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excellent advice.’
    â€˜Possibly.’ I took out a small cigar to go with the coffee. ‘Do you mind?’ I remembered to say as I struck a match.
    â€˜Not at all. In fact I rather like it.’
    I began to warm to this Lala Ingolsby.
    â€˜What’s that you’re working on now?’ Lala was inspecting the pieces of virgin paper, across which that day my pen had scarcely travelled.
    â€˜My memoirs. I am recalling the Penge Bungalow Murders. You won’t have heard of the case.’
    â€˜Wasn’t that the one about the two ex-air force officers found shot?’
    â€˜You know that?’ Lala’s approval rating continued to rise.
    â€˜Oh, yes, we had books at home called Notable British Trials . You were in that case, weren’t you?’
    â€˜When my wig was as white as yours, Miss Ingolsby.’
    â€˜And you did it without a leader?’
    â€˜It was all a long time ago.’
    â€˜How can I get into a case like that?’
    â€˜You’ll have to wait until someone gets killed in an interesting way in the suburbs. Then get led by your Head of Chambers.’
    â€˜By Mr Ballard?’
    Soapy Sam, I thought, would make an excellent lost leader, but I resisted the temptation of pointing this out to my new-found and young learned friend. All I said was, ‘Someone with Sam Ballard’s qualities, yes.’
    Lala thought this over and said, ‘There’s something else I’d like your advice about.’
    â€˜You probably need my advice on the subject of bloodstains?’
    â€˜It’s not bloodstains. It’s Claude Erskine-Brown.’
    Again I resisted the temptation to say, ‘Much the same thing.’ So I said, ‘Liz Probert has reported him to the Society of Women Barristers. Re the matter of your legs.’
    â€˜I didn’t really mind that. It’s just that he keeps on about it. And quite honestly I don’t fancy Erskine-Brown.’
    â€˜Quite honestly,’ I had to admit, ‘neither do I.’
    â€˜I know Liz got excited about it. I just want him to stop. It’s become embarrassing.’
    â€˜Embarrassing to have him making flattering remarks about your personal appearance?’
    â€˜Well, it is. Quite honestly.’
    â€˜And you want him to stop?’
    â€˜Quite honestly, yes. What do you think I ought to do, Mr Rumpole? You’ve had so much experience of life.’
    â€˜A life of crime,’ I had to admit.
    â€˜So what should I do?’
    â€˜You really want to stop Claude dead in his tracks?’
    â€˜That sort of thing, yes.’
    â€˜Then tell him you love him passionately. Tell him you want him to get a divorce and marry you. Above all, tell him you’re going to ring up Mrs Justice Erskine-Brown, once the Portia of our chambers and my long-ago pupil, now married to Claude.’
    â€˜Why should I want to ring her up?’
    â€˜Tell him it’s to beg her to set him free because you can’t live without each other.’
    â€˜What do you think will happen if I tell him all that?’
    â€˜I think he’ll run a mile. I think he’ll drop your legs as a topic of conversation. I think he’ll never speak to you as you’re standing by the notice board again.’
    â€˜It’s not very flattering to think he’d react like that.’
    â€˜It may well not be flattering, but it’ll work,’ and I added, in words she could understand, ‘quite honestly.’
    â€˜I suppose I might try it.’ At which she left me, grinning broadly.
    I no longer thought of what havoc I might have wreaked on the love lives of the present members of our chambers. I picked up my pen and dived back in time to the days when my wig was as white as Miss Lala Ingolsby’s. I summed up the situation and carried on my narrative in the following way.
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    Looking back at Equity Court in the days when C. H. Wystan was our Head and Uncle Tom was