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"Volunteer," Violet said.
"Concierge," Klaus said.
"Child," Sunny said.
"I object!" Olaf said beside them. "Their proper occupation is orphan, or inheritor of a large fortune!"
"Your objection is noted," Justice Strausssaid firmly. "Now then, Baudelaires, are you guilty or innocent?"
Once again, the Baudelaires hesitated before answering. Justice Strauss had not asked the children precisely what they were innocent or guilty of, and the expectant hush of the lobby did not make them want to ask the judge to clarify her question. In general, of course, the Baudelaire children believed themselves to be innocent, although they were certainly guilty, as we all are, of certain deeds that are anything but noble. But the Baudelaires were not standing in general. They were standing next to Count Olaf. It was Klaus who found the words to compare the siblings' innocence and guilt with the innocence and guilt of a man who said he was unspeakably innocent, and after a pause the middle Baudelaire answered the judge's question.
"We're comparatively innocent," he said, and a ripple went through the crowd again. The children heard the scratching of Justice Strauss's pen again, and the sound of Geraldine Julienne's enthusiastic voice.
"I can see the headlines now!" she cried. "'everybody is innocent!' Wait until the readers of The Daily Punctilio see that!"
"Nobody is innocent," Justice Strauss said, banging her gavel. "At least, not yet. Now then, all those in the courtroom who have evidence they would like to submit to the court, please approach the judges and do so."
The room erupted into pandemonium, a word which here means "a crowd of blindfolded people attempting to give evidence to three judges." The Baudelaires sat on the bench and heard people stumbling over one another as they all tried to submit their research to the High Court.
"I submit these newspaper articles!" announced the voice of Geraldine Julienne.
"I submit these employment records!" announced Sir.
"I submit these environmental studies!" announced Charles.
"I submit these grade books!" announced Mr. Remora.
"I submit these blueprints of banks!" announced Mrs. Bass.
"I submit these administrative records!" announced Vice Principal Nero.
"I submit this paperwork!" announced Hal.
"I submit these financial records!" announced Mr. Poe.
"I submit these rule books!" announced Mr. Lesko.
"I submit these constitutions!" announced Mrs. Morrow.
"I submit these carnival posters!" announced Hugo.
"I submit these anatomical drawings!" announced Colette.
"I submit these books," announced Kevin, "with both my left and right hands!"
"I submit these ruby-encrusted blank pages!" announced Esme Squalor.
"I submit this book about how wonderful
I am!" announced Carmelita Spats.
"I submit this commonplace book!" announced either Frank or Ernest.
"So do I!" announced either Ernest or Frank.
"I submit my mother!"
This last voice was the first in a parade of voices the Baudelaires could not recognize. It seemed that everyone in the lobby had something to submit to the High Court, and the Baudelaires felt as if they were in the middle of an avalanche of observations, research, and other evidence, some of which sounded exculpatory-a word which here means "likely to prove that the Baudelaires were innocent"- and some of which sounded damning, a word which made the children shudder just to think of it.
"I submit these photographs!"
"I submit these hospital records!"
"I submit these magazine articles!"
"I submit these telegrams!"
'I submit these couplets!"
'I submit these maps!"
'I submit these cookbooks!"
'I submit these scraps of paper!"
'I submit these screenplays!"
'I submit these rhyming dictionaries!"
'I submit these love letters!"
'I submit these opera synopses!"
"I submit these thesauri!"
"I submit these marriage licenses!"
"I submit these Talmudic commentaries!"
"I submit these wills and testaments!"
"I submit these auction catalogs!"
"I submit these codebooks!"
"I submit these mycological encyclopedias!"
"I submit these menus!"
"I submit these ferry schedules!"
"I submit these theatrical programs!"
"I submit these business cards!"
"I submit these memos!"
"I submit these novels!"
"I submit these cookies!"
"I submit these assorted pieces of evidence I'm unwilling to categorize!"
Finally, the Baudelaires heard a mighty thump! and the triumphant voice of Jerome Squalor. "I submit this comprehensive history of injustice!" he announced, and the lobby filled with the sound of applause and of hissing, as the volunteers and villains reacted. Justice Strauss had to bang her gavel quite a few times before the crowd settled down.
"Before the High Court reviews this evidence," the judge said, "we ask each accused person to give a statement explaining their actions. You can take as long as you want to tell your story, but you should leave out nothing important. Count Olaf, you may go first."
The wooden bench crackled again as the villain stood up, and the Baudelaires heard Count Olaf sigh, and smelled his foul breath. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I'm so incredibly innocent that the word 'innocent' ought to be written on my face in capital letters. The letter I would stand for 'I'm innocent.' The letter N would stand for 'nothing wrong,' which is what I've done. The letter A would stand for-"
"That's not how you spell 'innocent,'" Justice Strauss interrupted.
"I don't think spelling counts," Count Olaf grumbled.
