“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 flash M. Paul bent toward the judge and said something in a low tone.

“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Hauteville with a start of satisfaction.  Then to Groener:  “How do you happen to know that this encounter took place on the Champs Elysees?”

“Why—­er—­he said so just now,” answered the other uneasily.

“I think not.  Was the Champs Elysees mentioned, Jules?” he turned to the clerk.

Jules looked back conscientiously through his notes and shook his head.  “Nothing has been said about the Champs Elysees.”