All language subtitles for Rumpole s06e05 Quacks.eng

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(Man coughs, baby cries)

(Buzzer)

- Patient Liptrott?
- That's me.

Dr Rahmat will see you now.

- It's my throat. It's tormenting me.
- Open your mouth, please.

- Wider. Say "ah".
- Aaaahh...

Good. Now, if you could just
lie down on the couch for me, please.

Good.

- But it's my throat, Doctor.
- Yes, I know.

Good.

Ah! Now if you could just slip down
your trousers for me, please.

Don't take them off entirely.

Beast!

- He's a beast...
- Is Dr Rahmat finished with you?

Finished with me? Oh, that's funny.

I am dying, Egypt!

(Vacuum cleaner whirs)

Dying!

Can that have anything to do with
the fact you were up until all hours?

Celebrating the elevation
of Hoskins to the bench?

Well... I suppose that's the rule
nowadays.

If you're no good at the bar, they make
you into a bloomin' circus judge.

I am surprised Uncle Tom
isn't Lord Chancellor by now.

- When are you getting up?
- Perhaps... never...

There's nothing today
except a chambers meeting.

If my clerk rings, tell him
Rumpole's life is ebbing...

...quie...

- Quietly away.
- Then I'd better call the doctor.

No, Hilda, please, not another old quack
like MacClintock,

who put me on a starvation diet
then dropped off the twig himself.

- Plenty of other doctors in the surgery.
- Ugh...

The General Medical Council? I never
thought it would go as far as that!

Well, we're all behind you. I can't
believe you'd do anything so foolish.

Of course, we've all been tempted.

But I wasn't tempted.
I was not tempted at all.

- That's the whole point of the matter.
- Oh, Doctor.

- Didn't know you were here, Doctor.
- That's all right.

A Mrs Rumpole called for a doctor.
She wants a call-round on her husband.

Oh! Old Rumpole!

He's a barrister, Rahmat. You'd
better go and do your best for him.

In all the circumstances.

And how is the great barrister-at-law
feeling now?

- Near to death.
- We are all near to death, sir.

But I am sure Mr Rumpole
will survive us all.

Rahmat, senior medical doctor. Not
as imposing a title as barrister-at-law.

Mrs Rumpole, your husband
looks as strong as a horse.

I certainly don't feel it.

Could that possibly be because horses
don't drink much Pomeroy's plonk?

The slightest noise,
I feel as if my head's cracking.

Temporary, sir, only temporary.

Now, if you will breathe in for me.

(Wheezes)

In, out, in, out.

And for the last time, in, out.

Well, there'll be no need for the flags
to fly at half-mast over the Old Bailey.

Tomorrow there will be rejoicing there.

Word will go round,
and crowds will be cheering,

"Our great barrister-at-law is returning
to us." What a fine lung you have, sir!

- A pleasure to listen to you.
- There's nothing wrong, is there?

I diagnose a case of the collywobbles,
brought on by food poisoning.

- Food poisoning? I hardly think so.
- For which I prescribe

two Alka Seltzers and a glass of water,
black coffee,

and a quiet day in bed
with kindness and consideration

from your charming wife.

- Oh, well, thank you, Doctor.
- Think nothing of it, sir.

Perhaps one day I'll ask you
to help me out of a bit of a hole.

By all means. What crime
were you thinking of committing?

No crime, sir. No crime at all.

Mrs Etheridge then caused
her white BMW vehicle

to skid off the Uxbridge Road and mount
the pavement, terrorising passers-by.

She then collided
with a municipal disposal bin,

wrecked a mobile shopping basket,

and finally crashed into a lamppost.

Questioned by the officers, she said,
"Do call me Bambi, darling.

"And can't we forget all about it?"

I would say this was
eccentric and dangerous behaviour,

even for a lady driver.

Er... Did my learned friend say,
"Even for a lady driver"?

He did, Mr Rumpole.
My hearing is particularly keen

and I heard him quite distinctly.
"Even for a lady driver."

Perhaps my learned friend can help me.

Is my unfortunate client
being put on trial for dangerous driving

or simply because she is a woman?

That's exactly
what I should like to know.

I am very sorry. I didn't mean to infer...
I mean... well...

Surely... I mean, we all have
the greatest respect...

...and, indeed, affection, for ladies.

Mr Govett, this is
a perfectly ordinary driving case.

Perhaps you could manage
to keep sex out of it.

You got me off!

You're an absolute sweetie!

- Please, Mrs Etheridge.
- Do call me Bambi. Everyone does.

Mrs Etheridge, I did not get you off,
the prosecutor got you off

when he started on about lady drivers.

How can I reward you,
Mr Rumpole, darling?

What about a naughty lunch
with just the two of us?

Can you get an afternoon off?

- I'm afraid that's quite impossible.
- Of course you can.

Do you enjoy scrumptious desserts
as much as I do?

Of course you do. All men enjoy
scrumptious desserts.

- It's settled. I'll give you a tinkle.
- I never lunch out. Pressure of work.

Tut-tut-tut! All work and no play
make Mr Rumpole a dull boy.

And I am sure you're not that, are you?

Goodbye, Mrs Etheridge.

Mr Rumpole!

Has anyone ever told you you're
a very cuddly kind of barrister?

(Mr Rumpole sings)

Ah, Rumpole, there you are.

Last week, I put up a notice, "Remember
the Forests of the Earth. Save Paper."

So you did.

Some... person has scribbled
across the bottom, "Yes,

"and don't waste it
on bloody silly notices."

That seems like fair comment.

I have certain responsibilities,
as head of Chambers.

- One is to the forests of the earth.
- Quite right.

- Something you might like to know.
- About the forests?

No, about our new pupil,
Mrs Heather Whittaker.

- She is a thoroughly nice person.
- We could do with a few of those!

Yes, we could.
She is no longer young, Rumpole.

She is taking up the bar in middle life.
She is here as a pupil to Erskine-Brown

- and will help him out in court.
- She doesn't work full-time, then?

I think you were away sick
when we agreed to take her on.

- Oh! I was dying!
- Really?

- I changed my mind.
- I want to make something clear to you.

Mrs Whittaker is not the type of person
to enjoy... rough behaviour in Chambers.

She won't relish people who scribble
obscenities on notice boards.

- It wasn't obscene!
- I'm glad you admit you wrote it.

I never plead guilty.

I have to confer about hanky-panky
on the National Health!

Through all my troubles and tribulations,
I had only one thought:

That I have an absolutely wizard
barrister-at-law.

Well... I can't work miracles.

- Tell me about yourself, Dr Rammat.
- Rahmat.

- Rahmat. Are you married?
- Was married, sir.

The memsahib died
giving birth to our son.

When you first came to England,
you went to old MacClintock's?

- Yes, he was very kind to me.
- And when Dr Cogger took over?

The same. Tim Cogger is a thoroughly
good chap with a fine sense of humour.

Do you know what they said about him
at Barts? He was a very fine joker.

- Perhaps not a brilliant doctor but...
- Are you?

- What?
- A brilliant doctor.

Most of us are not. Most of us are
at a loss more than we'd like to admit.

But we try to be kind and cheerful
and wait for the disease to go away.

Well, that's frank, anyway.

But I am afraid that Miss Liptrott
is not very likely to go away.

No! What a pain in the neck that girl...
If one could be so rude about a young...

Had you seen her before she came
that morning?

No and
I hope I never shall see her again.

- What does she look like?
- I can help you there, Mr Rumpole.

She got herself plastered
all over "The Beacon".

There she is, Mr Rumpole,
a children's nurse.

Looks a perfectly nice sort of girl,
unfortunately for us.

Aged 27, works for a wealthy
Kensington family as a nanny.

"Went to the surgery with a sore throat
but the doctor had other ideas,

"told me to lie on the couch
and undress."

- "Dr Ghulam Rahmat..."
- Rahmat.

"...who came to England 12 years ago
said, 'I'll fight this to the last stitch.

"'I have the best barrister
in the country."' Well, that's true.

- I never took a shine to her, I swear.
- All right. What's our defence?

Whenever I ask the client that, he
mentions a book. About some passage.

Our defence is the same as Forster's
fine novel, "A Passage To India".

- I'm sure you know it well.
- Oh, of course!

Just remind me of the plot, will you?

In it, an English girl
accuses an Indian doctor

of raping her in the Malabar Caves.

I told the client the tribunal won't be
interested in stories about Indian caves.

Yes, now let him finish. What was
the doctor's defence in that case?

That it all went on
in the fevered imagination of the girl.

- And what was the verdict?
- He was acquitted, of course!

And you will enjoy a similar triumph,
great barrister-at-law.

Let's hope so. As Mr Pinhorn says,
that was a work of fiction.

We have to deal with fact.
Tell me, Dr Rahmat,

your precise clinical reasons for
asking a young lady with a sore throat

to remove her underwear.

Phylli!

Darling!

No, no, let me.

- So the fraud's all over?
- All over and all convicted.

- Did you have fun in Swansea?
- Don't ask silly questions.

It's wonderful to have you back. Of
course, the children have been good.

But you can't crack a bottle to discuss
scandals in Chambers with kids.

- Have you been up to something?
- You're looking absolutely alluring!

- You have been up to something.
- Look, I'll just drop these in my room

and we'll go for a drink in Pomeroy's
to celebrate your return.

Scandal in chambers?
What is the scandal in chambers?

I don't know. I am sure there must be
some but I have no idea what it is.

- Claude.
- Yes, Phylli?

- Are you the scandal in chambers?
- Of course not. Not this time. Not ever!

How could you think such a thing?

- You've got new pictures.
- Those are my pupil's.

Heather. She came while
you were away. You'd like her.

- Would I?
- She's got grey hair and glasses.

She's well past her sell-by date.

You sound
as though you invented chauvinism.

I like women.
I like them very much indeed.

Not all women. Naturally,
I don't like all of them.

You, especially. Just you, Phylli,
in that sort of way, of course.

Mrs Whittaker would never tempt me,
if I were ever to be tempted.

Which I'm not. Not in the least.

(Knock at door)

- Henry. How wonderful to see you.
- You saw me this morning, sir.

- It's wonderful again. Is that a brief?
- What does it look like? Autumn roses?

Tomorrow you are on before
Mr Justice Graves in Court No.3.

(Henry and Erskine-Brown chatter)

Thank you, Henry. Phylli, darling.
Are you ready for that drink?

Yes, Claude, quite ready.

- Um... It's Mr Rumpole, isn't it?
- A piece of him.

I've been so longing to meet you.
I'm Heather Whittaker.

Erskine-Brown's pupil.

I've taken to the bar rather late in life,
I'm afraid.

Just as well.
The young can't stand the pace.

You're a legend, Mr Rumpole.
Of course you know that.

I am absolutely dying
to hear you on your feet.

Why don't you pop down to the General
Medical Council? A doctor's in trouble.

Hilda! I am home!

Sans Pomeroy's, straight as an arrow
shot from the bow.

You're wanted on the telephone.

By a woman who apparently rejoices
in the name of Bambi Etheridge.

- Did you tell her I was dead?
- No.

I said, "Hilda Rumpole." She said,
"Is your lovely husband home?"

And I said, "I can hear Rumpole's key
in the lock."

- What does she want?
- I don't know. You better ask her.

- Rumpole speaking.
- Oh, dear.

It's a bad moment.
You're with your wife, aren't you?

Ought I to have pretended
to be the Gas Board, or something?

'I can't advise you to appeal.'

You'll have to pay them yourself.

Of course! You can't talk now,
can you, Mr Rumpole, darling?

I'll ring again when you are
not in the bosom of your family.

An appeal would simply be throwing
good money after bad.

'What a thing to say! You're not
bad money, are you, Mr Rumpole?

'Lunch is on me. I'll ring again...
when you're alone. Bye.'

(Rumpole) 'Extraordinary thing.

'Women seem to be falling over
each other to ask me to lunch.'

With the lamb, Ch�teau Beychevelle
suit you, would it, Rumpole?

I dare say I could force it down.

Number 52. Thank you, madame.

Well, what are we celebrating? They
putting you up on the high court bench?

They are not putting me anywhere.
Where am I putting myself?

I have just about had it up to here.

Oh, dear, what can I do?

You can help me spend Claude's
money. I hope he finds that boring.

- The Chablis, madame.
- Fine. Rumpole, tell me honestly.

- Am I a rut?
- A what?

A rut.

- No...
- Would you call me humdrum?

- Would madame care to taste this?
- Just slosh it about.

- Am I run-of-the-mill?
- Not in the least.

- Yes. Men are all the same.
- Are we?

Perhaps not you, Rumpole, but then
you are not really interested, are you?

- Interested in what?
- What everyone else male thinks of.

Sex.

Is that the stuff that leads
to embarrassing telephone calls?

- Look at that wretched doctor of yours.
- Dr Rahmat.

A woman wanders in with a sore throat

and he is trying to get
inside her knickers.

Just like Claude.

Claude looks after people
with sore throats?

I'll prosecute the life out of him.
He'll be struck off for ten years.

- Who, Claude?
- No, Dr Rahmat.

What has Dr Rahmat
got to do with you?

I'm prosecuting him, that's all,
before the General Medical Council.

First rate, I shall have a foeman worthy
of my steel. Sorry, foeperson.

Yes, I don't know how you could
defend someone like that.

You know perfectly well I have to
defend someone like anyone.

- You couldn't defend a real snake.
- Dr Rahmat?

- No, Claude!
- Oh, Lord, Claude...

What's our unfortunate learned friend
been up to now?

Let me read you something.

Thank you.

"Barrister,
good-Iooking and young at heart..."

Hold on.

"In a rut, bored with the humdrum
of run-of-the-mill married life

"seeks new partner for the occasional
fling. Country walks, opera-going,

"four-star restaurant treats
and the pleasures of the flesh.

"Tall and slender preferred. Write with
a photo, if possible..." A box number.

- Yes, well?
- Read it for yourself if you want to.

No, Rumpole, not there.
Where I turned down the page.

Yes, where? Oh, I see, yes.

What makes you think Claude
is the Ionely heart?

He's a barrister and he's opera-going.

There are six thousand barristers.
Some must go to the opera.

I'm sorry, Mrs Erskine-Brown,

I don't think your evidence
is absolutely conclusive.

I found that in Claude's room
in chambers.

Oh, things are beginning to look black
for the accused.

Do you mind if I hang on to this
for half an hour this afternoon?

421.

Ah...

- 'Hello.'
- Oh, hello.

Is that the Naughty Marietta
Escort Service?

'Yeah.'

Would it be possible to speak
to Marietta herself, please?

'This is Marietta speaking.'

- Marietta Liptrott, I presume?
- 'Here, are you the newspapers? '

No, no, no, I promise you. Just
someone in need of your escort service.

'When's the function? '

It's not for me, exactly,
it's for a friend of mine.

He wants to take you along
to add a little colour

to the Ladies Night
at the Lawyers As Christians Society.

I'll be in touch with the arrangements.

Nice to talk to you, Miss Liptrott.

Rumpole,
is this your idea of a joke?

You should not listen
to a private conversation.

- I couldn't help overhearing.
- Of course you could.

You were using chambers facilities
to telephone an escort agency.

Rumpole, you are a married man.

Oh, that fact has not escaped
my attention.

Well, don't you think you ought to make
a clean breast of this to Hilda?

A clean breast of what?

The fact that you are troubled
by these sort of, well, needs.

Ballard, when you are next troubled
by the need to talk absolute balderdash,

why don't you make a clean breast
of it to Matey?

Have you finished
with that wretched magazine?

Yes, Exhibit A, thank you.

Most helpful.

Well, what are you going to do,
confront the unfortunate Claude?

Confront him? No good at all.

He'd pretend it wasn't him,
or something devious.

No, I shall set a trap for him and leave
him absolutely no way of escape.

Poor old Claude. Poor old Dr Rahmat.

What chance has either of them got?

What's all that?

Oh, I'm studying medicine.

If all else fails,
I may set up as a quack.

- Sorry, it's only the rut.
- That's all right, darling.

Anything interesting in the post
this morning?

No, absolutely nothing.

Nothing from anyone tall and slender?

This one's from HM Inspector of Taxes.
Bloomsbury District.

- I don't know if he's tall and slender.
- Or if he likes country walks.

- Sorry?
- Thinking of going on a country walk?

You know I hate country walks.
You get your shoes dirty.

I know you didn't mean walks.
That's not what you had in mind.

Phylli,
I'm not entirely following your drift.

I'll let you read your letters.
I hope they're from fat people.

They're all circulars.
Bills and things, honestly.

And the one you threw away?

I saw you throw a letter
straight into the waste-paper basket.

I haven't seen you move
so quickly for years.

- If you want to know what it was, look.
- Oh, no, please don't bother.

We're having dinner
with the Arthurian-Daybells.

Unless you've fixed up a treat
in some four-star restaurant.

"Are your pipes fully lagged
for the winter?

"One call from our Lag-U-Man
prevents frozen-tap misery."

There, is that what you wanted to see?

Oh, very clever, Claude,
very clever indeed.

You think you've wormed your way
out of it again, don't you?

Your missus quite all right, is she?

Of course. Perfectly all right.

- She didn't seem to notice me at all.
- Well, I suppose not.

I got in early today
to do some extra practice.

I'm not usually here before the clerks.

Your missus seems to have got
some strange ideas into her head.

- Oh, why do you say that?
- We had a fellow in chambers, Ibotson.

Ibby Ibotson we used to call him,
most charming fellow.

But his missus got the idea
into her head

that she was the reincarnation
of Nell Gwynne.

She used to come into the clerks' room
and offer to sell us oranges.

Poor old Ibby, he had to leave the bar
and take her to live in Littlehampton.

- I'm not sure if that cured her.
- Uncle Tom!

There's nothing wrong with Phyllida.

Oh, well, if you say so.

It's just a... sort of a joke
we have together, that's all.

Oh, really? How frightfully funny.

I've arranged for you to see Dr Cogger.

Oh, why on earth?
My health is excellent.

- Thanks to my sensible lifestyle.
- Marguerite Ballard rang this morning.

She said that Sam was very worried
about your health.

That you'd been acting
rather strangely lately.

What have you been doing strange?

- I suppose phoning up escorts.
- What did you say?

I said,
I suppose I was feeling out of sorts.

Well, if you're feeling out of sorts,
stop complaining to me.

I've arranged for you to see
Dr Cogger at morning surgery.

- Looking for a friend?
- Really! I don't know what you mean.

Lots of people advertise for friends
in this.

You take "Casanova" regularly?

Oh, no.

As a matter of fact, the cleaner found it
in a doctor's waste-paper basket.

She was going to put it out,
but I thought I'd just have a look.

Ah, Dr Cogger's free, is he?

I gather from your wife
you have some sort of problem.

Failing eyesight, perhaps.

I saw you in the Savoy Grill,
I raised my glass to you,

but you didn't recognise me.

The Savoy Grill? It's a bit
out of the class of a struggling GP.

- Then it wasn't you?
- I hardly think so.

Now, tell me why your wife
made this appointment?

Well, somebody told her I was behaving
rather strangely in Chambers.

Behaving strangely?
What sort of strangely?

Ringing up escort agencies.

Escort agencies?

But why ever should you do that?

I suppose they thought
I needed an escort.

You mean young girls to take out
to dinner? That sort of thing?

Yes, that sort of thing.

My dear Mr Rumpole, I shouldn't let
that worry you in the least.

A lot of men, perfectly decent chaps
in my experience,

feel the need of young, fresh...
well, young company occasionally.

It doesn't mean they're sick in any way.

- Is that what you think?
- Oh, yes, I do, quite honestly.

Oh, then you're probably familiar
with this friendly little magazine.

- I don't think so.
- Are you sure?

It's full of advertisements for escorts,

companions, people for a night
out on the town. That sort of thing.

Is it? Well, it certainly seems
to have interested you.

Yes, your receptionist told me that it
was found in one of the doctor's rooms.

Mr Rumpole,
my partners are all big boys now.

I really can't be expected
to nanny them.

Perhaps I should have, when I think of
the trouble Rahmat's got himself into.

Now, what would you say
your problem is medically?

Medically, I can't sleep.

I seem to wake up at one in the morning
and worry about poor old Dr Rahmat.

I suppose you'll give him
an excellent character.

Well um... That's a little awkward.

I'll say everything I can for him,
of course,

but I've been asked
to be a witness for the prosecution.

Ah.

Look, I'll write you out some pills.

Phobomorin, perfectly harmless.

Phobomorin?

"Not poppy nor mandragora
nor all the drowsy syrups of the world

"would lay a medicine me to that sweet
sleep which I owedest yesterday."

I know, it's distressing for all of us
when a doctor goes off the rails.

Just a few chocs, Miss Dankwerts.

Really, you shouldn't, Mr Kellaway.
They are naughty, but irresistible.

A little goodwill present
from Marchmain's Medicines.

You've always been so helpful.
Now, is Dr Cogger free?

Yes, I'm sure. You've finished
with Dr Cogger, haven't you?

Oh, yes.

For the moment.

- Can I help you, Mrs Erskine-Brown?
- I'm going to borrow Diane's typewriter.

I'll be going home, then.

Mrs Erskine-Brown,
I said I was going home.

- Don't let me stop you.
- I'd be glad if you did.

Goodnight, Henry.

The wife having invited the Chair
of the Ways and Means over for a bite

to discuss rubbish disposal
in the borough and matters arising.

It's not the sort of thing one hurries
home to Mrs Erskine-Brown, honestly.

I mean, going home's probably
a different matter for you entirely.

You go home
to Mr Erskine-Brown and the kiddies.

Henry, are you trying to tell me
you've got problems?

Oh. Well... yes.

If you've got problems,
keep them to yourself.

I've got problems up to here. I can't
manage another person's problems.

Is that clear?

If that's the way you feel,
Mrs Erskine-Brown.

"Dear barrister,

"I am slim, intelligent
and considered attractive.

"I am also bored
with the humdrum of married life.

"I am absolutely crazy about the opera
and country walks.

"I am busy at the moment, but
suggest we meet a week next Thursday

"at a place convenient to you.
The Temple Churchyard at 6pm.

"Shall we both wear white carnations?

"I am looking forward eagerly
to the ensuing fun and games.

"Yours sincerely, In A Rut."

Oh, Doctor!

Dr Rahmat!

Ah, the great barrister-at-law!
Looking extremely fit, if I may say so.

I wanted to see you,
there's a question I should've asked.

Mr Pinhorn's been trying to get in touch
with you at the surgery.

Alas, I am seldom there these days.

The patients don't seem too keen
on seeing me.

But shall we walk along?
I have an appointment.

It's about Dr Cogger. Did you and he
ever quarrel about anything?

Look, if I'm going to defend you,
you've got to trust me.

Well, yes, we did have
a few words once. About drugs.

Drugs?

He was always wanting us
to prescribe new drugs.

Very expensive, from Marchmain's.
They are always experimenting.

So I said to him, my patients
would be just as well off

with a few kind words
and a couple of aspirins.

And what was his reaction to that?

Oh, poor old Tim
got into a most terrible bate.

He went as far as to say
that he didn't want partners

who were so pig-ignorant
on the subject of new drugs.

I'm sure it was all said in the heat
of the moment and he didn't mean it.

Well, I am most reluctant to part,
but I have an appointment.

I'll come in,
you can buy me a beer or something.

It would be such a pleasure.
Some other time.

This appointment
is of a rather private nature.

(Sitar music)

(Phone rings)

- Hello.
- 'Is Horace there?

'This is Bambi speaking.'

This is a recorded message.

Sorry. We are not available.
Leave your name and number,

we will contact you on our return
from Tasmania.

Beep!

This is a distressing case
of a doctor's violent

and unprovoked sexual assault
upon a young woman patient.

(Rumpole)
'Totally surrounded by quacks.

'Quacks who save their patients' lives

'or launch them into eternity
with one slip of the scalpel.

'OId quacks who applied leeches
as a cure for pneumonia.

'Quacks who thought sex made
you blind, and quacks as judges.

'Waiting to decide the professional life
or death of good Dr Ghulam Rahmat.

'Oh, the quack in charge,
Sir Hector MacAuliffe.

'Sawbones by appointment to Royalty.

'The grim look of a man who starts
the day with porridge and prayers.

'What on earth has poor old Rahmat
got to look so cheerful about?

'It can't be the way our Portia
is opening her case.'

Dr Rahmat then put his hand
between her legs, tried to kiss her

and suggested there was time
for a quick one.

Meaning sexual intercourse,
Mrs Erskine-Brown?

This is what
we ask the committee to infer.

Miss Liptrott had to struggle to
free herself from the doctor's embraces,

and when she pulled her clothes
back on, she fled from the room.

She was still screaming, "The beast,"
in the reception area

where she was seen by waiting patients
and Miss Dankwerts, the receptionist.

After the incident, she suffered
extreme bouts of nervous depression

and was treated for that complaint
by Dr Cogger,

a member of the practice
I shall call as a witness.

She puts the case most fairly, and old
Tim Cogger will be fair to me, also.

Dr Cogger is an extremely busy
General Practitioner.

Of course, Mrs Erskine-Brown.
Dr Cogger is well-known to most of us.

He has to get away to his practice.

Any objection to my calling him
before Miss Liptrott?

Oh, that suits us.

If I can blast Cogger out of the water,
we'll have an easier job with Marietta.

No need to blast anyone
out of the water.

He must not
attack poor old Tim Cogger.

Do tell Rahmat to put a sock in it,
will you?

I have no objection to my learned friend
calling Dr Cogger first.

Absolutely not.

Dr Cogger, please.

Is Dr Rahmat a good doctor,
in your view?

I've always found him so,
within his limitations.

So if a young woman patient came to
a competent doctor with a sore throat,

can you think of any good clinical
reason why he should ask her

to lie down on a couch
and remove her knickers?

- I'm afraid I can't.
- Thank you very much, Dr Cogger.

Dr Cogger.

You are no doubt familiar
with infectious mononucleosis,

known as glandular fever?

Of course.

Is it not so prevalent
among young people that is it called

the kissing disease?

I think you may take it, Mr Rumpole,
that we all know what glandular fever is.

I would have thought so, sir. That is
why I can't understand anyone thinking

Dr Rahmat's method of examination
in any way peculiar.

Is not a symptom
of glandular fever a sore throat?

- It can be.
- It may be the patient's only complaint.

- That may happen.
- So if you suspect glandular fever,

you might look for other signs such as
swellings in the armpits and the groin?

- You might.
- A competent doctor would do so.

- If he suspected mononucleosis, yes.
- Yes.

So that if a young lady complaining of a
sore throat came to a competent doctor,

he might well ask her
to lie on the couch

and remove her knickers
so that he could examine her groin.

It's possible.

Dr Cogger, are you here to assist
the committee by telling us the truth?

Yes, of course.

Then why did you tell my learned friend

that you know of no reason
why Dr Rahmat

should examine her
in the way described?

I suppose the complaint
you're suggesting didn't occur to me.

I see. You mean that
you are a competent doctor

and like Dr Rahmat,
within your limitations,

and your limitations lead you
to forget the odd disease occasionally.

I hope, Mr Rumpole,
you're not suggesting

that a routine examination
by a competent doctor

includes trying to kiss his patient

and suggesting there
might be time for a quick one.

At this point, sir,
I am suggesting nothing.

Dr Cogger, you said that you were
treating Miss Liptrott for nervous strain.

- Did you give her a couple of aspirins?
- No, Phobomorin, as I remember.

Ah, Phobomorin!

Yes, that seems to be a favourite
of yours. Is this an expensive drug?

I believe it is.
I haven't looked up the price lately.

And is it supplied by the firm
of manufacturing chemists

whose representative buys you
luncheon at the Savoy Hotel?

Peter Kellaway is a personal friend.

We lunch together occasionally.

The last time you lunched, who paid?

- I can't remember.
- Oh, well, do try to think.

It may have been Peter.

Or his company, Marchmain's,
the manufacturing chemist?

Mr Rumpole,

we are here to decide if your client
sexually assaulted his patient.

What on earth has Dr Cogger's lunches
at the Savoy got to do with it?

I quite agree, sir, these questions
can't possibly be relevant.

You said that Dr Rahmat
had certain limitations.

Did you mean that he was
unwilling to prescribe certain drugs?

We had some disagreements, yes.
I thought his treatments old-fashioned.

He did not want to prescribe
expensive drugs from Marchmain's?

I suppose some drugs we disagreed
about came from Marchmain's, yes.

Yes. Tell me.

Did you only get four-star luncheons

or did a little cash
change hands occasionally?

Perhaps I should warn the witness,
Dr Cogger,

you are not obliged to answer any
questions which might incriminate you.

- Do you follow?
- I do.

- I prefer not to answer the question.
- Don't be too rough, sir.

You can't make an omelette
without breaking eggs.

And seeing that Dr Rahmat refused
to take part in your prescription racket,

you wanted him out of the practice.

It's very hard to get rid of a partner,
as you know, Mr Rumpole.

Very hard, unless, of course,

you can have him found guilty
of professional misconduct.

Mr Rumpole, you're not suggesting
I went into his room

and tempted him to seduce me,
are you?

Would you just take a look at that,
please?

Oh! What are you doing
to the poor chap, sir?

Wait and see.

Does that not appear to be an
advertisement for an escort service?

It would seem so.

Do you see the photo of the young lady
who calls herself Naughty Marietta?

Yes, I do.

Is not that Miss Marietta Liptrott,
the complainant in this case?

The young lady who you say you are
treating for a nervous disorder?

- Really, there is no need for this, sir.
- Sshh!

- It looks like her.
- It is her.

The so-called children's nurse
we hear so much about

goes to restaurants for money.
Rather like you, Dr Cogger.

- What are you suggesting?
- You know perfectly well, don't you?

I am suggesting, sir,
that you paid this young lady

to create that scene
in Dr Rahmat's consulting room.

That is absolutely ridiculous.

I didn't even know of Miss Liptrott
until after the incident took place.

Did you not?

The incident we hear of took place
on August 13th of this year.

Look at the front of that "Casanova"
magazine. What is the date on it?

- July.
- July, yes.

And we know
where the magazine was found.

- Then he asked me to lie on the couch.
- Did that strike you as rather strange?

- Not really, not at the time.
- Did you lie on the couch?

Oh, yeah, he said he just wanted to see
if I had any swellings.

Would I mind him feeling?
And I said no.

Did he remove your knickers?

Er... No,
I think I may have pulled them down.

And then? What happened then?

I'm not quite sure. Er...

I think he examined me, like, and...

then he went to wash his hands
at the basin in the corner.

- What did you do?
- Oh!

I ran screaming out the door.

- What made you do that?
- I don't know, really. Er...

Well, I had been up late
with this gentleman.

He kept me talking half the night
about mortgage rates.

I was overtired, my nerves were bad,

I suppose I just lost control of myself.

Miss Liptrott, you made a statement
to the General Medical Council

to the effect that Dr Rahmat
had made improper advances to you.

I'd made such a fuss in the surgery,
and stuff,

I thought I had to give
some reason for it.

But I always meant
to tell the truth when I got here.

What is the truth, Miss Liptrott?

The truth is that Dr Rahmat always
behaved like a proper gentleman.

We've won.
Portia's going to throw in her hand.

Sir, in view of these answers,

we do not feel it would be right
to continue with the case.

Mr Rumpole, during the course
of your cross-examination,

you made certain serious allegations
against Dr Cogger.

Withdrawn, sir, unreservedly.

Oh, do shut up.

Yes, very well. They're withdrawn.

As far as we are concerned, Dr Cogger
is as pure as the driven... slush.

- What was that?
- Snow, sir, driven snow, I said.

Thank you, Mr Rumpole,
and now, Miss Marietta Liptrott...

The next time you are feeling overtired,

please resist the temptation
to make scandalous allegations

- against an innocent doctor.
- Yes.

You have put a large number of
distinguished medical men and lawyers

to a great deal of unnecessary trouble.

The girl in "A Passage To India",
the one that was supposed to be raped,

she withdrew her story in court.

Yes, right. Old EMF. Always so true.

- Do you think Marietta read the book?
- Perhaps. It's such a fine novel.

So, Cogger put her up to it?

Oh, yes.

He thought I'd tumbled

to why he wanted
all of us to use the Marchmain drugs.

He tried to get rid of me,
so he hired Marietta.

- How do you know?
- She told me.

- You talked to her?
- Oh, yes.

I've taken her out to dinner quite often.

We go to the tandoori restaurant,
Memories Of India, Gloucester Road.

I didn't think it was something you'd
wish to know, great barrister-at-law.

Why on earth not?

Because I didn't want us to win the
case by rubbishing poor Tim Cogger.

I want to keep my partnership,
you see.

I want to get along well
with all the chaps in the surgery,

Dr Tim included,
so I thought the best way out

was to persuade Miss Liptrott to tell the
truth, which is that nothing happened.

But it seemed to me
too simple a way to win,

and far too unsubtle for
a brilliant barrister like yourself.

And at least, sir, you will agree that
I managed humbly to make an omelette

without breaking a single egg.

Oh, charming. My dear old quack,
what if you spread the infection?

What if all my clients arranged
their own acquittal?

I'd be out of work, a disaster!

Clients settling their cases
is not right.

I'm sorry, Mr Rumpole,
I truly am very, very sorry.

What did you offer the lady
to persuade her to tell the truth?

I offered her, sir, as you might put it,
all my worldly goods.

Don't babble.
What are you talking about?

No, honestly, Mr Rumpole,
I do not babble.

Miss Marietta Liptrott is as charming
and honest as she is beautiful.

And she has done me the honour
of agreeing to be my wife.

The ceremony will be at the mosque
in Regents Park

to be followed by a reception at the
Memories Of India in Gloucester Rd.

You and your good lady are cordially
invited, as indeed are you, Mr Pinhorn.

- But not Dr Cogger?
- Oh, yes, Dr Cogger.

Because all the surgery will be there,

and I'm hoping Tim Cogger will propose
a toast to the happy couple.

I'll certainly ask him.

(CIock strikes six)

Nobody came, except Claude's pupil,
Mrs Wiggins, whatever her name is.

Mrs Whittaker, very nice lady.

So the trap didn't work.

She was wearing a white carnation.

Perhaps she'd been to a wedding,
or something.

Portia, you are a brilliant advocate,
your courtroom manner is irresistible,

but you simply cannot skate
over the evidence.

Here, have another look at that.
Read it aloud, if you please.

- "Barrister."
- Stop. Barrister.

Isn't there another letter
after "barrister", small letter?

Oh, yes, it looks like an F.

It is an F. F for female.

You were so sure that you had Claude
in the frame, you didn't even notice it.

A lady barrister, looking for adventure,
sharing Claude's room.

That's why you found
the magazine there.

I'm afraid you've disappointed
Mrs Whittaker dreadfully.

- Mrs Whittaker?
- The evidence seems conclusive.

Poor old Mr Whittaker, eh?

Obviously of the humdrum persuasion.

We ought to take out a subscription
to this magazine.

We've learnt a lot, haven't we,
out of only just one issue?

Well, perhaps you can, Rumpole.

I really must go and find Claude. You
know, he did seem pleased to see me.

Of course he did.
You owe him a lunch at the Savoy.

Hello.

Oh, God!

Yes, Mrs Etheridge. I'm listening.

You mean
you ran into something again.

What?

The Cenotaph? I see.

Ah! Ballard.

- I've got good news for you at last.
- What's that?

I've got a client for you,
a lady, a motoring offence.

Oh, it's rather serious, I'm afraid.

I told her she'd better brief
a reliable QC.

Yes, yes, of course.
What's her name?

- It's a Mrs Etheridge.
- Etheridge.

I told her that you were
a rather cuddly kind of barrister.

Oh, and do call her Bambi.
Everybody does.

(Phone rings)

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