All language subtitles for Rumpole s03e05 Life.eng

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(Commentator)
'... then Cashpoint, Old Ironside.

'Coming into fence number two
with Atlantic Hero the leader'

'in front of Queen Titian
and then Rising Damp,

'and then comes Potato Peeler,
Cashpoint and Old Ironside.

'Round towards
the far side of the course

'where Queen Titian takes the lead
from Cashpoint and Rising Damp.

'Atlantic Hero fourth. Coming to fence
number seven, Queen Titian in front,

'Cashpoint, then Old Ironside
and Atlantic Hero... '

Come on, Atlantic Hero!
Get a move on! Atlantic Hero!

Sure the animal can hear you, Hilda?

(Commentator) 'Cashpoint
and Old Ironside...

'Down to the last, it's Queen Titian
and Atlantic Hero takes up the running!

'Tricycle's fallen, Maurice Fishbourne!
They've got 150 yards to go

'and Atlantic Hero's taken it up!
He's two lengths clear.

'Cashpoint and Old Ironside next.
Queen Titian's fourth.

'In the last 50 yards it's Atlantic Hero.
He's under pressure... '

Atlantic Hero!

'It's Atlantic Hero from Cashpoint
and Old Ironside! '

Come on, we must collect my winnings.

- Congratulations.
- What did you have on it? A quid?

I'll be able to retire to Bermuda.

(Commentator) 'First, number 13
Atlantic Hero,

'ridden by the Honourable
Jonathan Postern.

'Second, number eight, Cashpoint
and third, number four... '

I'm so sorry that Phyllida wasn't able
to be with us today.

Yes, Phylli's got this long fraud
up in Leeds.

- Yes.
- She's working all weekend.

She would so much have enjoyed it.

Of course, Rumpole has really
no sporting interests.

I've often wondered
why sporting interests

have to be held in leaking wellies
and cold mud.

What do you fancy
for the three o'clock, Henry?

Well, his clerk tells me
that Mr Lorrimer's not all that fit.

He's been overworking
on his Revenue cases.

Likely to fall at the first fence, is he?

Harvey Waters QC. In good condition?

- Been taking his oats and all that?
- Too liberally, according to his clerk.

No, the fancy is Mr E Smith
on Decree Absolute.

- Oh, eh? In good form, is he?
- Teetotal, his clerk informs me,

- and he does press-ups in chambers.
- Quickly, Uncle Tom, I've won!

Oh, really, Mrs Rumpole?
I didn't know you were running.

(Announcer) 'Will the course doctor
please come to the Declarations office? '

- This one is on me, you know.
- Oh, Hilda's in the chair.

- Erskine-Brown.
- Judge.

Oh, there you are, Rumpole,
I haven't had you before me lately.

I suppose you don't get
the serious crimes these days?

I've been occupied elsewhere. Must join
my wife. She's spending the winnings.

Been having a little flutter, have you?
I don't see you as a gambling man.

Oh, a lifetime spent in Old Bailey trials
gives one a taste for games of chance.

- What's that supposed to mean?
- Don't you sometimes feel

trying to assess the outcome of a case

is like sticking a pin in
the "Sporting Life" with your eyes shut?

The aim of an English criminal trial
is to do justice.

I don't see you can
compare it to a horse race.

- Good day, Erskine-Brown.
- Good day to you, sir.

- Twyburne's our oldest judge!
- Yes, I know.

Appointed so long ago
they can't get rid of him.

He's one of the last survivors
that sentenced people to death.

They say he used to order muffins
at his club on those occasions.

Come on, sweetheart,
fill this jerry up with champers!

A loving cup.
Jonno, how excessively brill!

What are you going to have?

- There you are, Rumpole.
- One small rum, Hilda.

Is that our celebration? I thought you'd
fill my wellies with champers?

- Cheers!
- Your very good health, Mrs Rumpole.

Oh, Mrs Rumpole.

- How are you, Erskine-Brown?
- Oh, all right, I suppose, Fiona.

In uniform too? All these khaki-clad
figures slogging through the mud?

It reminds me of the retreat from Mons.

You were never at Mons!
Rumpole was in the RAF ground staff.

Then it puts me in mind of the NAAFI
at RAF Uxbridge after every night.

Well, who's for another?

- Hello, Pimpsy.
- Oh, hi, Sprod.

- Disgusting to see you.
- Loathsome to see you.

- You two obviously know each other.
- My big sister, Jennifer Postern.

- This is Rumpole and Mrs Rumpole.
- How riveting!

I've heard so much about you.

Pimpsy says you got her into Chambers
by some miracle.

- It was one of my trickier cases, yes.
- Pimpsy says you win them all

because you're the most super barrister
in the whole of England.

Absolutely brill, says Pimpsy.

Daddy always came to the Bar races,
but it took me weeks

to persuade Rumpole to accept
Claude Erskine-Brown's invitation.

Did you come on your own?

No, with my boyfriend Jeremy Jowling.

He's rather dull but he is a solicitor.

He's the one doing the serious drinking.

Oh, look...
There's my gorgeous winner!

I say, your wife, is she really the one
you call "She Who Must..."?

No, she's the one I call... Hilda!

Rumpole, that's the chap
who won for me on Atlantic Hero.

Oh, yes.

- Kiss for the winner, Jonno.
- Oh, yah! Ha ha!

Such a nice-Iooking young man.
Do you know him?

- He's my husband.
- Oh, really?

- I ought to thank him personally.
- Come on, why don't we whiz over?

Oh!

Oh, I... I say,
I must just say well done.

It makes a day at the races much more
thrilling when you're on a winner.

(Jonno) Were you?
Can't say I saw you.

Who are these amazing old wrinklies?

This is Mr and Mrs Rumpole, Jonno,
and Claude Erskine-Brown.

Mr Rumpole's
a tremendous legal eagle.

(Jonno) Not a galloping barrister?

- Ah, hardly.
- None of your lot got placed.

Terribly bad luck. Care for a swig?

- Thank you.
- Well done!

Thank you very much.

Fish-face!

He's cutting us dead.
Come on, Fish, don't be weedy!

- Good afternoon, Mr Fish.
- Maurice Fishbourne.

- Jennifer and Jonno's neighbour.
- Delighted to meet you.

I say, how did you manage to stick
on till the last fence? Superglue?

- Superglue!
- He hung on to the mane. I saw him.

- Congratulations, Jonathan.
- Oh, isn't he a lovely loser?

I say, if you want to ride something
in the next race,

why not try a bicycle? Bicycle!

(Laughter)

- I'm not riding in the next race.
- Mummy taking you home to tea?

I'm driving Mother home, yes, Jennifer.

Come on, Fishy,
have a gulp of champers.

It's quite all right,
it's only got all our germs in it.

(Laughter)

Thanks.

Whoa!

"Lodge for sale on gentleman's estate,
in wooded country near Tester."

- What's that you're reading?
- "Country Life".

- Were there no "Daily Telegraphs"?
- "Three bedrooms, two receps,

- "access to good rough shooting..."
- I rather think...

- Doesn't it sound attractive?
- I've got worries enough

- without you taking up rough shooting.
- What did you say?

I said it might be safer in Tooting.
Or round the Inner London Sessions.

In those places,
one can go for a walk without risking

getting a charge of grapeshot
in your breeches.

Nonsense, Rumpole.
That day at the Bar races

- made me realise what we're missing.
- Mud?

- The countryside.
- Oh.

Now, then,
if we sold our lease here...

We could buy a deer park
and a Palladian mansion.

Daddy always used to say that what
a successful barrister really needed

was a place in the country.

Was he speaking from
the stately semi-detached

at 13 Acacia Avenue,
Horsham, at the time?

Can't you just see us? Sitting by
a log fire, taking a glass of sherry,

while the sun sinks
over the home wood.

I see us with the boiler gone out,
all the London trains cancelled,

up to our elbows in snow and mud...

And in the home wood, somebody's
bound to be killing something.

(Pheasant calls)

(Gunshot)

(Gunshot)

Help!

What happened?

I shot him.

It was an accident.

I really would rather not, Fiona.

- I'll put your sister on to a good man.
- Sprod wants you to defend her.

Probably because you've given her
an exaggerated idea of my abilities.

Is it really possible to exaggerate
your abilities?

No, probably not.

Why shouldn't my sister have
the best possible counsel?

- No. Friends, Fiona.
- What?

It's a rule at the Bar. Never appear
for friends. You care too much.

Your judgement gets warped. You can't
see the weaknesses in your case

and, of course, if you lose,
they never, ever forgive you.

My sister's not your friend.
You only met her once.

- Quite honestly, you hardly know her.
- I know you, though.

All the trouble I had getting you
into these Chambers,

by pretty ruthless manoeuvring,
if you want to know the truth,

and then to have to spend my life
avoiding your eye in the Clerk's Room,

too afraid to pop into Pommeroys
for a strengthener in case you're there,

looking at me more in sorrow than
anger because I lost your sister's case.

No, thank you.
Life would be quite intolerable.

- I do understand that. But...
- But me no buts, Fiona.

I was only going to say, "But you aren't
going to lose it, are you?"

Oh!

- Horace Rumpole?
- Er... yes.

Ah, splendid. Why don't you
bung your stuff in here, eh?

- Ah, thank you.
- Nice to meet you. Jeremy Jowling.

- How do you do?
- Sponsoring in the Postern case.

- Yes.
- Jolly good. Now, please hop in.

- Er...
- Oh, don't mind Agatha.

She's a soppy old dig really.

There's a good girl.

Now, then, where would you
like to go?

- Er...
- Tester Arms or prison?

Which is the least uncomfortable?

- I would say the prison at a pinch.
- Oh?

- Run you there? It's out of town.
- Thank you.

- Belt up.
- Pardon?

Oh! Yes.

Well, I must say, this is all a GMBU.

(Rumpole mouths letters silently)

- (Rumpole) GMBU?
- Grand military balls-up.

It's years since we had a murder
in the Tester Hunt, you know.

Yes.

Agatha, do sit down.
Stop kissing Mr Rumpole.

Ah. Oh, she's fine.

It'll get all those damn blood-sports
protesters going, you know?

- You're a partner, are you?
- Yes, Jowling...

Agatha, leave Mr Rumpole
alone, will you?

- No, no, no, she's fine, she's fine.
- Yes, it's Jowling and Leonard.

- Yes.
- It's my father's firm, quite honestly,

but he doesn't like murder cases
so he's handed this one to me.

Agatha, will you sit down?
Stop kissing Mr Rumpole.

- Oh, she's fine.
- Well, you know what they say,

- you have to start at the bottom.
- Oh! Yes.

Did you know Jonathan Postern well?

No, only very briefly, I'm afraid.

People round here
had tremendous time for Jonno.

- Oh, really? I'm sorry.
- What?

Well, it's the last thing a defence needs
in a murder case,

- a well-liked corpse.
- Oh.

Well, of course you'd know
all about that, wouldn't you?

There was only one trouble with
Jonno Postern, bad case of the MTFs.

- The er?
- MTFs. Must touch flesh.

Ah.

- Particularly the flesh of Debbie Pavier.
- Oh, yes?

Oh, dear, dear, dear. Well, that was
what the row was about, wasn't it?

- Was it?
- Well, if it hadn't have been for that,

the gendarmes might've accepted
Sprod's story about an accident,

- no questions asked.
- Really?

(Rumpole) 'In London
we hardly ever see death.

'Once or twice in a lifetime.
An old-age pensioner perhaps,

'collapsed on a cold night in the tube,
or a shape under a blanket

'and a small crowd as we drive past
an accident.

'In this peaceful landscape,
they see it every day.

'They watch hounds tearing foxes
to pieces or course hares.

'They hang up magpies and jays
in the wood as a warning to others.

'I'll lay a small wager
that at the end of that garden,

'there's some retired naval man
tearfully putting down his dog.

'No doubt about it, death's
a routine event in the country.

'Well, what's a husband, more or less,
in the shooting season? '

(Jowling) Now, that would be
the basis for the defence.

- It was an accident?
- Yes.

- Your housekeeper, Mrs?
- Mrs Hempe.

Mrs Hempe, yes. She said
you were quarrelling that afternoon.

Bit of a hangover
after a serious evening.

Do you remember saying something
about killing?

- Isn't it the sort of thing one says?
- Oh, is it?

Don't you quarrel
with She Who Must Be Obeyed?

Happily neither of us have a shotgun.

After the quarrel,
your husband went out?

- He wanted a walk to cool off.
- And so did you?

- Yes.
- But you took your 20-bore with you?

- You know something about guns!
- Why did you do that?

I thought it might calm my nerves
if I shot something.

Not the most tactful way of explaining
your feelings to a jury.

- (Jowling) No I think we might...
- I meant rough shooting, a pigeon

or a rabbit, or something of that sort.

Was your gun loaded
when you met your husband?

Of course. I put up a pheasant.
I was about to have a shot

but remembered it was after February.
Closed season for pheasants.

'But not for husbands? '

(Jennifer) I must have forgotten
to put the safety catch on. I walked on.

- Yes, go on.
- I told Jeremy.

- Tell me.
- I saw Jonno coming towards me.

- Was he still angry?
- No, I don't think so. He...

- He seemed perfectly calm.
- And you?

I was calm enough.
I walked towards him.

It was rough, you know, brambles.
It needed clearing.

I must have tripped.
Well, that's how it happened.

I don't suppose you happen to have
a small cigar?

- No, I...
- Ah, I've left them in your car.

Oh, Lord, I suppose Agatha
is guarding them with her fangs bared.

- Oh, I'll whiz out and get them.
- Oh, thank you.

Back in a jiff.

He's one of your lot, isn't he?

Jeremy?
We know his father, of course.

Of course. I'm not one of your lot,
Mrs Postern.

Unlike Jeremy, I don't drive round
the country with a weapon

and a hound of the Baskervilles
in the back of my car.

I'm not familiar with your language,

which seem designed
with the express purpose

of saying absolutely nothing.

I have descended among you
like a creature from outer space.

You may talk to me
as to a complete stranger.

- What do you want me to say?
- Anything you think I should know.

I've told you, it was an accident.

So, I walk...

I stumble back.

It's possible, I suppose,

but it's much more likely
I would have blown your feet off.

(Jowling) "Never, never let your gun,
pointed be at anyone.

"That it should unloaded be,
matters not the least to me."

- Come again?
- You don't know that?

No, we must have learnt
different nursery rhymes.

Jennifer would have
known it though, wouldn't she?

She'd learned her guns
at her nanny's knee.

Rather, yes! Her father
was a terrific shot, you know.

- Oh?
- Yes, runs in the family.

- What are you looking at?
- Oh, the scene of the crime,

- the locus in quo.
- What do you do now?

Crawl around collecting bits
of cigarette ash in an envelope?

Not exactly. This locus in quo

looks exactly like any other bit
of the English countryside to me.

Where does this lead to?
More Postern country?

- Fishbourne country, actually.
- Who?

Maurice Fishbourne. Dreadful weed
with a good deal of money.

Gets ragged for trying to ride at
point-to-points. Invariably hits the deck.

- "Fish-face"?
- Ah, of course, you met him.

- A friend of the Posterns.
- What? They can't stand him.

- Really?
- No one can, actually.

He's not exactly PLU.

"People like us"?

(Jowling) He puts up all those poncey
notice boards all over his land.

- Gets his cash from laxatives.
- Oh!

- "Fishbournes keep you regular."
- I rely on the old medicinal claret.

(Pheasant calls)

- Hello, someone in pain?
- Oh, no, not at all.

That is a cry of pure randiness.
Look, I'll show you.

It's a calling bird.
A caged cock pheasant.

A calling pheasant in a cage
puts all heaven in a rage.

Yes. Well, anyway,
the old devil that lives here

keeps it to entice all the Postern lady
pheasants into the garden, you see.

When they get there he just knocks
them off from the front window.

Cunning, isn't it?

"The wanton boy that kills the fly

"Shall earn the spider's enmity."

Didn't Jonathan Postern
know he was being robbed?

Yes. I suppose he just let it go on.

Old Jonno was a bit of an innocent
in spite of everything.

He couldn't have got Figgis out.
Protected tenant.

- Did you say Figgis?
- Mmm. I bet he's in there.

- Do you want to talk to him?
- Talk to a prosecution witness?

Oh, dear me, no, no, no!

Definitely... NSOB.

- NSOB?
- "Not sporting, old bean."

Pathology Department. Professor
Ackerman, please. Thank you.

Old sweetheart! I hoped to catch you
before you vanished into the morgue.

Oh, how did you know it was me?
Yes, fine thank you.

Ah, yes, I'm afraid I could do with
some help. No, it's not blood this time.

Gunshot wounds.
No, not a hand gun, a shotgun.

Come in... Oh, yes indeed, yes.
Oh, I know the book very well,

but I don't see how I can lay hands
on a copy of it down here now.

Well, that would be splendid
if you'd post me one.

Thank you.

I have to cross-examine
the local pathologist... Yes.

Well, thank you again.
Happy dissecting! Yes. Bye.

- Morning. I've got the car outside.
- Mmm. Is Agatha in it?

- Oh, rather!
- I think I'll walk.

- I see you've been working on it?
- Most of the night.

Seen that? Dr Overton's post-mortem
report, in considerable detail.

Yes. I glanced at it.

- He seems very sure of himself.
- Oh?

Rather too sure of himself
for an experienced pathologist.

- What do you know about him?
- Never heard of him.

Oh?

Gravely usually does
all the stiffs for the Home Office.

- Gravely.
- Yes...

What are our chances?

Ah, as a sporting type
you want to know the odds, do you?

Any better than evens?

It's not an easy case
but she's a woman.

She may have been mistreated
by her husband.

- Oh.
- All we need is a sympathetic judge.

We've drawn a bod called Mr Justice
Twyburne. What do you think?

I think the odds
have just lengthened considerably.

Oh, what's he... what's he like, then?

- Do you remember Martin Muschamp?
- Muschamp? No.

Ah, no, he'd be a bit before your time.
He went out with an armed gang.

He was tried for killing a policeman

and a couple of years later,
another lad confessed

and Muschamp was cleared
by a Home Office enquiry.

- Well, that's all right, then.
- Oh, yes, lovely for everyone.

Except Muschamp. Twyburne had
summed up dead against him

and he'd been hanged by the neck.

Oh, don't look so worried, we don't
do that sort of thing any more.

...the Crown must prove
that, at the end of the day,

we feel you can be left
in no possible doubt.

That is all I have to say in opening
this sad case, members of the Jury.

And now, with the assistance
of my learned friend, Mr Gavin Pinker,

I hope to fairly put
the evidence before you.

You're causing me a great deal of pain,
Mr Harmsway.

- I'm sorry, My Lord?
- Please don't split them.

- Don't split what, My Lord?
- Your infinitives.

This is a distressing case
in all conscience.

Do we have to add to the disagreeable
nature of the proceedings

the sound of you
tormenting the English language?

- You hope to put the evidence fairly?
- Yes, My Lord.

Why don't you start?

My learned friend Mr Pinker
will call the first witness.

- I'll call Mrs Marian Hempe.
- (Usher) Call Mrs Marian Hempe.

- (Harmsway) Charming!
- Don't worry, old darling!

(Mrs Hempe)
"I swear by Almighty God..."

He's quite impartial, he'll be just as
beastly to me when my turn comes.

Mrs Hempe, how long have you worked
for the Posterns?

Ten years now for Master Jonathan.
And his father before him.

On the afternoon
that Jonathan Postern died,

did you hear anything going on
between him and his wife?

- Yes. They were quarrelling.
- Could you hear any words?

- I heard two words.
- What were they?

"Kill you". I heard that said. Loud.
By her.

Then I saw Mr Postern go out.

- He walked towards the woods.
- What happened then?

Mrs Postern stayed indoors.
Then she went out.

- How long did she stay out?
- Don't really know.

Ten minutes,
quarter of an hour perhaps.

Then she came back and got it.

- Got what?
- Her shotgun.

- Did you see her get the gun?
- No. But I saw her go out again

with it under her arm. She went back
towards the woods again.

What happened next? Just tell the jury.

(Mrs Hempe) I heard a shot.
From the wood.

From the direction in which
they had both gone?

- Yes.
- Thank you, Mrs Hempe.

- You heard one shot?
- No, I heard others.

- Oh, you heard others. When?
- After Mr Postern went out.

Yes, but after Mrs Postern went out
for the second time, with her shotgun,

- how many shots did you hear?
- Just one.

- You're quite sure of that?
- It was enough, wasn't it?

Yes, perhaps. Now, these words
you heard her say,

"kill you", you've sworn that they're the
only words you heard Mrs Postern say?

- That's right.
- She couldn't have said "I'll kill you"?

- No.
- She might have been

warning her husband
that someone else might kill him?

I suppose so. But she was
the only one there, wasn't she?

Exactly! Are you suggesting someone
else might have shot him, Mr Rumpole?

Just exploring the possibilities, My Lord.

(Harmsway) Mr Figgis, when you first
saw Mrs Postern, what was she doing?

She were holding a shotgun,
standing about ten feet off him.

You took the gun away
from her and broke it open?

- I did, yes.
- How many cartridges had been fired?

- Just one.
- And the spent cartridge was ejected?

- Yes.
- And did you then go with her

to her house
where she telephoned the police?

I did, yes.

And was her gun in your possession
until the police arrived?

- Oh, yes.
- Thank you, Mr Figgis.

Mr Figgis, when you first saw
Mrs Postern, what exactly did she say?

She said, "I shot him.
It were an accident."

Oh? She said, " I shot him.
It was an accident."

Well, might she not have said, er,
"I shot him"?

Is there a dispute
as to what the accused said?

No dispute as to what was said,
My Lord, but I am very interested

in discovering where
the emphasis was put?

You may be interested in that,
Mr Rumpole.

It remains to be seen
whether the point interests the Jury.

I think the point may be
of considerable importance, My Lord.

The words are there.

How they were said seems
of unimportant insignificance.

Might it not be better to say
"of insignificance", My Lord?

What?

"Unimportant insignificance" might be
a bit of a tautology, might it not?

Something of a torment
to the English language.

Ask your question, Mr Rumpole.

- (Softly) Thanks.
- Don't mention it.

Well, Mr Figgis, what exactly
did Mrs Postern say?

She said," I shot him.
It were an accident."

"I shot him." I wonder
why she said it like that?

There was no one else about
at the time who might have shot him?

- Not as far as I could see.
- Not as far as you could see.

Mr Figgis, do you keep
a calling pheasant?

- I don't know what you mean.
- I think you do.

A cock pheasant in a cage whose cries
attract lady pheasants to your garden

where you conveniently dispatch
them from a downstairs window.

You must have had pheasant
for breakfast, dinner and tea.

(Giggling)

Well... I might have done
a bit of that.

Mr Rumpole, this witness
is not on trial for poaching.

Has this evidence
the slightest relevance to the case?

No doubt the jury will let us know
that, My Lord, in the fullness of time.

What had you been doing
that afternoon?

- I... I was in my cottage.
- And doing a bit of shooting as usual?

- I might have been, yes.
- And your garden is what,

some 10, 15 yards from the scene
of the alleged crime?

Mr Rumpole, may I remind you

that your client has admitted
shooting her husband with a shotgun,

and shotgun wounds and pellets
were found in her husband's body?

Your Lordship may remind me,
but I assure Your Lordship,

I had not forgotten it.
Thank you, Mr Figgis.

- Thank you, Mr Figgis.
- No further questions.

Very well. Members of the Jury,

this may be a convenient moment
for you to take some refreshment.

- Be back at ten past two, please.
- (Usher) Be upstanding.

- Are you coming down to see Sprod?
- No, I don't think so, Fiona.

Not until she decides to tell me
what happened.

- A message from the learned judge.
- I'm under arrest!

On the contrary, sir, you're invited
to lunch in the lodgings.

- This case is full of surprises.
- The car's outside.

- We travel in robes, of course.
- Yes, of course.

Lead me to the judicial Rolls.

So, there you are at last, Rumpole.

"He sat beside me in the cinema,"
said the girl in the indecency case,

"and put his hand up my skirt."
"Very well," said the old Recorder,

eyeing the clock at lunchtime,

"I suggest we leave it there
until five past two."

(Polite laughter)

No more argument about grammar
this afternoon, eh, Rumpole?

- Possibly not.
- Still, you stood up to me pretty well.

That's what we need in our job,
determination to stick to an argument.

- Even when it's a wrong one?
- Mistakes can usually be put right.

Oh, surely not always, My Lord.

You're thinking of the young fellow
who went out on the robbery.

- Case where they shot a policeman.
- Martin Muschamp, yes.

Muschamp. There was nothing else
I could have done about that.

I summed up the evidence.
It was pretty damning, of course,

and left the matter to the jury.

All this argument
about the death penalty,

but we managed to take it
in our stride, did our duty.

We didn't enjoy it, of course.

A lot of rubbish talked about judges
eating muffins after the death sentence.

You couldn't get muffins
at the Army & Navy Club.

All you could do was sum up
and leave the matter to the jury.

Nothing else I could have done,
was there?

'What does he want?
I do believe he wants to be forgiven.

'Who am I to forgive him? '

- I don't know.
- If you'll excuse us, Judge,

Mr Pinker and I have points to consider
before the afternoon.

- By all means.
- Thank you, My Lord.

- Are you a gardener, Rumpole?
- I'm afraid not.

I'm a rose man myself.
Of course, I've found it difficult

to do all the pruning
since my wife died.

'He wants me to feel sorry for him.'

- Come and look at this.
- Yes.

That's the garden.

The Mrs Sam McGredys
are flowering well.

Very nice.

Those are two of my grandchildren.
I've got six now altogether.

That's the budding showjumper.

Yes. I think I summed up
Muschamp quite fairly.

Didn't you tell the jury they might well
not believe a word of his evidence?

That was my personal opinion,

but they were free to come to their
own conclusions, wouldn't you agree?

'What does he want from me?
What crumb of comfort? '

It's your view of the case, Inspector,
is it not,

that after the most thorough
enquiry by the police

that Mrs Postern fired one shot
at her husband, and only one?

That is absolutely clear, My Lord.

"Absolutely clear."
Thank you, Inspector.

(Jiggles coins and sighs)

Look, I'm Doctor Overton.

The pathologist!
I'm an extremely busy man.

Am I to be kept waiting all afternoon?

Don't worry, we've got the message.

They're ready for you now.

Doctor Overton,

have you investigated previous cases
of death by gunshot wounds?

- I think one.
- Only one. I see.

Have you given evidence before
in a murder trial?

No, not actually.

- Congratulations on your debut.
- Thank you.

How was it that you were called
upon to conduct the post mortem?

Is not the Home Office pathologist
for the Tester area, er...

the highly experienced and
very aptly named Doctor Gravely?

Doctor Gravely was at a conference.
I was called in at short notice.

- Ah, and saw your big chance.
- His big chance of what, Mr Rumpole?

Perhaps of ingratiating
yourself with the local police

by agreeing with their conclusions?

- I did agree with their conclusions, yes.
- And with their view that the body

had received the impact of one,
and only one, shotgun wound?

- That was my conclusion.
- From which we might infer

that it was the shot from Mrs Postern's
gun which caused his death,

- either deliberately or by accident?
- Yes.

A shotgun wound consists, does it not,
of a large central wound

- surrounded by scattered shot?
- That's true.

And the further away the shot is fired,
the larger the area of scatter

- and the smaller the central wound?
- I agree.

I'm glad. Would you look
at photograph number three, please?

You have drawn a circle around
the hole that you consider fatal,

near the centre of the chest
in the Jury's photograph.

I see that, yes.

And that is where
you consider the fatal shot entered?

- I'm sure of it.
- Absolutely certain?

I have no doubts whatever
on the subject, Mr Rumpole.

How pleasant it must be
to be so sure of yourself.

There is another, smaller wound
just above it, is there not?

- Would you care to borrow my glass?
- I can see perfectly well.

(Judge) Is that the darker spot?
Show us where you're looking, Doctor.

- Here, My Lord.
- Oh, yes.

It's about two o'clock from
the pencil circle, members of the Jury.

- What did you take that to be?
- I took that to be part of the scatter.

Could it not be the central wound from
another shot fired from further away?

- I suppose that's a possibility.
- Indeed? It wasn't a minute ago!

- Just a possibility.
- So, when you told us

you were absolutely certain
that there had been only one shot,

you gave an opinion
which was not entirely reliable.

I see no reason to suppose
there was more than one.

- But it is a possibility?
- Yes.

And what would turn that possibility
into a probability?

If there was some strong
additional evidence.

- Of which you say there is none?
- Not as far as I know.

That is something for the jury
to consider, the extent of your knowing.

How many pellets are there
in a 20-gauge shotgun cartridge?

I would say about an ounce of shot.

I didn't ask how much it weighed,
I asked how many pellets there were.

Um, how... how...

- How many pellets?
- Are you hard of hearing?

- No, not in the least.
- Would you answer my question?

Yes, well, I... I think... I think I... I...

I'd have to look that one up.

"Look it up"? You didn't think
to look it up before you came here

to give "expert" evidence against
a woman of unblemished character

on a charge of murder?

Let us see if you remember this
without having to look it up,

when you conducted
the post mortem

you found a large number
of shot in the body?

- A very large number indeed.
- Very large, I'm obliged to you.

- Did you count them?
- May I look at my notes?

Look at what you like,
except the Inspector in charge.

- He's not able to help you now.
- Mr Rumpole!

Oh, Your Lordship objected
to that observation? I withdraw it.

How many pellets were found
in the deceased's body, Doctor?

478, My Lord.

There may have been
some you missed?

Some that missed their target?

- There may well have been.
- For your information,

and to save you the trouble
of looking it up,

the average contents of a 20-gauge
cartridge is between 250 to 270 pellets.

- Well, I must accept that, of course.
- So, does not the presence

of almost double the number
of pellets in the body

suggest to you that
there must have been a second shot?

- It might do so.
- Might it not?

If Mrs Postern fired only one shot,

as three independent witnesses
have testified,

might not a second person
have fired the other?

Surely that is a conclusion
for the Jury, Mr Rumpole?

It is a submission of mine, My Lord,

that I consider that to be
the only conclusion.

- Thank you, Doctor. Before you go...
- Yes?

If you intend to continue
in your present work,

I recommend Professor Ackerman's
Gunshot Wounds in Forensic Medicine.

A handy little volume, and quite
an easy read for the beginner.

(Harmsway) No further questions,
My Lord.

Very well. I think we'll break off there.

10:30 tomorrow morning,
members of the Jury.

(Usher) Be upstanding.

All you having anything to do

with the Queen's Justices for
the City of Tester may depart hence

and give attendance here tomorrow
at 10:30 of the clock in the forenoon.

God save the Queen
and My Lords, the Queen's Justices.

- Rumpole!
- Ah, Fiona.

Your cross-examination may
have been first-class entertainment...

Yes, I haven't enjoyed myself so much

since I got old Ackerman himself
to change his mind about a bloodstain.

Where does it get my sister?

Oh, just possibly off.

Sprod says it was an accident.
Are you suggesting there were two?

- No. Only one accident.
- What are you getting at?

Your sister is not too keen on the truth
coming out in this case, is she?

Why don't you come down
and ask her?

No, not tonight, Fiona.
Tonight I'm dining at the Tester Arms.

'I'm expecting company.'

- Mr Rumpole.
- Mr Fishbourne.

Sit down, why don't you?

Did you have a good dinner?

I had what is called
the Tester Arms set meal.

P�t� maison in the form
of liver ice cream.

A steak, cut from the nether end
of some elderly animal

and lightly singed
under an X-ray machine,

and a cheese board aptly named.

The cheddar had the flavour
and consistency of damp sawdust.

And the whole sumptuous repast
topped off with an ice-cold claret

which made Pommeroys' plonk
taste like Chateau Lafitte.

What have you got to tell me?

- You can't get her off, can you?
- You tell me.

I mean, I don't see how you can.
She said she did it.

Did she tell you that?

- No. She won't see me.
- Oh, indeed?

But you know why Jonno Postern
would've wanted to see you, though?

It wouldn't have been to criticise
your riding ability, would it?

No, it wasn't for that.

What she actually said was,
"I shot him. It was an accident."

Who else did she think might have
shot him, do you suppose?

Who else do you think
could have shot him, Mr Fishbourne?

- It couldn't possibly have been me.
- Oh, indeed? Why not?

I wasn't here. I'd gone to London,
quite unexpectedly.

I had a call from our lawyers
and I went up just after lunch.

Any number of people saw me.

Our first bit of luck in this case.

That is a splendid example
of what we call in the trade

a cast-iron alibi.

He couldn't have done it.
He was in London,

so you can stop shielding him.
Yes, I remembered seeing your face

when he fell at the last. You were very
upset. I thought you were his wife.

Afterwards you were laughing
at him with the others,

so I knew you were hiding something.
Jonno found out, did he?

It's such a mess.

- What shall I do?
- (Rumpole) Why not tell the truth?

Sometimes people win cases
doing that.

Look, they can't keep...

Sorry. Look, they... they can't keep
the judge waiting any longer.

Well, what do you say?
Shall we give it a try?

The truth...

"...the whole truth
and nothing but the truth."

(Rumpole) Mrs Postern,

on the afternoon that your husband
died, you quarrelled.

- What was the quarrel about?
- About Maurice Fishbourne.

- He is your next-door neighbour?
- Yes.

Yes. What did you tell your husband?

I told Jonathan that I loved Maurice

and that if he would divorce me,
we hoped to marry.

I had been unhappy with my husband
for a long time.

- Had he been violent?
- Yes. Quite often.

So that on the afternoon
that you quarrelled?

He said that he'd go over
and see Maurice

and tell him never to see me again.
He threatened to beat Maurice up.

I knew Maurice could have
a violent temper

and that he hated my husband.

I... I think I said if he went
that Maurice might kill him.

(Rumpole) Ah, Maurice might kill him.

Had Maurice told you
that he might kill your husband?

When he heard how he treated me,
yes.

Yes. And you had taken
those threats seriously?

I knew Maurice was a very determined
man, that he has a strong will.

Yes. Let us come to the moment

when your husband left the house.

He said he'd gone out to cool off.

After a while
I thought he'd gone to Maurice's,

so I decided to follow him.

I got as far as the track
by Figgis' cottage

and I saw Jonathan. Well, the...

Yes, go on!

Well, there was blood.
I saw that he was dead.

- Yes.
- I thought that Maurice had done it.

It was just by his wood.

And?

I knew that Maurice couldn't
get away with it

and he'd be convicted of murder.

I did not know at that time
that he was up in London.

- I suppose I... I was in a sort of panic.
- Yes, of course.

So, what did you decide to do?

I decided to pretend that I'd shot
Jonathan by mistake in an accident.

I went back to the house
and got my shotgun,

and when I got back to the wood,

I put in one cartridge and I fired.

- One shot only?
- Yes, only one.

Into your husband's dead body?

Yes.

Listen, Rumpole, as you are in Tester,
surely you could spare a few minutes

- and go and have a look at the place?
- I simply haven't got the time.

Well, you must make time.

(Hilda) 'It's not much to ask.'

Members of the Jury, contrary
to the views of some people,

the British criminal trial
cannot be compared in any way

to a horse race.

You do not get at the result
by closing your eyes

and sticking a pin into a list of runners.

If you believe that for whatever reason,

Mrs Postern shot at her husband
with the intention of killing him

or doing him serious injury,
then you must convict her.

But, if you think that the account
she gave you might be true...

I say, might be true,

then she is entitled to be acquitted.

There is some support for her story,
is there not, in the medical evidence?

'I do wonder, have we got
Martin Muschamp to thank

'for the unexpected fairness
of the summing up? '

...so that you have to consider
the possibility

that Mr Postern met his death
on that woodland track

by an accident caused
by the man Figgis

shooting from his cottage window.

And that Mrs Postern,
coming on the body,

assumed her lover
had been responsible

and took extraordinary steps
to cover up

what she thought had been a crime.

Er, this is not a court of morals,
members of the Jury...

neither is it a racecourse.

What we are concerned with
is certainty and the truth.

(Radio) 'Once again the pound
has fallen in the European markets.

'At Tester Crown Court,
the jury have returned a verdict

'of not guilty on Mrs Jennifer Postern,

'who was charged
with the murder of her husband,

'the Hon Jonathan Postern.'

(Rumpole turns radio off)

Well, I suppose you think
you've done something clever.

No, I think I've done something
absolutely "brill"!

I don't suppose you were "brill" enough
to look at that delightful property?

Jennifer Postern. A remarkable woman.

She went to the most extraordinary
lengths to shield the man she loved.

- Fiona's sister?
- Yes. Not very much like Fiona, is she?

Rather more beautiful,
wouldn't you say?

Much more like that other gorgeous
creature down there, Agatha.

We'll be seeing quite a lot of them
when we fix up

this gentleman's lodge arrangement
you talk about.

- They promised me shooting lessons.
- Shooting lessons? You?

Yes. There'll be lots of time.

You'll be kept busy bottling fruit
and drying herbs, that sort of thing.

- Bottling fruit?
- And drying herbs.

Herbs. You know, Rumpole,
I've been thinking.

This flat in the Gloucester Road
is very convenient for us.

- Oh, yes, but, er...
- We can have days out in the country.

- I suppose that's true but...
- No. No, no, no.

- But didn't your daddy always say?
- No, Rumpole.

For your sake,
I think I've decided against Tester.

Ah, well, Hilda, it's your decision.

S-W-M-B-O!

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