e of argument, that I _was_ on the balcony," he said.
"Mind, I don't admit it, but suppose I was? What of it?"

"Nothing much," replied the judge grimly; "it would simply establish a
strong probability that you killed Martinez."

"How so?"

"The photographer saw you stealing toward Kittredge's room carrying a pair
of boots."

"I don't admit it, but--what if I were?"

"A pair of Kittredge's boots are missing. They were worn by the murderer to
throw suspicion on an innocent man. They were stolen when the pistol was
stolen, and the murderer tried to return them so that they might be
discovered in Kittredge's room and found to match the alleyway footprints
and damn Kittredge."

"I don't know who Kittredge is, and I don't know what alleyway you refer
to," put in Groener.

Hauteville ignored this bravado and proceeded: "In order to steal these
boots and be able to return them the murderer must have had access to
Kittredge's room. How? The simplest way was to take a room in the same
hotel, on the same floor, opening on the same balcony. _Which is exactly
what you did!_ The photographer saw you go into it after you choked him.
You took this room for a month, but you never went back to it after the
day of the crime."

"My dear sir, all this is away from the point. Granting that I choked the
photographer, which I don't grant, and that I carried a pair of boots along
a balcony and rented a room which I didn't occupy, how does that connect me
with the murder of--what did you say his name was?"

"Martinez," answered the judge patiently.

"Ah, Martinez! Well, why did I murder this person?" asked the prisoner
facetiously. "What had I to gain by his death? Can you make that clear? Can
you even prove that I was at the place where he was murdered at the
critical moment? By the way, where _was_ the gentleman murdered? If I'm to
defend myself I ought to have some details of the affair."

The judge and Coquenil exchanged some whispered words. Then the magistrate
said quietly: "I'll give you one detail about the murderer; he is a
left-handed man."

"Yes? And _am_ I left-handed?"

"We'll know that definitely in the morning when you undergo the Bertillon
measurements. In the meantime M. Coquenil can testify that you use your
left hand with wonderful skill."

"Referring, I suppose," sneered the prisoner, "to our imaginary encounter
on the Champs Elysees, when M. Coquenil claims to have used his teeth on my
leg."

Quick as a