"That's practically what it does. There may be men strong enough and self-controlled enough to resist but we haven't found such a person yet. It's true the system is quite recently devised, it hasn't been thoroughly tested, but so far we have had wonderful results and—it's just the thing for your case."
Groener was listening carefully. "Why?"
"Because, if you are guilty, we shall know it, and can go on confidently looking for certain links now missing in the chain of evidence against you. On the other hand, if you are innocent, we shall know that, too, and—if you are innocent, Groener, here is your chance to prove it."
If the prisoner's fear was stirred he did not show it, for he answered mockingly: "How convenient! I suppose you have a scales that registers innocent or guilty when the accused stands on it?"
Hauteville shook his head. "It's simpler than that. We make the accused register his own guilt or his own innocence with his own words."
"Whether he wishes to or not?"
The other nodded grimly. "Within certain limits—yes."
"How?"
The judge opened a leather portfolio and selected several sheets of paper ruled in squares. Then he took out his watch.
"On these sheets," he explained, "M. Coquenil and I have written down about a hundred words, simple, everyday words, most of them, such as 'house,' 'music,' 'tree,' 'baby,' that have no particular significance; among these words, however, we have introduced thirty that have some association with this crime, words like 'Ansonia,' 'billiards,' 'pistol.' Do you understand?"