"I don't see anything agitating in the word 'coaching party,'" said Groener.
Hauteville measured the prisoner for a moment in grim silence, then, throwing into his voice and manner all the impressiveness of his office and his stern 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.