,"
he said, "but I shall not at present appoint anybody to conduct an
examination. When a prisoner before me has no counsel, I sometimes look
after his case myself."

He spoke to the girl. "Will you hold up your hand?" he said.

"Why, yes, monsieur," she said, "if you will also ask Mr. Thompson to
hold up his hand."

"Do you wish him sworn as a witness?" said the judge.

The girl hesitated. "Yes, monsieur," she said, "if that is the way to
have him hold up his hand."

Again Thompson was disturbed. Again he spoke to the prosecutor and again
that attorney objected.

"We have not asked to have Mr. Thompson testify in this case," he said.
"It is true Mr. Thompson is concerned about the result of this trial. He
is the nephew of the decedent and his heir. It is only natural that he
should properly concern himself to see that the assassin is brought to
justice."

He spoke to the girl. "Do you wish to make Mr. Thompson your witness?"
he said.

And again she replied with the hesitating formula:

"Why, yes, monsieur, if that is the way to cause him to hold up his
hand."

The judge turned to the clerk. "Will you administer the oath to these
two persons?" he said.

Thompson rose. His face was disconcerted and slack. He hesitated, but
the prosecutor spoke to him. Then he faced the judge and put up his
hand. Immediately the girl cried out:

"Look, monsieur," she said. "It is his left hand he is holding up!"

Immediately Thompson raised the other hand. "I beg your pardon, Your
Honor," he muttered. "I am left-handed; I sometimes make that mistake."

And again the girl cried out: "You see... you notice it... it is true,
then... he is left-handed."

"I see he is left-handed," said the judge, "but what has that to do with
the case?"

"Oh, monsieur," she said, "it has everything to do with it. I will show
you."

She moved up on the step before the judge's bench and laid the menu
before him. The attorney for the prosecution also arose. He wished to
prevent this proceeding, to object to it, but he feared to disturb the
judge and he remained silent.

"Monsieur," she said, "I have made a little drawing... I know how such
things are done.... My father was juge d'instruction of the Canton
of Vaud. He always made little drawings of places where crimes were
committed.... Here you will see," and she put her finger on the
card, "the narrow passage leading from the butler's pantry into the
dining-room used for a library. You