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father say?” She smiled.
    Ah, yes. The old judge. Daventry knew perfectly well what he’d say. He would peer at him over his half moon glasses, snort, and growl, “Twaddle. Absolute twaddle. I’ve hanged eleven men and never lost a night’s sleep. Can’t afford this kind of rubbish, damned self-indulgence. Forget about it, and get on with the next case.”
    “Have a good day, darling,” said Alex at the door of their house, just off the King’s Road.
    At his chambers, when his clerk, Pettifer, put a bundle of red-tape-tied documents on his desk, Daventry said to him, “Have you read about the Donovan girl?”
    “Indeed.” Pettifer sniffed. Few things escaped him. “Sad case. But then, she was no better than she should be, was she, sir?”
    He shut the door, and Daventry wished he had never heard of Mary Donovan and what had happened to her.
    But what really annoyed him was that he felt sorry for the girl. Mr. Justice Rodman would disapprove wildly.
    He reached over for one of the briefs and slowly started
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    to untie the red tape. It was perfectly true. There was nothing he could do about it. No one could help her anymore.
    Pettifer knocked and came in diffidently.
    “I had Mr. Rippon on the phone, sir,” he said. “He wondered if you would care to have lunch with him next Friday? At the Wig and Pen perhaps?”
    His tone indicated that it was advisable to accept. Rippon channeled a continuous stream of cases to Daventry’s chambers. Like the Connors case.
    “Tell him I’m busy,” said Daventry curtly.
    “Perhaps I can suggest a convenient date?” Pettifer offered hopefully.
    “Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” said Daventry.
    He had other things on his mind.
    Thursday, June 22,1961
    -Northolt
    THERE were only two passengers on the air force shuttle plane from Lindsey base at Wiesbaden to Northolt. One was an armed air force courier, the other Verago.
    The courier was a captain who was paying for a weekend in London by carrying some classified documents for the air force that could only be transported in the custody of an officer. To protect them he had a holstered .45 strapped around his waist.
    The courier eyed the crossed sword and pen insignia on Verago’s lapel. Army lawyers were unusual passengers on air force planes.
    “Going on leave, Captain?” asked the courier.
    “No,” said Verago. He had been wondering what kind of man he was going to defend. And something nagged him Colonel Ochs and his warning about the hostility he would encounter.
    “You going over for a trial?” inquired the courier.
    Verago didn’t feel like small talk. He had a lot to think about.
    “Yes,” he said curtly.
    The courier looked surprised. “Didn’t know we had any army courts in the UK.”
    “It’s not an army trial,” said Verago. He reached for
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    the copy of Stars and Stripes he had picked up at Lindsey.
    “What kind of court is its”
    “One of yours,” grunted Verago. “Air force.”
    It left the courier even more puzzled. “Kind of unusual, isn’t it, army lawyers at an air force trial?”
    Verago shrugged and turned to the comics page. He was a keen follower of Terry and the Pirates.
    The courier gave up.
    Verago finished the comics. He wished there was a crossword. He couldn’t understand why Stripes didn’t carry one. Maybe the army doesn’t approve of crosswords, he thought sarcastically. Maybe there’s some general who considers they undermine discipline.
    Verago gazed out the window. He was looking forward to England. It would make a change. And it would give him some satisfaction to defend a man stuck with an adultery charge. All he knew was that the man who had asked for him was a Captain John Tower. He didn’t even know his outfit, other than he was stationed at Laconbury. And he had never heard of Laconbury.
    It was about two hours from London, Colonel Ochs had told him. A staff car would meet him at Northolt and drive him straight there.
    Verago considered it an