rn personality he said: "And why did you start from your seat and
tremble nervously and wait _nine and four fifths seconds_ before you were
able to answer 'salad' to the word 'potato'?"

Groener stared stolidly at the judge and did not speak.

"Shall I tell you why? It was because your heart was pounding, your head
throbbing, your whole mental machinery was clogged and numbed by the shock
of the word before, by the terror that went through you _when you answered
'worsted work' to 'Charity Bazaar.'_"

The prisoner bounded to his feet with a hoarse cry: "My God, you have no
right to torture me like this!" His face was deathly white, his eyes were
staring.

"We've got him going now," muttered Coquenil.

"Sit down!" ordered the judge. "You can stop this examination very easily
by telling the truth."

The prisoner dropped back weakly on his chair and sat with eyes closed and
head fallen forward. He did not speak.

"Do you hear, Groener?" continued Hauteville. "You can save yourself a
great deal of trouble by confessing your part in this crime. Look here!
Answer me!"

With an effort the man straightened up and met the judge's eyes. His face
was drawn as with physical pain.

"I--I feel faint," he murmured. "Could you--give me a little brandy?"

"Here," said Coquenil, producing a flask. "Let him have a drop of this."

The guard put the flask to the prisoner's lips and Groener took several
swallows.

"Thanks!" he whispered.

"I told you it wouldn't be amusing," said the magistrate grimly. "Come now,
it's one thing or the other, either you confess or we go ahead."

"I have nothing to confess, I know nothing about this crime--nothing."

"Then what was the matter with you just now?"

With a flash of his former insolence the prisoner answered: "Look at that
clock and you'll see what was the matter. It's after ten, you've had me
here for five hours and--I've had no food since noon. It doesn't make a man
a murderer because he's hungry, does it?"

The plea seemed reasonable and the prisoner's distress genuine, but,
somehow, Coquenil was skeptical; he himself had eaten nothing since midday,
he had been too busy and absorbed, and he was none the worse for it;
besides, he remembered what a hearty luncheon the wood carver had eaten
and he could not quite believe in this sudden exhaustion. Several times,
furthermore, he fancied he had caught Groener's eye fixed anxiously on the
clock. Was it possible the fellow was tryin