All language subtitles for Rumpole s03e02 and the Golden Thread.eng

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(Thunder rumbling)

(Classical music plays)

(Speaks in an African language)

(Squabbling in an African language)

The Temple, England.

Horace Rumpole.

"We are the pilgrims, master.
We must always go a little further."

This plate's not properly washed up,
Rumpole.

"Away, for we are ready to a man.

"Our camels sniff the evening
and are glad.

"Lead on, O Masters of the Caravan.

"Lead on,
O Merchant Princes of Baghdad."

I don't know why you choose the
washing-up. Why can't you dry?

Washing is more fun.

Not when you leave bits of gravy
untouched by the mop.

A bit of yesterday's gravy
never hurt anyone.

You might be glad of that one day.

"It may be beyond
the last blue mountain

"barred with snow.

"Across that angry
or that glimmering sea."

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

There's not much adventure going on
round Gloucester Road, is there?

Unless you count the thrilling choice

between wiping the dishes
and sloshing them about

in plastic-bottled soap suds.

I think you're getting old
for adventure.

Do you?

Do you know where
I've spent the last three weeks?

In an earth-shaking case
of unpaid VAT

on plastic egg timers in Sydenham.

Sydenham.

- Travels Rumpole east away.
- (Phone rings)

Not this week.

Take the cloth.
Help me with the drying-up.

2045... Hilda Rumpole speaking.

Just who?

Justitia.

(Whispers) Who is she?

A blind goddess lugging a blooming
great sword and a pair of scales.

Rumpole speaking.

Yes, Justitia International.
I know your organisation.

Who?

David Mazenze! I remember him.
I taught him in crammer's.

Who is it, Rumpole?

Well, I see the occasional reference
in "The Times".

He's got himself
into a bit of trouble out there, has he?

Lunch tomorrow?
Yes, of course. Whereabouts?

The Venezia in Fleet Street.
Certainly. One o'clock?

Fine. Yes, I'll see you then. Bye.

What's the matter with you?
You look pleased with yourself.

But of course. Dodo Mackintosh
is coming to stay next week.

For two whole days. Isn't that nice?

Dodo's descending on us.
That makes it even better.

Makes what better?

"We take the Golden Road
to Samarkand."

(Usher) David Mazenze,
prisoner at the Bar. Stand.

In regard to your application for bail,

pending your trial for
the wilful murder of Bishop Kareele,

- this application is refused.
- As I would have expected.

With regard to your application
for legal representation,

there are many most experienced
Nerangan counsel available to you.

How many who are not
in the prime minister's pocket?

On that application,
judgment is reserved.

So you can get your instructions
from on high.

Take him down.

(Usher) Be upstanding.

Prime Minister.

My dear Worthington.

- This is indeed an honour.
- And for me.

Neranga, a lump of land
carved out by the British

who called it New Somerset.

Ah.

Capital, Nova Lombaro.
Deeply divided into two tribes,

the Apu and Matatu,
who hate each other's guts.

So much so that if an Apu man
marries a Matatu girl,

both their families throw them out
and they are cursed for ever.

The sort of thing that goes on in Surrey.

Yes...

Well, the prime minister,
Dr Christopher Mabile,

of the Matatu tribe.

Warriors and head-hunters
not so long ago.

He's a Marxist,

educated by the Jesuit fathers
who sent him to Balliol.

Got his medical degree in Moscow.
Postgrad in Cuba.

At independence, he had to have
a token Apu in his cabinet,

so he made David Mazenze
his Minister of Home Affairs.

There he is.

Oh, yes. That's David.

He looks a lot older than I remember.

That's to be expected, isn't it?

Oh, David.
David is one of the more peaceful Apus.

The British locked him up for 10 years,
but he never bore a grudge.

Moderate socialist.
Good friend to Justitia.

Sound on land reform
and contraception.

Excellent chairman
of the famine programme.

An absolutely marvellous voice.

Yeah.
Did he do it, Miss Pinkerton?

It's a thrilling sort of voice.

Of course, the Apu people
absolutely worship David.

But did he do in the dear, old bishop?

We've had reports
from reliable sources

that Mabile's got David locked up
in the most ghastly conditions.

There could have been torture.

Miss Pinkerton, did our David do it?

I don't know whether
we've actually asked him that.

- Hello, Amanda.
- Oh, here's Pam.

We've had a cable
from Jonathan Mazenze.

David's younger brother. A tower
of strength. What's it say, Pam?

"Barrister Rumpole will be allowed
to represent David at trial.

"Visa being arranged.
Greetings, Jonathan Mazenze."

We're in luck! Is there
anything else you want to know?

What do they give a chap for murder
in those parts?

- It's death, isn't it, Mandy?
- Yes.

The prime minister
can't wait to hang David.

You've got to save his life.

Is that all?

(Whistles)

Anything exciting on, Henry?

Er, afraid not, Mr Rumpole.

There's a little murder down the Bailey
in a few weeks.

Mysterious crime
done with a broken Guinness bottle

in a crowded pub in Kilburn.

Routine stuff, Henry. Legal spam.

Inland Revenue. No, thank you.

I would've thought with your immense
talent as a clerk of Chambers,

you could have found me
something more exotic.

Find your own exotica, if you're
not satisfied with my clerking.

I have done, Henry.

You shall be receiving a brief
from Justitia International,

and I am defending
the Minister for Home Affairs

in the High Court of Neranga.

- You'll be away from Chambers?
- Yes.

They shall look for me
in the Inner London Sessions,

and they will find me gone.

They will whisper among themselves,
"Travels Rumpole east away."

You seem very cheerful about it.

"My camels sniff the evening,"
Dianne, "and are glad."

She Who Must Be Obeyed's
school chum, Dodo Mackintosh,

is coming next week.

What a pity!
I shall miss those jollifications!

Adventure calls, Henry,
and how can Rumpole resist it?

- If there's a crisis, send a cable.
- A cable?

- Or a pigeon.
- Look out, Rumpole.

Where are you going?

I take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

Where are you going? Ha ha!

(Aeroplane engines whirring)

Ah, porter.

(Rumpole) 'How do you do
a case of capital murder?

'Death,
if you ask the wrong question.

'Death, if you don't object
to the right bit of evidence.

'Death round every corner
and every legal argument.

'Answer -
do it like every other case.

'Win it, if you can.

'Win it or else.'

- Object of visit?
- Justice.

Open.

(Rumpole) 'I bet they never had this
on the Golden Road to Samarkand.

'18 hours hurtling through space

'in a small, plastic,
cigar-shaped tearoom

'with nowhere to put your things.

'A hostile glare from major-general
in charge of customs.

'Just when you're crying out
for a spot of shuteye.'

- Your clothing?
- No, my mosquito net.

My wife bought it
at the Army & Navy store, 1951.

- Drugs?
- Just my wife's going-away presents.

Er...

Foot powder.

(Speaks in an African language)

Thank you. Carry on, sir.

Oh. Oh, allow me, sir.

Thank you.

- Horace Rumpole?
- A piece of him.

I'm arguing in the Mazenze case.
Rupert Taboro.

Ah, Mr Taboro.

Looking forward to seeing how you
Old Bailey fellows handle a homicide.

Oh, thank you.

Anything you need, anything at all,
just ask for the...

For Mr Taboro.

The Attorney-General.

Oh... Thank you very much indeed.

Don't mention it, old fellow.

We learned friends
have got to stick together.

- (Man) Mr Rumpole?
- Yes.

Freddy Ruingo, instructing solicitor.

How do you do?

- You got through the formalities?
- Yes, surprisingly.

- Good. I'll take you to the car.
- Thank you.

- Then we go to the prison.
- Yes.

Then we have a reception David's wife
and brothers are giving for you.

You'll meet the leaders
of our Apu People's Party there.

(Rumpole) Why didn't David Mazenze

have some big British QC
out here to defend him?

(Freddy) Our David believes
in the very common man, Mr Rumpole.

He just wanted an ordinary lawyer,
like yourself.

- A perfectly lowly fellow.
- Thank you very much.

Oh, but someone
typical of British justice.

Quite incorruptible.

- Not draughty in this car, are you?
- Oh, no.

A clever Matatu chucked an Asiguy
through the back window.

They fall out of the trees, those fellows.

You've come to see David Mazenze?

Let me introduce Mr Horace Rumpole,
barrister at law,

Inner Temple, from London.

Superintendent Akimbu,
Special Branch.

Superintendent.

David's held here
at police headquarters.

Don't want him mixed up
with the plebs.

Want to visit our dungeons,
Mr Rumpole?

I heard about them in London.
I would like to see my client, please.

It's an honour to meet you,
Mr Rumpole.

- You know Croydon well?
- Er... Croydon? No, not very well.

I did six months
with your Special Branch in London.

The Old Baptist Head in Croydon.
Wonderful Draught Bass.

- Remember me to it.
- Yes.

This way, please.

We've got your client
chained to the wall down here.

You'd better watch out for the rats,

and the water dripping from the moat.

Mr Mazenze.

Gentleman come from London
to see you.

(Classical music plays)

Dear old Horace Rumpole!

What's your tipple? Bordeaux,
if my memory serves me right.

Freddy.

Wait till they hear about this
in Wormwood Scrubs.

I have a few friends
in the French Embassy.

Yes. Well, your friends
at Justitia International...

Oh, such good chaps, if not all
that experienced politically.

They said you'd be chained
to the wall in the Ch�teau d'lf,

with rising damp and the bread
and water just out of reach.

Even Dr Death wouldn't dare
do that to me.

Doctor?

Le bon docteur, Christophe Mabile.

The prime minister whose culture is
founded on the Inquisition and the KGB.

Stirred up with some of the basic
cannibalism of the Matatu tribe!

Forgive Freddy.
He makes such primitive remarks.

Tribalism is our curse, however,
as the British class system is yours.

Yes. What?

P G Wodehouse.

Mmm. I think of England so often.

I long for your Cotswolds, if Dr Death
ever lets me see them again.

If I should die,
think only this of me, Horace.

There is some corner
of a Nerangan jail

that is for ever
Moreton-in-the-Marsh.

(Rumpole) 'I never saw a man
facing a death sentence

'so confoundedly cheerful.

'What can it be? The certainty
of innocence... or the wine? '

Right, now, the dead man,
Bishop Kareele.

A troublemaker,
as only an African bishop can be.

He wanted the prime minister's job.
He wanted my job.

He always caused trouble

between the Apu
and the Matatu people.

I told you, tribal hatred
is the curse of our politics.

Well, the evidence says
you threatened him.

You quarrelled outside
the Parliament and said, "I'll kill you."

All right, I quarrelled with the man.
He quarrelled with everyone.

Now, his death is set at 9:30pm
on 8th March.

Now, that's when the shots were heard.
Where were you then?

- Does it matter?
- Of course it matters.

I had a speech to make the next day.

An important statement of policy
at our Apu People's Congress.

So I went out in my car to drive around
and think about it.

- What time did you go out?
- I said in my statement, about 8:30.

- What time did you get back?
- After 11:00.

My wife made some coffee
and we listened to music.

I always like to listen to music
for half an hour before turning in.

- Well, what was the speech?
- Hmm?

What were you going to say?

It was a plea for friendship

between the Apu
and the Matatu people.

That we shall all work together
for the good of Neranga.

Did you ever make it?

Huh! How could I? I was arrested.

Ah, yes.

Well, how does it look to you?

Cases of identification are always tricky,

and I have known healthier alibis.

You won't win this one on alibis,
Horace.

You want to know what to rely on?

I'd welcome...
I'd welcome suggestions.

The common law of England -
the presumption of innocence.

You know what you told me.

"The golden thread which runs through
the history of the law."

I like that phrase so very much.

You have a remarkable memory
for those things I told you.

A man is innocent
until he's proved guilty.

Better that ten guilty men
should go free

than one who is not guilty
should be convicted.

For to convict the innocent is...

(Both) To spit in the face of justice.

Do you still use that one in your speech
to the jury at the old London Sessions?

Well, I'm afraid I do from time to time.

After all, a jury in Neranga
can't be that different.

Mr Rumpole...

Members of the Jury,

the evidence in this case
calls for guesswork.

Now, you may use guesswork
to pick the winner of the Derby.

But it is no way to bring in a verdict
on a capital charge of murder.

Steady on, Mr Rumpole.
We have no jury.

No jury?

You British abolished juries
in murder cases

when Neranga was still New Somerset.

We did that?

I must say, Dr Death followed
your example quite enthusiastically.

- No jury. What about the judge?
- Oh, Worthington Banzana.

You remember that old fellow?

What did you say he ordered
for tea after death sentences?

Muffins. You mean Justice Twyburn?

Exactly.

Our Chief Justice
is like your Justice Twyburn.

Only Black, eh, Freddy?

He is Dr Death's chicken.

He will run for him,
wherever he wants him to go.

(AIl) # For he's a jolly good fellow

# For he's a jolly
good fellow

# For he's a jolly good fellow

# And so say all of us #

(AIl) Hurray!

- Mr Rumpole!
- Freddy.

- Beer? 7UP? Scotch on the rocks?
- Oh, beer, please.

Let me introduce Grace Mazenze,
David's wife.

Mrs Mazenze.

- It is good of you to come here.
- Nice of you to ask me, as they say.

To save David, I mean.

Ah, yes.
I can't promise that, you know.

He remembers you so well.

He has often talked about you
if things went wrong.

He has so much faith in you.

Yes, well, I'll do everything I can.
I promise you.

In the end, a barrister's not much better
than his case.

He can't make bricks without straw.

I don't understand.

Well, we could do with a bit of evidence.

Don't you worry, Grace.
No one can harm David.

David's one of the immortals.
Jonathan Mazenze, the little brother.

Little John, hey?

- Mr Rumpole.
- Oh, thank you, Freddy.

Was my big brother
delighted to see you?

His old hero from his student days.
He said you used to tease the judges.

He said you used
to pull their legs unmercifully.

One or two judicial legs, I suppose, yes.

That you always dropped cigar ash
down your stomach.

Yes. He would remember that.

- Excuse me.
- Yes.

What did you tell Grace
we needed to win the case for David?

- A witness wouldn't come amiss.
- What sort of witnesses, exactly?

Someone who saw David
on the night of the murder.

He said he was just driving around.

You want some fellows who saw him?
Well, I think I can arrange that.

- How many fellows? Half a dozen?
- No. You can't arrange it.

I want a witness
who will stand up and tell the truth.

How very British you are,
Mr Horace Rumpole.

That's one of the reasons
why I'm here.

I'm here as a representative
of British justice.

David doesn't need all that humbug.

David needs the anger
of the Apu people.

If David is found guilty,

there are 10,000 Apu with their guns,
hidden in the bush,

who will rescue him in one hour.

That's how we win this case,
don't you worry, my dear old barrister.

I prefer to rely on the way
we do it down the Old Bailey.

Dr Death's gone too far this time.
The Apu people are on the move.

I must be on the move too.
Which way is the gents?

(Speaks in an African language)

(Laughter)

(Speaks in an African language)

(AIl) Apu! Apu! Apu!

Apu! Apu!
Apu! Apu!

What's this, a party political broadcast
on behalf of the Apu People's Party?

Apu! Apu! Apu!

Could I have a call tomorrow morning,
please, at six o'clock, room 51?

And some coffee
and a copy of "The Times"...

Oh, no. Never mind.

Rumpole.

Rum... pole.

(Indistinct Chatter)

Ah, Mr Rumbold, I presume.

- Rumpole.
- All hail. All hail.

I've been having dinner
with Mr and Mrs Singapore.

We all call ourselves after our
countries, as diplomats, don't we?

I'm known as old Mr Old England.

Sir Arthur Remnant, British
High Commissioner. How do you do?

Now, Mrs Singapore,
this is our notable British barrister.

- Do remind me again.
- Rumpole.

Come and have dinner one evening
at the High Commission.

Our problem is that the cook
is so terribly anglophile,

everything tastes of Bisto.

I say, it must be very exciting for you
doing a murder trial out here.

- Topping.
- Oh, ripping!

No, I meant topping - swinging.

We're very Victorian here.

It's all Baptist chapels, plum jam
and the death penalty.

The blackcap does add
a little zest to a murder trial.

I don't imagine
my client wouldn't think so.

No. No, I suppose not.

I was amazed you got permission
to come here.

Oh?

Christopher Mabile must have something
up his sleeve. Brilliant politician.

We could do with him
in the Commonwealth relations.

Anyway, welcome Rumbelow.

We'll throw a little cocktail for you.

Come, Mrs Singapore.

The thing is...

How fearfully topping!

(Crowd hollers) Rumpole! Rumpole!

(AIl) Rumpole!

Welcome, Mr Horace Rumpole.

(AIl) Rumpole! Rumpole! Rumpole!

Rumpole! Rumpole! Rumpole!
Rumpole! Rumpole! Rumpole!

Oh, dear. Fresh collar, I think.

Oh, damn and blast it!

Where do I get hold of a collar stud
in the jungle?

Here you are, my learned friend.

I had a gross of these little chaps
flown in from Harrods. Be my guest.

That's civil of you. Thank you.

Merely in accord
with the best traditions of the Bar.

I see young Jonathan Mazenze

had his friends from Rent-An-Apu
out there to greet you.

Oh, yes. It was very encouraging,
I must say,

to see the people cheering
on my victory.

- Your victory?
- Mmm.

Do you really think
that's what they want?

- Are you Magnus Nagoma?
- I am.

You are in government service?

Permanent private secretary
to the Minister for Home Affairs.

- And the defendant is your boss?
- He is, yes.

"He's my boss."

Mr Nagoma,
do you remember a day last July

when you went to meet your boss
outside the parliament building?

I do, yes.
He was there with Bishop Kareele.

- They were having an argument.
- Mmm.

- A heated argument?
- Oh, please, don't lead.

I hear my learned friend's objection.

I'm afraid I didn't, I must confess.

Mr Rumpole, is it no longer customary
in England to stand on your hind legs

to make an objection?

I would like to object
to a leading question.

- It was a very heated argument.
- Too late, Mr Rumpole.

(Rumpole) 'What have I got here?

'A Black Judge Bullingham,
but quicker off the mark? '

Did the defendant say anything
to the bishop?

Yes. He said, "I will kill you."

The words were, "I will kill you."

(Mutters) Freddy, when I cross-examine,

would you remind me
this man is a Matatu?

Mr Rumpole, rise,
if you have something to say.

I have nothing to say.

It's customary to remain silent
when seated.

Did not your old master teach you?

Was he not C H Wystan
of the Inner Temple?

(Rumpole) 'My sainted father-in-law.

'Has this bird an encyclopaedic
knowledge of British barristers? '

Thank you, Mr Nagoma.

Mr Nagoma...

(Mutters) This man is a Matatu.
He is hostile to David.

If you interrupt my cross-examination,
I'll kill you.

(Laughter)

(Usher) Silence! Silence!

Mr Rumpole, there is no jury here.

We abolished that great institution.

That was a jury trick. It was not
worthy of a pupil of Mr C H Wystan.

It was not a trick, My Lord. I am about
to put the question to the witness.

Put it, then, Mr Rumpole,
without play-acting, please.

Were not the words
addressed to the bishop

used in the way I just used them,
as a piece of meaningless abuse?

- Oh, I don't know that.
- Oh, do you not?

Do you not know what my client
and the bishop were arguing about?

The freedom of religious instruction
in Schools Enabling Bill.

It was obvious that the bishop was
putting up what is called a filibuster.

Arguing for hours to delay matters.

I'm sure that is a process
well known to my learned friend.

(Laughter)

- Oh, very brilliant.
- Sorry, Horace.

Was it not a moment of irritation
at some unparliamentary behaviour?

The witness was outside the building.
How can he answer?

Well, he can answer this, My Lord.
Was it meant seriously?

I don't know, quite honestly.

No. Thank you, Mr Nagoma.

No further questions.

(Rumpole) 'Oh, I never thought
the Golden Road to Samarkand

'would prove such bloody hard going.'

Mr Rumpole in?

He slipped out for a moment to Central
Africa. You wanted to see him?

Fixed this little murder of his
down the Bailey. 29th of the month.

I'll get him back for you by then.

Er, Central Africa?
What's Mr Rumpole gone there for?

I rather gather
his wife's got a visitor at home.

Oh, well, then. That explains it.

Well, Dianne. We have to get
Mr Rumpole back for the 29th.

We can't have him there for ever,
sunning himself.

What did he say, send him a cable?

Er... If Rumpole's still away,
and you're in a bit of a hole,

I think I'm free on the 29th.

Not free for murder, Mr Hoskins.

You're free
for landlord and contract.

Now, Dianne, the cable.

(Rumpole)
The Reverend Kenneth Cuazango.

You say
that when you heard the shots,

you jumped
and ran with your head down?

Yes.

- So you did not see the attacker?
- No, I told you, sir,

I had seen him
through the windscreen.

Through the windscreen?

When you reached home...
Which was a run of how far?

It's about three miles. Not far.

- Did you ring the police?
- Almost immediately.

What was the first thing you did
when you got home?

I changed my clothes.
I was soaked to the skin.

Yes, exactly.
I have here a meteorological report.

There was heavy rain
on the night of the 8th March

between the hours of 9:00 and 11:00.

- Didn't I say that?
- No, sorry, Reverend. You did not.

When it rains in Neranga,
it's no April shower. It's a cataract.

- They call it Noah's Flood.
- Why not?

The windscreen
must have been streaming with water.

You could not have identified
my client.

- Could you identify him?
- I'm sure I could.

"I'm sure I could."
You see, Mr Rumpole?

Yes, My Lord, I see, but I am quite sure
the witness could not.

Isn't that the fact which I shall decide?

That judge, he wants to hang David.

You said you needed evidence.

- Yes.
- A witness.

Ah! Your brother-in-law has already
offered me some, thank you.

Jonathan! Huh!

He wants to make
an Apu martyr of David.

I want my David alive, though.

You sure I can't get you something?
A drink?

Nothing, thank you.

I have a witness for you.
One who tells the truth.

- The best sort.
- Only one thing is wrong.

David would not allow
this witness to come for him.

If he knew, he would forbid it.

But why ever?

This is a person of the Matatu people.

David would never agree
to such a witness.

It's the evidence that matters
for heaven's sake,

not the family background!

You may know very much law,
Mr Rumpole,

but you do not understand our country.

Also, I am afraid. David would
not want this witness for my sake.

For your sake?

This is something David
tried to keep a secret from me.

Too late now for secrets. I think so.

(Classical music plays)

Don't look so down in the dumps.

Apart from the fact
we are without the benefit of a jury,

surely you must have noticed
the judge is against us.

A member of the Matatu tribe and
the prime minister's little chicken,

why shouldn't he
be against an Apu leader?

Everything is going as expected.

- We've got to win this case.
- Don't worry, old fellow.

- You are doing exactly what is needed.
- Yes? What's that?

Upholding the best traditions
of British justice for the foreign press.

When we lose, they will know this
Dr Death has no respect for the law.

So our revolution
will be perfectly justified.

Your revolution?

Yes. Our boys in the bush, Horace.

They will attack
on the day I'm convicted.

No sentence will ever be carried out
on David Mazenze.

Now, then, does that take
the weight off your mind?

Not really. Do you mean I was
brought out here to lose this case?

No. You were brought out here to make
your speech on the golden thread.

Then lose?

It will be Dr Death who loses
in the end and the judge.

Some of our boys in the bush
are likely to pass a motion of censure

on the old Chief Justice Banzana.

So I was brought out here to lose.

(Music stops)

No wonder you didn't want
an important QC to defend you.

Old Horace Rumpole is good enough
to utter a few legal platitudes,

and then accept defeat gracefully.
Is that it?

- Well, let me tell you something.
- Tell me what, Horace?

No, it doesn't matter now.

You know what the golden thread is
that runs through British justice?

Yes, Horace, I know.

Well, let me tell you another one.

Horace Rumpole considers every case
to be winnable until it is lost.

He doesn't know
any other way to fight them.

You can tell that
to your boys in the bush.

Horace!

Ah.

Thank you for coming to see me.

I really do appreciate all your efforts.

Yeah.

- Ah, Mr Taboro.
- Oh, my learned friend.

His Lordship is giving you
a bit of a bullyragging.

Yes. Under British law, I should
serve you with an alibi notice.

Under our law too.

If I show you a statement,

would you object to me
calling a new witness?

I shall raise no objection at all to this
witness being called at short notice.

See you in court, old fellow.

- Mr Rumpole?
- Yes, My Lord?

Will you be calling evidence?

My Lord, I will call Mabel Mazenze.

- No!
(Usher) Silence!

I object! I will not have this witness!

I object!

Be silent
or I will have you taken below

and the trial will continue
in your absence.

Call your witness, Mr Rumpole.

(Usher) Call Mabel Mazenze.

A note from our client.
He is not very pleased with you.

Another golden rule of British justice.

No one speaks to Rumpole
when he's on his feet.

You are Mabel Mazenze?

Yes.

And are you a lady
of the Matatu people?

Is she a Matatu woman,
is that what you mean?

I was trying to put it
a little more elegantly, My Lord.

Don't mind eloquence.
You Matatu woman?

Yes, sir.

And are you married
to David Mazenze?

(People gasp)

(Judge) The officer has told us
your client's wife is Grace Mazenze.

(Rumpole) Did he also go through
a ceremony of marriage with you,

according to the tribal customs

of the Matatu people
on 8th March, 1979?

Yes, he did.
David and I did. We kept it secret.

Both our people would make
us mischief, if they knew.

And David having
a wife of his own people also.

The 8th March this year
was an anniversary of that ceremony.

Where did David Mazenze
spend that night?

With me.

Where was he between nine and eleven
o'clock on that rainy evening?

In my... In our house
here in Nova Lombaro.

He was with me from before 9:00.

- And when did he leave?
- About quarter past eleven.

He went to sleep in his bed at home
with Grace

as he had a big speech the next day.

He thought with me he would not do
so much sleeping.

(Laughter)
(Usher) Silence!

Has it been difficult for you to come
forward and give evidence in this case?

I think my family
will never see me again

when they know what I did
with an Apu man.

Then why have you come
to give evidence?

Only because I know David
cannot have killed the old man.

Only because of that.
And to save his life.

Yes. Thank you, Mrs Mazenze.

Mr Taboro, you wish
to cross-examine this witness?

No, My Lord.

Perhaps my learned friend can help.

Does that mean that the prosecution
accepts this witness's evidence?

It simply means that we have
no questions we wish to put.

Really? I must insist.

No good insisting, Mr Rumpole.
The end will be a matter entirely for me.

If Your Lordship pleases.

- A cable for Mr Rumpole.
- Cable?

If I might say,

it is not a matter entirely
for Your Lordship,

but a matter for our common law.

When London is nothing more
than a memory,

and the Old Bailey has sunk back
into the primeval mud,

my country will be remembered
for three things -

the British breakfast,
"The Oxford book of English Verse",

and the presumption of innocence.

That is the golden thread

which runs through the whole history
of our criminal law.

So that if a man is murdered
on the Old Kent Road

or the road to Nova Lombaro,

no man shall be convicted, if there is
reasonable doubt as to his guilt.

And at the end of the day,

how can any court be certain sure

that that fearless young woman,
Mabel Mazenze,

has not come here to tell us
the plain and simple truth?

Neranga ranks high
among civilised countries.

We observe the rule of law.

This is demonstrated by allowing
a barrister from England,

a junior barrister...

In England they have
quite elderly junior barristers.

Barristers as long in the tooth,
he will not mind my saying this,

as Mr Rumpole,
to plead here as a guest at our Bar.

Mr Rumpole has told us nothing
that we didn't already know.

We know that a man is innocent
until proved guilty.

This is the golden thread
that runs through the law in Neranga.

This law is also followed in Britain.

The court has
the evidence of identification,

given by the Reverend Cuazango.

On the other hand, we have the
positive evidence of Mabel Mazenze,

the Matatu woman
whom the defendant -

a well-known member of the Apu tribe -
has married as a second wife.

A backward form of indulgence.
It is not in the best tradition

of the new Neranga of Prime Minister
Christopher Mabile.

In these circumstances,
the court is unable to feel

that the prosecution has proved
its case beyond reasonable doubt.

Acting entirely

on the principles
of ancient common law,

we pronounce on David Mazenze -

whatever we may think
of his morality -

a verdict of not guilty.

Let the defendant be discharged.

(Usher) Be upstanding in court.

(Rumpole) 'Oh, bully for you,
my old darling!

'An upright judge,
old Worthington Banzana,

'a Daniel come to justice! '

We did it, Freddy. We notched up
a triumph. I'm sure you'll agree.

Well, we brought
the golden thread to Samarkand.

Good win, my learned friend.
Heartfelt congratulations.

Well, I'd better go and see my client.

Ah, I should warn you, you may not
find him particularly grateful.

I've probably saved his life.

You also broadcasted the fact that
the leader of the Apu People's Party

had got himself hitched
to a Matatu woman.

Not too good that, politically speaking.

But I don't suppose
you're tremendously interested

in local politics, hmm?

Oh, before you go,

could I have my collar stud back,
please?

(Speaking in an African language)

I'm sorry, I don't speak your language.

We are arresting you in the name
of the people of Neranga! Come!

(Rumpole) 'I always knew it.
I knew I'd end up in the nick.

'It was my nightmare. A recurring
dream from when I was a nipper.

'I could hardly close my eyes
without hearing a voice,

"'And the least sentence
I can possibly pass on you

"'is about 100 years in the chokey."

'Oh, Lord! Extraordinary thing.

'Perhaps that's what made me
take up the law.'

Mr Rumpole,

will you explain this cablegram,
which we have intercepted?

Addressed to you, I think,
at the Hotel Majestic.

Please, you take your time.
We have the whole night before us.

Oh, really?

"Murder fixed for 29th of this month
at 10:30am. Henry."

The 29th.
That will be in ten days' time.

In ten days, I shall be in London.
No need for you to worry.

And leaving the dirty side
of the business to this Henry!

What murder, Mr Rumpole,
and who is your associate, Henry?

(Knock on door)

Ah, there you are, Rumbold.

You know what, my dear fellow?
You need a good lawyer.

(Sir Arthur) Splendid result. Just what
our brilliant prime minister wanted.

You wanted me to win?

To please the International Monetary
Fund, reassure Barclays Bank,

and put Christopher Mabile
in line for a K.

You probably earned him
a knighthood,

apart from the fact
you've seen off David Mazenze.

Seen him off?

The Apu would never
have let him hang.

Risen up in their thousands. There
are thousands of guns in the bush.

But they are lazy people. Today's
verdict will not get them going.

They won't lift a finger on a leader
who married a Matatu woman.

- Sir Arthur?
- Hmm?

- I'd like to know something.
- What, my dear fellow?

Who killed the bishop?

Oh, the old bishop, a politician
who'd outstayed his welcome.

- We'd know what to do in England.
- Oh?

It's too bad
there's no House of Lords in Neranga.

Ah, Mr Rumpole.

Prime Minister.

Congratulations, Mr Rumpole.

I hear you put up a first-rate show.

You know my Lord Chief Justice,
of course, your old sparring partner.

Oh, yes.
I have had that satisfaction.

- When are you leaving us?
- Tomorrow.

Pity. You should have stayed longer.

Gone up country.

We could've shown you
our old tribal customs.

Thank you, Prime Minister.
I think I've seen some.

(Brakes screech)

(Machine-gun fire)

"The body of Mr David Mazenze,

"believed to have been killed

"by a faction
of his own Apu People's Party,

"now led by his younger brother,
Mr Jonathan Mazenze.

"There's been no arrest to date,

"according to the office
of the Attorney General."

There you are. A country that
still believes in the death penalty.

Ma-zenze. A-pu.

Rupert Taboro. Extraordinary names.

Oh, yes. Almost as odd as
Rumpole or Dodo Mackintosh.

Wasn't it good of Dodo
to stay on another week,

so that you could see something of her?

Well, must be off.

You will be home early, won't you?

Dodo likes her game
of three-handed whist, you know.

Oh yes, I know. Old chatterbox.

Where are you off to today, dear?
Not Samarkand, is it?

(Laughs)

No, Hilda. I am off to Chambers.
Samarkand is definitely off.

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