“Well, Constabulary Colonel Ferguson called Commodore Napier last evening and requested armed assistance, your Honor,” the officer in Space Navy black said.  “He suspected, he said, that the city had been infiltrated.  In that, your Honor, he was perfectly correct; beginning Wednesday afternoon, Marine Captain Casagra, here, on Commodore Napier’s orders, began landing a Marine infiltration force, preparatory to taking over the Residency.  That’s been accomplished now; Commodore Napier is there, and both Resident General Emmert and Attorney General O’Brien are under arrest, on a variety of malfeasance and corrupt-practice charges, but that won’t come into your Honor’s court.  They’ll be sent back to Terra for trial.”

“Then Commodore Napier’s taken over the civil government?”

“Well, say he’s assumed control of it, pending the outcome of this trial.  We want to know whether the present administration’s legal or not.”

“Then you won’t interfere with the trial itself?”

“That depends, your Honor.  We are certainly going to participate.”  He looked at his watch.  “You won’t convene court for another hour?  Then perhaps I’ll have time to explain.”

* * * * *

Max Fane met them at the courtroom door with a pleasant greeting.  Then he saw Baby Fuzzy on Jack’s shoulder and looked dubious.

“I don’t know about him, Jack.  I don’t think he’ll be allowed in the courtroom.”

“Nonsense!” Gus Brannhard told him.  “I admit, he is both a minor child and an incompetent aborigine, but he is the only surviving member of the family of the decedent Jane Doe alias Goldilocks, and as such has an indisputable right to be present.”

“Well, just as long as you keep him from sitting on people’s heads.  Gus, you and Jack sit over there; Ben, you and Gerd find seats in the witness section.”

It would be half an hour till court would convene, but already the spectators’ seats were full, and so was the balcony.  The jury box, on the left of the bench, was occupied by a number of officers in Navy black and Marine blue.  Since there would be no jury, they had apparently appropriated it for themselves.  The press box was jammed and bristling with equipment.

Baby was looking up interestedly at the big screen behind the judges’ seats; while transmitting the court scene to the public, it also showed, like a nonreversing mirror, the same view to the spectators.  Baby wasn’t long in identifying himself in it, and waved his arms excitedly.  At that moment, there was a bustle at the door by which they had entered, and Leslie Coombes came in, followed by Ernst Mallin and a couple of his assistants, Ruth Ortheris, Juan Jimenez—­and Leonard Kellogg.  The last time he had seen Kellogg had been at George Lunt’s complaint court, his face bandaged and his feet in a pair of borrowed moccasins because his shoes, stained with the blood of Goldilocks, had been impounded as evidence.