoming attractions.

'Home is climbing
into the full fancy dress

'in the robing room.

'Home, God save us all,

'is his Honour Judge Bullingham.

'Oh, excuse me, His Lordship,

'now promoted
to a senior Old Bailey Judge,

'entitled to try murder cases.'

Mr Rumpole,
do you appear for the Defence?

Er, yes, Your Honour... My Lord.

I have the honour
of representing Mr Simpson.

And may I take this opportunity
of saying what a great pleasure it is

to be appearing before
Your Lordship once again.

(M utters)

'l have the distinct feeling

'that the Mad Bull is even
less delighted to see me

'than I am to have drawn him
for the eleventh time.'

Very well, let's get on with it.

Mr Colefax.

May it please Your Lordship.

Members of the jury,
in this case I appear to prosecute,

with my learned friend
Mr Magnus Piecan.

'Moreton Colefax, QC. I knew him
when he was doing dangerous drivings

'round the Thames Magistrates Court.

'The poor fellow's totally ignorant
on the subject of blood.'

Members of the jury,
this case concerns the knifing

of a perfectly respectable citizen,

a member of a well-known family
in Kentish Town Underground Station.

It is a somewhat squalid story...

'Oh, Colefax, my poor old darling,

'you shouldn't touch it
with a pair of silver tongs.

...squalid motives have been
suggested for this killing...

'The Guardsman's defence,

'put forward
by young Ken Cracknell here.

'It never had a hope.'

...but you will hear the deceased,
known as Rory Canter

was sexually perfectly normal,

a young man of strong
religious convictions...

'Did you say religious?

'There, now, Colefax,
you may be onto something.'

- Benjamin Dole!
- Here.

You say you saw the deceased
come on to the platform first?

Yes, Mr Rumpole, he said that.

And then you saw my client,
Mr Simpson, come down afterwards?

Following him, Mr Rumpole.

No, My Lord,
he did not say 'following him'.

He said, and I have my learned friend
Mr Cracknell's note,

he said, "He came down afterwards."

Well, if you think it makes
the slightest difference.

The difference will become apparent
by the end of this case.

- Even to Your Lordship.
- Mr Rum...!

For all you know,

the Honourable Rory Canter came down
the Tube to look for Mr Simpson?

For all I know, yes, sir.

If a person ever goes out

looking for the man who's likely
to attack him, Mr Rumpole.

Oh, My Lord, I should say that
that frequently happens.

'I came halfway round
the world to find you.'

Very well. Just get on with it.

So, you saw Mr Canter
waiting on the platform?

He was sitting there, yes, sir.

He made no attempt
to get on the train?

He didn't get on it.

- Though the train was waiting?
- Yes, sir.

He sat there,
waiting to accost my client...

By 'accost' I suppose you mean 'sex',
Mr Rumpole?

'Oh, the poor old Bull
has a resolutely filthy mind.'

Oh, Your Lordship, we mustn't jump
to conclusions, however sensational.

I thought we were going to be treated
to the Guardsman's defence.

Oh, Your Lordship has the better of me.

- Is that a legal or military expression?
- You ought to know, Mr Rumpole.

You've used it in a number of cases
when you were practising regularly.

'Regularly? What d'you think
I'm doing now, playing Tiddlywinks?

Mr Dole, you did see Mr Canter
speak to my client?

I see that, yes, sir.

- Then the beginnings of a struggle?
- Yes, sir.

- Then your train left the station?
- Yes, sir.

Tell me, Mr Dole, how long it'd be
before the next train would arrive?

- I think about five minutes, sir.
- Five minutes.

Thank you. Now, my last question.

Good.

You never saw my client produce
any sort of knife?

No, sir.

He never saw any knives at all,
because his train had left.

Yes, Mr Colefax,
who's your next witness?

(Usher) Diana Revere!

- Are you Miss Diana Revere?
- Call me Smokey.

Were you going down into Kentish
Town Station on the night in question?

Yeah, with me mates, we was going
to Public Execution in Watford.

Do they still have those in Watford?

- No. It's a band, innit?
- (Laughter)

'Good Lord, the Bull's made a funny.'

Did you notice anything
on the platform?

- I saw two blokes, yeah.
- What were the two men doing?

Well, one was on the seat,
and the other...

Him what had the bag from the...

My Lord, there is no dispute that
that was my client, Simpson.

I can imagine
there's no dispute about that.

I'm obliged. What happened then?

We all got on the train, and I saw
the one with the carrier bag get on.

He come in our carriage.

Now, Miss Revere,
let me ask you this.

Did you notice the man
on the platform seat

when your train was pulling out?

Yeah, I saw 'im,
I saw 'im topple over.

- Topple over?
- Well, sort of slid sideways.

- He went all limp and boneless.
- Why do you think that was?

I thought maybe he was pissed
or on the needle.

You get a lot of them down the Tubes.

Did you notice Mr Simpson
in your carriage?

Yeah, he was looking in
his plastic bag.

Then, he leant back
and closed his eyes.

- Looked like he wanted to sleep.
- Thank you, Miss Revere.

You saw my client close his eyes.
As though he were tired?

Looked like it, yeah.

Members of the jury, you may know
that that is a very common reaction

to be exhausted after you've made
a violent attack.

And you may also know that
people are frequently exhausted

and in a state of shock
after having been attacked.

Miss Revere,
at no time did you see my client

writing on any sort
of scrap of paper?

- No. I didn't.
- Thank you, Miss Revere.

- Rumpole must be in his element.
- I'm not so sure.

He looked a bit grey around
the edges by the end of the day.

You're very sweet, Ken,
to have wangled this brief for him.

- It's just what he needs.
- I hope so.

I hope it does the trick.

Ken, Claude and the baby are going
to stay with his parents next week.

I can't get away,
it's this endless robbery I'm doing.

We might have that hamburger
you're always on about.

- Well, Rumpole, how was court?
- Terrible.

The client won't talk to me
and the Mad Bull's madder than ever.

I wonder what I'd get for doing
grievous bodily harm to a judge.

That's what you came back to.

- Don't tell me, Hilda.
- I will tell you.

I know now.
It wasn't even another woman.

Sometimes I think you care more for
Judge Bullingham than you do for me.

Hilda, if you really think that,

don't you think you'd be happier
back in America?

I don't know.

- I shall have to think about it.
- Is that a threat or a promise?

And so, Lord Freith, your younger
brother, Roderick Canter,

had a fiancée
and was engaged to be married?

Yes, they'd both dined with me
that night at my club.

There was absolutely nothing
of the Oscar Wildes about Rory.

(Colefax) Thank you, Lord Freith.

I suppose you have some questions,
Mr Rumpole?

Just a few.

Lord Freith, your club is where?

In St James's.

After dinner, did Rory drive
his fiancée home?

- To her flat in Chelsea.
- He lives in Eaton Square?

Eaton Place, actually.

- Another address in southwest London?
- Yes.

Lord Freith, have you any idea
what your brother was doing

as far north as Kentish Town?

No. As a matter of fact,
I've wondered about that.

Yes, so have I. So may the Jury.

It was nowhere near his route
from St James's to Chelsea, was it?

- No.
- Or from Chelsea to Eaton Place?

No.

If you're suggesting this gentleman's
brother went to Kentish Town

for immoral purposes, I think
you should put it fair and square.

My Lord, although I am well aware
the dirty mind is a perpetual feast,

I am making absolutely
no such suggestion.

I'm very glad to hear it.

You have told us your late brother

was of a profound religious,
er, disposition.

(Judge) He's told us that!

But you didn't altogether approve
of his religious views, did you?

I didn't approve of all he did, no.

Had he given away
his farm in Hampshire

to the particular religious sect
that he favoured?

He had. He was staying on
as manager.

Had he not also given them
a great deal of money?

I believe he had.

- All the money he inherited?
- I think most of it.

And was his fiancee
of the same religious persuasion?

- Yes.
- She was an American, I believe.

Yes. They'd met when Rory
was in Florida, playing Polo.

I believe she converted him.

So...

So, he gave all he had to the poor?

We have a pretty good precedent
for that, Mr Rumpole.

Except that you believed
he'd given all he had to the rich.

Didn't you, Lord Freith?

You believed that this organisation
was extremely wealthy?

I thought perhaps
they were exploiting Rory, yes.

Perhaps my learned friend would be
good enough to give us the name

of this alleged organisation?

Doesn't my learned friend know it?

The name is to be found on
the Prosecution's Exhibit One.

Usher, if you please.

The name is written on this
blood-stained piece of paper.

It reads,
"Sunlight to the Children of the Sun".

- "The Children of the Sun".
- Yes, that's what they're called.

And they offer blood
to The Children of the Dark.

We've been told that that document
was written by your client

in the deceaseds blood, Mr Rumpole.

My Lord, there has not been
one scrap of evidence about it.

Colefax has told us that
he's calling Professor Ackerman.

No man knows more about blood
than Ackerman.

- Your Lordship will find somebody does.
- That would surprise me.

Life in Your Lordship's court
is full of surprises.

I suppose that's why so many of us
find it so enormously enjoyable.

Have you any further questions
to ask Lord Freith?

This must be a very painful
experience for him.

'Well, it's hardly a night out
on the town for my client.'

May I have Exhibit Two,
please, Usher?

I believe your brother
went to Sandhurst?

Yes, he did.

And he spent some five years
in the army?

Until my father died
and left him the farm.

Do you know that this is
a regulation Army knife

issued to officers and men
undergoing special commando training?

I didn't, but I accept that from you.

And didn't your brother tell you

he had enjoyed such training
during his time in the Army?

I believe he said something
of the sort, yes.

Thank you, Lord Freith.

Thank you, Lord Freith.

- Your ordeal is over.
- 'Ours continues.'

What are you up to, Rumpole?

Cracknell, perchance
you wonder at our show,

then wonder on till truth
make all things plain.

- Who's the next witness?
- Inspector Wargrave.

At least you won't discuss
religion with him.

Oh, will I not? I'm not so sure.

Detective Inspector, you say
my client told you he was guilty?

That's what I've got in my notebook.

Because you have it in your notebook,
it has the authority of Holy Writ?

Mr Rumpole!

I suggest he never used
the word "guilty" at all.

My client told you
that he had sinned.

Doesn't it come to exactly
the same thing?

Oh, hardly, My Lord.

Every clergyman
at morning prayers says,

"I acknowledge my transgressions
and my sin is before me."

But, that is hardly an admission
of stabbing people in the Underground.

Inspector, this appears
to be the fatal weapon.

It would seem so, sir.

There were two sets of fingerprints
found on this knife, were there not?

Those of the deceased
and those of my client?

That is so, yes.

Well, what might that indicate
to you, Inspector?

It might indicate that there
had been some sort of struggle

for possession of the knife.

I am extremely grateful
to Your Lordship.

Your Lordship is always the first

to appreciate points in favour
of the Defence.

- Now, Inspector...
- We'll break now.

- What...?
- Be upstanding.

Members of the jury, it may come as
a relief in this somewhat sordid case

to know that England are 85 for 2
in the test at Melbourne.

'Oh, Bullingham, you old...

'That really wasn't cricket!'

Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear!

Why the gloom? I get the impression
we're doing rather well.

There's still the letter, you don't
write a letter in your victim's blood

not unless it's a deliberate murder.

The Master is not bound
by the laws of Man and Nature.

His is the power of the miraculous.

It's no use.

You're not going to help me,
are you, Duchess,

until you lose your faith
in miracles?

Well, I can tell you,
that is about to happen!

Prof Ackerman, have you ever tried
to write a message of this sort in blood?

For the purposes
of this case, I did so.

It is quite possible, yes.

Now, normally, blood clots
in two to three minutes, does it not?

Yes, but there would have been
a continuous supply of blood

from the deceased in this case.

Quite so, however, Simpson would've
had to have written this message

while he was still on the platform,

and had he taken blood away with him,
it would have clotted.

That is so, yes.

Now, the evidence is that he was
unobserved on the platform

for a period of about five minutes,
between the arrival of trains.

He could have written these words
in so short a time?

It is possible.

Oh, possible, yes,
but an extremely strange thing to do.

The suggestion is, you have
an extremely strange type of client.

'Sorry, Duchess,
I left myself wide open to that.'

Professor, we've known
each other many years?

Yes, Mr Rumpole, we have.

And we have discussed
a good many corpses.

Is this to be a time
of private reminiscences,

or do you intend to cross-examine?

And of course the jury may not
know as much as we do about blood.

So, let's get down to basics.

Now, everyone's red blood corpuscles
are the same, are they not?

They are, yes.

What varies are the agglutinogens
which must combine

with the appropriate agglutinin.

Mr Rumpole, I'm sure you
and the Professor understand...

The system can be made perfectly
clear to even the simplest mind,

by saying that human blood can be
classified into four distinct groups

which are called Group A, Group B,
Group AB and Group O.

That is exactly so.

Now, Group O is rather common

and flows in the veins
of 45% of the population.

It flowed in the veins
of the Honourable Rory Canter.

The deceased was class O, yes.

Yes, whereas my client
is of the 41 to 43%

whose blood is A.

He is A, yes, from the sample
I took from him.

Now, you came to the conclusion

that the blood that had written
this message was class O blood,

and therefore likely
to be Mr Canter's.

It responded to the test in that way.

You took a minute fragment of paper,
treated it chemically

to detect the antigens
and examined it under a microscope?

Precisely.

Professor Ackerman...

...suppose this message
had been written months before.

Suppose my client had joined
some dotty religious sect,

a sect which required him to write
a motto or an oath in his own blood?

It was not his blood group.

But suppose it had been,
and had been done months before.

Would not the antigens have
perhaps faded in their strength?

I suppose they might.
I hadn't considered that.

Oh, then consider it now,
Professor, I beg you.

The various constituents of blood
fade with time, do they not?

Yes, they do.

Blood becomes
more difficult to classify?

I would say, less easy.

Well, less easy, then, yes.
Thank you.

Now, you found that my client's blood
was A and that of the deceased was O,

and after that classification
you carried out no further tests?

No, I did what was asked of me.
The situation was perfectly simple.

Then, is it not possible
that after my client had written

this absurd message
in his own A blood and kept it,

the antigens would have faded

and the blood become less easy
to classify accurately?

That could be so.

And in that case, would not
the blood on this paper give you,

as indeed it did, an O result?

I think the hypothesis
you advance is a possible one.

'Ah, bless you, Ackerman!

'May you have many happy years
in the mortuary ahead of you!'

Thank you, Professor.

Er, Professor,
let me get this quite clear.

Are you saying that that letter
may have been written by Simpson

months before, for some religious
reason in his own blood,

and has nothing to do with this case?

I think that could be so, My Lord.

And that you can't be sure, in fact,

that it was written
in the victim's blood?

In view of the possibility that
Mr Rumpole has pointed out...no.

Yes.

Thank you, Professor.
I think I understand.

'My dear old Bull, I think you do!'

No miracles.

No.

The universe has recovered its balance.

There is a perfectly clear
scientific explanation.

I suppose so.

You can tell the jury the truth now,
Mr Simpson.

Well, there's nothing
to be afraid of.

Isn't there?

You've got to tell it, Mr Simpson.

For your sake?

Yes, if you like.

But also for the sake
of all the other lonely people

looking for miracles.

Now, Mr Simpson, I would like you
to cast your mind back to the summer.

- You went on holiday to Florida?
- Yes.

And did you meet someone
in the street handing out flowers?

Yes.

He seemed so clean and respectable.

We started to talk.

Yes, yes, go on.

Erm, ab-about loneliness
and how to make friends.

- He took me to meet his friends.
- And where were they?

In a big house somewhere
in the middle of nowhere.

They-they sang a lot and
they seemed to work very hard.

Later, I met their leader.

He was dressed
a bit like a clergyman.

- They called him the Master.
- Yeah.

And what did, er, the Master
have to say to you?

He told me I must work for him
in their accounts department.

He said when the Children of the Sun
took over the government of the world

I should have some great post
in world economics.

Mr Simpson, did you believe him?

Yes.

L-| did.

And you started work on the books?

- Almost at once.
- And what did you find?

Oh, there were hopeless
discrepancies.

A great deal of money was coming in,

the friends and brothers
gave all their worldly goods.

None of this money
was accounted for.

I came to the conclusion
it was all a gigantic swindle.

And did you tell that
to any of your new-found friends?

We weren't allowed any close friends.

They told us that would destroy
the loyalty to the group.

But, there was someone I worked with.

I told him one night.

He said he'd have to go to the Master
and denounce me as a traitor.

That's when I decided to escape.

Mr Simpson, why didn't you
tell all this to the police?

I was frightened.

I thought...

I thought it was a miracle.

And how do you feel now that you know
it was not a miracle?

In away...

...disappointed.

No miracle!

Perhaps you are disappointed, too,
members of the jury,

to find this is just another case
of human greed and human violence.

Mr Simpson had discovered
the secret of a gigantic fraud

practised upon the gullible
and the lonely.

Mr Simpson was to be killed,

or terrified into silence.

And Rory Canter, a fanatic disciple
of this bogus Messiah,

Canter, a man trained to kill,
was to be the agent of death.

You have heard of my client's
desperate struggle to defend himself,

during which the knife accidentally
entered his assailant's body.

And it was a desperate struggle,
members of the jury.

For Canter was more dangerous
than any thief or sexual molester.

He was a man who believed

he had God on his side.

(Liquid sloshes)

(Phyllida) Happy?
(Cracknell) Are you?

Yes.

You had a marvellous win.

- Of course, Rumpole did it.
- Yes. Blast the man!

Rumpole pulled it off!

- What's wrong with that?
- What's wrong with it?

It means he'll never go.

He'll be around my neck forever,

swamping the desk with his papers and
scattering ash like a bloody volcano.

That's not why I got him the job.

- Why did you get him the job, Ken?
- Hmm?

Why did you get Rumpole to lead you?

It's obvious, isn't it?

You wanted him to lose!

It seemed a hopeless case anyway.

You thought he'd vanish back into
the sunset if he lost another case?

You got him the job,
you wanted him to lose!

Yes, I did. He's over the hill
and I've got my career to think of.

As a radical lawyer?

- Well, yes.
- Oh, no!

Ha! Rumpole's the radical,
you're not.

You'll grow up to be a Prosecutor,
or a Circuit Judge.

But Rumpole never will
because he says what he thinks,

and because he doesn't give a damn
what anybody thinks about him.

And because he can win cases
you're afraid even to do on your own.

Oh, come on, Phyll, who do you
really care about, him or me?

You? Oh, you're a pretty face
around Chambers, a little bit of fluff.

A reasonably good spot of crumpet.

But don't ever think I'd risk a good
husband, who knows how to cook,

for you, Ken Cracknell.

(I Congregation sings
"O Come All Ye Faithful")

(Engine revving)

(indistinct conversations)

(Henry) Quiet, everyone, please!

Pray silence for our learned
Head of Chambers' Yuletide address.

Time goes so quickly,

it always seems to be Christmas
when I drop into Chambers.

Happy Christmas, Judge.

What are you handing out
this festive season,

an extra six months with holly on it?

Well, er, Christmas has put several
gifts in our stockings this year.

Rumpole has won his murder
at the Old Bailey.

Oh, did that surprise anybody?

It surprised Ken.

Rumpole does have a talent
for getting murderers off.

I'm not sure I find that
particularly reassuring.

Owen Glendour Owen has been
appointed to the Circuit Bench.

(Rumpole) That's splendid news!

My dear, Owen, welcome to the Bench.

You'll find it a rather lonely life,
I'm afraid.

But there are compensations,
you don't give a damn who wins.

Which, of course, leaves
an empty place in my old room.

Er...yes.

Well, we'll discuss that, of course,
at a Chambers meeting.

- Meanwhile...
- Meanwhile?

We'll discuss it now, hmm?

No, I-I'm sure it's a matter you'll
want to discuss with your family.

I don't think so, Guthrie.

We don't want to drag you back
because we have a gap in Chambers.

- I'm sure Hilda has views.
- Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.

Oh, well, Mrs Rumpole.

Since we got back from our holiday
in the States with our son...

Did she say holiday?

I thought they'd gone out
to grass for good.

...and since Rumpole
has got back in harness

and he has won a most important case
in a murder trial,

I'm quite convinced that his real love
is Judge Bullingham.

- Oh, really, Hilda;
- I'm joking, of course.

Most amusing speaker, your wife.

But I'm also convinced that my duty
is to be beside Rumpole.

So I shall stay in England
and look after Rumpole.

Are you sure, Hilda?

And we're all so glad to be back
in this happy family of Chambers.

Oh, lovely.

How long will you be staying with us
this time, Horace?

How long? Oh, who knows how long?

You know, I well remember
that awful old Lord Chief

when I was first at the Bar.

He gave an eighty-year-old man
fifteen years

for persistent theft
at Bodmin Assizes.

"But, My Lord," the old man said,
"I shall never do fifteen years."

"Well," the old Lord Chief
encouraged him,

"you must just do
as much of it as you can."

(Laughter)

And I will do just as much of it
as I can.

And a very merry
Christmas to you, too.